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Household Tales by Brothers Grimm

by Jacob Grimm · English · Gutenberg #5314 · 1,500,474 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Household Tales by Brothers Grimm

Author: Jacob Grimm
        Wilhelm Grimm

Translator: Mrs. Alfred William Hunt


        
Release date: March 1, 2004 [eBook #5314]
                Most recently updated: March 1, 2022

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5314

Credits: Veronica LeGrow, Katie Nicholson, Erin Shea, David Baird, David Skinner, all undergraduates at Memorial University of Newfoundland, William Barker and Leon Kuperman


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOUSEHOLD TALES BY BROTHERS GRIMM ***




Household Tales by Brothers Grimm

by Jacob Grimm and Wilhelm Grimm

Translated by Margaret Hunt




CONTENTS


 1 The Frog King, or Iron Henry (Der Froschkönig oder der eiserne Heinrich)
 2 Cat and Mouse in Partnership (Katze und Maus in Gesellschaft)
 3 Our Lady’s Child (Marienkind)
 4 The Story of the Youth Who Went Forth to Learn What Fear Was (Märchen von einem, der auszog, das Fürchten zu lernen)
 5 The Wolf and the Seven Young Kids (Der Wolf und die sieben jungen Geißlein)
 6 Faithful John (Der treue Johannes)
 7 The Good Bargain (Der gute Handel)
 8 The Strange Musician (Der wunderliche Spielmann)
 9 The Twelve Brothers (Die zwölf Brüder)
 10 The Pack of Ragamuffins (Das Lumpengesindel)
 11 Little Brother and Little Sister (Brüderchen und Schwesterchen)
 12 Rapunzel (Rapunzel)
 13 The Three Little Men in the Forest (Die drei Männlein im Walde)
 14 The Three Spinning Women (Die drei Spinnerinnen)
 15 Hansel and Gretel (Hänsel und Gretel)
 16 The Three Snake-Leaves (Die drei Schlangenblätter)
 17 The White Snake (Die weiße Schlange)
 18 Straw, Coal, and Bean (Strohhalm, Kohle und Bohne)
 19 The Fisherman and His Wife (Von dem Fischer un syner Fru)
 20 The Brave Little Tailor (Das tapfere Schneiderlein)
 21 Cinderella (Aschenputtel)
 22 The Riddle (Das Rätsel)
 23 The Mouse, the Bird, and the Sausage (Von dem Mäuschen, Vögelchen und der Bratwurst)
 24 Frau Holle (Frau Holle)
 25 The Seven Ravens (Die sieben Raben)
 26 Little Red-Cap (Rotkäppchen)
 27 The Bremen Town Musicians (Die Bremer Stadtmusikanten)
 28 The Singing Bone (Der singende Knochen)
 29 The Devil with the Three Golden Hairs (Der Teufel mit den drei goldenen Haaren)
 30 Little Louse and Little Flea (Läuschen und Flöhchen)
 31 The Girl without Hands (Das Mädchen ohne Hände)
 32 Clever Hans (Der gescheite Hans)
 33 The Three Languages (Die drei Sprachen)
 34 Clever Elsie (Die kluge Else)
 35 The Tailor in Heaven (Der Schneider im Himmel)
 36 The Wishing-table, the Gold-ass, and the Cudgel in the Sack (Tischchendeckdich, Goldesel und Knüppel aus dem Sack)
 37 Thumbling (Daumesdick)
 38 The Wedding of Mrs. Fox (Die Hochzeit der Frau Füchsin)
 39 The Elves (Die Wichtelmänner)
 40 The Robber Bridegroom (Der Räuberbräutigam)
 41 Herr Korbes (Herr Korbes)
 42 The Godfather (Der Herr Gevatter)
 43 Frau Trude (Frau Trude)
 44 Godfather Death (Der Gevatter Tod)
 45 Thumbling as Journeyman [Thumbling’s Travels] (Daumerlings Wanderschaft)
 46 Fitcher’s Bird [Fowler’s Fowl] (Fitchers Vogel)
 47 The Juniper-Tree (Von dem Machandelboom)
 48 Old Sultan (Der alte Sultan)
 49 The Six Swans (Die sechs Schwäne)
 50 Little Briar-Rose (Dornröschen)
 51 Foundling-Bird (Fundevogel)
 52 King Thrushbeard (König Drosselbart)
 53 Little Snow-White (Sneewittchen)
 54 The Knapsack, the Hat, and the Horn (Der Ranzen, das Hütlein und das Hörnlein)
 55 Rumpelstiltskin (Rumpelstilzchen)
 56 Sweetheart Roland (Der Liebste Roland)
 57 The Golden Bird (Der goldene Vogel)
 58 The Dog and the Sparrow (Der Hund und der Sperling)
 59 Frederick and Catherine (Der Frieder und das Catherlieschen)
 60 The Two Brothers (Die zwei Brüder)
 61 The Little Peasant (Das Bürle)
 62 The Queen Bee (Die Bienenkönigin)
 63 The Three Feathers (Die drei Federn)
 64 The Golden Goose (Die goldene Gans)
 65 Allerleirauh [All-Kinds-Of-Fur] (Allerleirauh)
 66 The Hare’s Bride (Häsichenbraut)
 67 The Twelve Huntsmen (Die zwölf Jäger)
 68 The Thief and His Master (De Gaudeif un sien Meester)
 69 Jorinde and Joringel (Jorinde und Joringel)
 70 The Three Children of Fortune (Die drei Glückskinder)
 71 How Six Men Got On in the World (Sechse kommen durch die ganze Welt)
 72 The Wolf and the Man (Der Wolf und der Mensch)
 73 The Wolf and the Fox (Der Wolf und der Fuchs)
 74 The Fox and His Cousin (Der Fuchs und die Frau Gevatterin)
 75 The Fox and the Cat (Der Fuchs und die Katze)
 76 The Pink (Die Nelke)
 77 Clever Grethel (Das kluge Gretel)
 78 The Old Man and His Grandson (Der alte Großvater und der Enkel)
 79 The Water-Nix (Die Wassernixe)
 80 The Death of the Little Hen (Von dem Tode des Hühnchens)
 81 Brother Lustig (Bruder Lustig)
 82 Gambling Hansel (De Spielhansl)
 83 Hans in Luck (Hans im Glück)
 84 Hans Married (Hans heiratet)
 85 The Gold-Children (Die Goldkinder)
 86 The Fox and the Geese (Der Fuchs und die Gänse)
 87 The Poor Man and the Rich Man (Der Arme und der Reiche)
 88 The Singing, Springing Lark (Das singende springende Löweneckerchen)
 89 The Goose-Girl (Die Gänsemagd)
 90 The Young Giant (Der junge Riese)
 91 The Gnome (Dat Erdmänneken)
 92 The King of the Golden Mountain (Der König vom goldenen Berg)
 93 The Raven (Die Rabe)
 94 The Peasant’s Clever Daughter (Die kluge Bauerntochter)
 95 Old Hildebrand (Der alte Hildebrand)
 96 The Three Little Birds (De drei Vügelkens)
 97 The Water of Life (Das Wasser des Lebens)
 98 Dr. Know-All (Doktor Allwissend)
 99 The Spirit in the Bottle (Der Geist im Glas)
 100 The Devil’s Sooty Brother (Des Teufels rußiger Bruder)
 101 Bearskin (Der Bärenhäuter)
 102 The Willow-Wren and the Bear (Der Zaunkönig und der Bär)
 103 Sweet Porridge (Der süße Brei)
 104 Wise Folks (Die klugen Leute)
 105 Stories about Snakes (Märchen von der Unke)
 106 The Poor Miller’s Boy and the Cat (Der arme Müllerbursch und das Kätzchen)
 107 The Two Travellers (Die beiden Wanderer)
 108 Hans the Hedgehog (Hans mein Igel)
 109 The Shroud (Das Totenhemdchen)
 110 The Jew among Thorns (Der Jude im Dorn)
 111 The Skilful Huntsman (Der gelernte Jäger)
 112 The Flail from Heaven (Der Dreschflegel vom Himmel)
 113 The Two Kings’ Children (De beiden Künigeskinner)
 114 The Cunning Little Tailor (Vom klugen Schneiderlein)
 115 The Bright Sun Brings It to Light (Die klare Sonne bringt’s an den Tag)
 116 The Blue Light (Das blaue Licht)
 117 The Wilful Child (Das eigensinnige Kind)
 118 The Three Army Surgeons (Die drei Feldscherer)
 119 The Seven Swabians (Die sieben Schwaben)
 120 The Three Apprentices (Die drei Handwerksburschen)
 121 The King’s Son Who Feared Nothing (Der Königssohn, der sich vor nichts fürchtet)
 122 Donkey Cabbages (Der Krautesel)
 123 The Old Woman in the Wood (Die Alte im Wald)
 124 The Three Brothers (Die drei Brüder)
 125 The Devil and His Grandmother (Der Teufel und seine Großmutter)
 126 Ferdinand the Faithful (Ferenand getrü un Ferenand ungetrü)
 127 The Iron Stove (Der Eisenofen)
 128 The Lazy Spinner (Die faule Spinnerin)
 129 The Four Skilful Brothers (Die vier kunstreichen Brüder)
 130 One-Eye, Two-Eyes, and Three-Eyes (Einäuglein, Zweiäuglein und Dreiäuglein)
 131 Fair Katrinelje and Pif Paf Poltrie (Die schöne Katrinelje und Pif Paf Poltrie)
 132 The Fox and the Horse (Der Fuchs und das Pferd)
 133 The Shoes that Were Danced to Pieces (Die zertanzten Schuhe)
 134 The Six Servants (Die sechs Diener)
 135 The White Bride and the Black One (Die weiße und die schwarze Braut)
 136 Iron John (Der Eisenhans)
 137 The Three Black Princesses (De drei schwatten Prinzessinnen)
 138 Knoist and His Three Sons (Knoist un sine dre Sühne)
 139 The Maid of Brakel (Dat Mäken von Brakel)
 140 Domestic Servants (Das Hausgesinde)
 141 The Lambkin and the Little Fish (Das Lämmchen und Fischchen)
 142 Simeli Mountain (Simeliberg)
 143 Going A-Travelling (Up Reisen gohn)
 144 The Donkey (Das Eselein)
 145 The Ungrateful Son (Der undankbare Sohn)
 146 The Turnip (Die Rübe)
 147 The Old Man Made Young Again (Das junggeglühte Männlein)
 148 The Lord’s Animals and the Devil’s (Des Herrn und des Teufels Getier)
 149 The Beam (Der Hahnenbalken)
 150 The Old Beggar-Woman (Die alte Bettelfrau)
 151 The Three Sluggards (Die drei Faulen)
 151* The Twelve Idle Servants (Die zwölf faulen Knechte)
 152 The Shepherd Boy (Das Hirtenbüblein)
 153 The Star-Money (Die Sterntaler)
 154 The Stolen Farthings (Der gestohlene Heller)
 155 Brides on their Trial (Die Brautschau)
 156 Odds and Ends (Die Schlickerlinge)
 157 The Sparrow and His Four Children (Der Sperling und seine vier Kinder)
 158 The Story of Schlauraffen Land [The Tale of Cockaigne] (Das Märchen vom Schlauraffenland)
 159 The Ditmarsh Tale of Wonders (Das Diethmarsische Lügenmärchen)
 160 A Riddling Tale (Rätselmärchen)
 161 Snow-White and Rose-Red (Schneeweißchen und Rosenrot)
 162 The Wise Servant (Der kluge Knecht)
 163 The Glass Coffin (Der gläserne Sarg)
 164 Lazy Harry (Der faule Heinz)
 165 The Griffin (Der Vogel Greif)
 166 Strong Hans (Der starke Hans)
 167 The Peasant in Heaven (Das Bürle im Himmel)
 168 Lean Lisa (Die hagere Liese)
 169 The Hut in the Forest (Das Waldhaus)
 170 Sharing Joy and Sorrow (Lieb und Leid teilen)
 171 The Willow-Wren (Der Zaunkönig)
 172 The Sole [The Flounder] (Die Scholle)
 173 The Bittern and Hoopoe (Rohrdommel und Wiedehopf)
 174 The Owl (Die Eule)
 175 The Moon (Der Mond)
 176 The Duration of Life (Die Lebenszeit)
 177 Death’s Messengers (Die Boten des Todes)
 178 Master Pfriem (Meister Pfriem)
 179 The Goose-Girl at the Well (Die Gänsehirtin am Brunnen)
 180 Eve’s Various Children (Die ungleichen Kinder Evas)
 181 The Nixie of the Mill-Pond (Die Nixe im Teich)
 182 The Little Folks’ Presents (Die Geschenke des kleinen Volkes)
 183 The Giant and the Tailor (Der Riese und der Schneider)
 184 The Nail (Der Nagel)
 185 The Poor Boy in the Grave (Der arme Junge im Grab)
 186 The True Sweetheart [The True Bride] (Die wahre Braut)
 187 The Hare and the Hedgehog (Der Hase und der Igel)
 188 The Spindle, the Shuttle, and the Needle (Spindel, Weberschiffchen und Nadel)
 189 The Peasant and the Devil (Der Bauer und der Teufel)
 190 The Crumbs on the Table (Die Brosamen auf dem Tisch)
 191 The Sea-Hare (Das Meerhäschen)
 192 The Master Thief (Der Meisterdieb)
 193 The Drummer (Der Trommler)
 194 The Ear of Corn (Die Kornähre)
 195 The Grave Mound (Der Grabhügel)
 196 Old Rinkrank (Oll Rinkrank)
 197 The Crystal Ball (Die Kristallkugel)
 198 Maid Maleen (Jungfrau Maleen)
 199 The Boot of Buffalo Leather (Der Stiefel von Büffelleder)
 200 The Golden Key (Der goldene Schlüssel)
 Children’s Legends
 Legend 1 St. Joseph in the Forest (Der heilige Joseph im Walde)
 Legend 2 The Twelve Apostles (Die zwölf Apostel)
 Legend 3 The Rose (Die Rose)
 Legend 4 Poverty and Humility Lead to Heaven (Armut und Demut führen zum Himmel)
 Legend 5 God’s Food (Gottes Speise)
 Legend 6 The Three Green Twigs (Die drei grünen Zweige)
 Legend 7 Our Lady’s Little Glass (Muttergottesgläschen)
 Legend 8 The Aged Mother (Die alte Mütterchen)
 Legend 9 The Heavenly Wedding (Die himmlische Hochzeit)
 Legend 10 The Hazel Branch (Die Haselrute)



1 The Frog-King, or Iron Henry

In old times when wishing still helped one, there lived a king whose
daughters were all beautiful, but the youngest was so beautiful that
the sun itself, which has seen so much, was astonished whenever it
shone in her face. Close by the King’s castle lay a great dark forest,
and under an old lime-tree in the forest was a well, and when the day
was very warm, the King’s child went out into the forest and sat down
by the side of the cool fountain, and when she was dull she took a
golden ball, and threw it up on high and caught it, and this ball was
her favorite plaything.

Now it so happened that on one occasion the princess’s golden ball did
not fall into the little hand which she was holding up for it, but on
to the ground beyond, and rolled straight into the water. The King’s
daughter followed it with her eyes, but it vanished, and the well was
deep, so deep that the bottom could not be seen. On this she began to
cry, and cried louder and louder, and could not be comforted. And as
she thus lamented some one said to her, “What ails thee, King’s
daughter? Thou weepest so that even a stone would show pity.” She
looked round to the side from whence the voice came, and saw a frog
stretching forth its thick, ugly head from the water. “Ah! old
water-splasher, is it thou?” said she; “I am weeping for my golden
ball, which has fallen into the well.”

“Be quiet, and do not weep,” answered the frog, “I can help thee, but
what wilt thou give me if I bring thy plaything up again?” “Whatever
thou wilt have, dear frog,” said she—“My clothes, my pearls and jewels,
and even the golden crown which I am wearing.”

The frog answered, “I do not care for thy clothes, thy pearls and
jewels, or thy golden crown, but if thou wilt love me and let me be thy
companion and play-fellow, and sit by thee at thy little table, and eat
off thy little golden plate, and drink out of thy little cup, and sleep
in thy little bed—if thou wilt promise me this I will go down below,
and bring thee thy golden ball up again.”

“Oh yes,” said she, “I promise thee all thou wishest, if thou wilt but
bring me my ball back again.” She, however, thought, “How the silly
frog does talk! He lives in the water with the other frogs, and croaks,
and can be no companion to any human being!”

But the frog when he had received this promise, put his head into the
water and sank down, and in a short while came swimmming up again with
the ball in his mouth, and threw it on the grass. The King’s daughter
was delighted to see her pretty plaything once more, and picked it up,
and ran away with it. “Wait, wait,” said the frog. “Take me with thee.
I can’t run as thou canst.” But what did it avail him to scream his
croak, croak, after her, as loudly as he could? She did not listen to
it, but ran home and soon forgot the poor frog, who was forced to go
back into his well again.

The next day when she had seated herself at table with the King and all
the courtiers, and was eating from her little golden plate, something
came creeping splish splash, splish splash, up the marble staircase,
and when it had got to the top, it knocked at the door and cried,
“Princess, youngest princess, open the door for me.” She ran to see who
was outside, but when she opened the door, there sat the frog in front
of it. Then she slammed the door to, in great haste, sat down to dinner
again, and was quite frightened. The King saw plainly that her heart
was beating violently, and said, “My child, what art thou so afraid of?
Is there perchance a giant outside who wants to carry thee away?” “Ah,
no,” replied she. “It is no giant but a disgusting frog.”

“What does a frog want with thee?” “Ah, dear father, yesterday as I was
in the forest sitting by the well, playing, my golden ball fell into
the water. And because I cried so, the frog brought it out again for
me, and because he so insisted, I promised him he should be my
companion, but I never thought he would be able to come out of his
water! And now he is outside there, and wants to come in to me.”

In the meantime it knocked a second time, and cried,

“Princess! youngest princess!
Open the door for me!
Dost thou not know what thou saidst to me
Yesterday by the cool waters of the fountain?
Princess, youngest princess!
Open the door for me!”


Then said the King, “That which thou hast promised must thou perform.
Go and let him in.” She went and opened the door, and the frog hopped
in and followed her, step by step, to her chair. There he sat and
cried, “Lift me up beside thee.” She delayed, until at last the King
commanded her to do it. When the frog was once on the chair he wanted
to be on the table, and when he was on the table he said, “Now, push
thy little golden plate nearer to me that we may eat together.” She did
this, but it was easy to see that she did not do it willingly. The frog
enjoyed what he ate, but almost every mouthful she took choked her. At
length he said, “I have eaten and am satisfied; now I am tired, carry
me into thy little room and make thy little silken bed ready, and we
will both lie down and go to sleep.”

The King’s daughter began to cry, for she was afraid of the cold frog
which she did not like to touch, and which was now to sleep in her
pretty, clean little bed. But the King grew angry and said, “He who
helped thee when thou wert in trouble ought not afterwards to be
despised by thee.” So she took hold of the frog with two fingers,
carried him upstairs, and put him in a corner. But when she was in bed
he crept to her and said, “I am tired, I want to sleep as well as thou,
lift me up or I will tell thy father.” Then she was terribly angry, and
took him up and threw him with all her might against the wall. “Now,
thou wilt be quiet, odious frog,” said she. But when he fell down he
was no frog but a King’s son with beautiful kind eyes. He by her
father’s will was now her dear companion and husband. Then he told her
how he had been bewitched by a wicked witch, and how no one could have
delivered him from the well but herself, and that to-morrow they would
go together into his kingdom. Then they went to sleep, and next morning
when the sun awoke them, a carriage came driving up with eight white
horses, which had white ostrich feathers on their heads, and were
harnessed with golden chains, and behind stood the young King’s servant
Faithful Henry. Faithful Henry had been so unhappy when his master was
changed into a frog, that he had caused three iron bands to be laid
round his heart, lest it should burst with grief and sadness. The
carriage was to conduct the young King into his Kingdom. Faithful Henry
helped them both in, and placed himself behind again, and was full of
joy because of this deliverance. And when they had driven a part of the
way the King’s son heard a cracking behind him as if something had
broken. So he turned round and cried, “Henry, the carriage is
breaking.”

“No, master, it is not the carriage. It is a band from my heart, which
was put there in my great pain when you were a frog and imprisoned in
the well.” Again and once again while they were on their way something
cracked, and each time the King’s son thought the carriage was
breaking; but it was only the bands which were springing from the heart
of faithful Henry because his master was set free and was happy.



2 Cat and Mouse in Partnership

A certain cat had made the acquaintance of a mouse, and had said so
much to her about the great love and friendship she felt for her, that
at length the mouse agreed that they should live and keep house
together. “But we must make a provision for winter, or else we shall
suffer from hunger,” said the cat, “and you, little mouse, cannot
venture everywhere, or you will be caught in a trap some day.” The good
advice was followed, and a pot of fat was bought, but they did not know
where to put it. At length, after much consideration, the cat said, “I
know no place where it will be better stored up than in the church, for
no one dares take anything away from there. We will set it beneath the
altar, and not touch it until we are really in need of it.” So the pot
was placed in safety, but it was not long before the cat had a great
yearning for it, and said to the mouse, “I want to tell you something,
little mouse; my cousin has brought a little son into the world, and
has asked me to be godmother; he is white with brown spots, and I am to
hold him over the font at the christening. Let me go out to-day, and
you look after the house by yourself.” “Yes, yes,” answered the mouse,
“by all means go, and if you get anything very good, think of me, I
should like a drop of sweet red christening wine too.” All this,
however, was untrue; the cat had no cousin, and had not been asked to
be godmother. She went straight to the church, stole to the pot of fat,
began to lick at it, and licked the top of the fat off. Then she took a
walk upon the roofs of the town, looked out for opportunities, and then
stretched herself in the sun, and licked her lips whenever she thought
of the pot of fat, and not until it was evening did she return home.
“Well, here you are again,” said the mouse, “no doubt you have had a
merry day.” “All went off well,” answered the cat. “What name did they
give the child?” “Top off!” said the cat quite coolly. “Top off!” cried
the mouse, “that is a very odd and uncommon name, is it a usual one in
your family?” “What does it signify,” said the cat, “it is no worse
than Crumb-stealer, as your god-children are called.”

Before long the cat was seized by another fit of longing. She said to
the mouse, “You must do me a favour, and once more manage the house for
a day alone. I am again asked to be godmother, and, as the child has a
white ring round its neck, I cannot refuse.” The good mouse consented,
but the cat crept behind the town walls to the church, and devoured
half the pot of fat. “Nothing ever seems so good as what one keeps to
oneself,” said she, and was quite satisfied with her day’s work. When
she went home the mouse inquired, “And what was this child christened?”
“Half-done,” answered the cat. “Half-done! What are you saying? I never
heard the name in my life, I’ll wager anything it is not in the
calendar!”

The cat’s mouth soon began to water for some more licking. “All good
things go in threes,” said she, “I am asked to stand godmother again.
The child is quite black, only it has white paws, but with that
exception, it has not a single white hair on its whole body; this only
happens once every few years, you will let me go, won’t you?” “Top-off!
Half-done!” answered the mouse, “they are such odd names, they make me
very thoughtful.” “You sit at home,” said the cat, “in your dark-grey
fur coat and long tail, and are filled with fancies, that’s because you
do not go out in the daytime.” During the cat’s absence the mouse
cleaned the house, and put it in order but the greedy cat entirely
emptied the pot of fat. “When everything is eaten up one has some
peace,” said she to herself, and well filled and fat she did not return
home till night. The mouse at once asked what name had been given to
the third child. “It will not please you more than the others,” said
the cat. “He is called All-gone.” “All-gone,” cried the mouse, “that is
the most suspicious name of all! I have never seen it in print.
All-gone; what can that mean?” and she shook her head, curled herself
up, and lay down to sleep.

From this time forth no one invited the cat to be god-mother, but when
the winter had come and there was no longer anything to be found
outside, the mouse thought of their provision, and said, “Come cat, we
will go to our pot of fat which we have stored up for ourselves—we
shall enjoy that.” “Yes,” answered the cat, “you will enjoy it as much
as you would enjoy sticking that dainty tongue of yours out of the
window.” They set out on their way, but when they arrived, the pot of
fat certainly was still in its place, but it was empty. “Alas!” said
the mouse, “now I see what has happened, now it comes to light! You are
a true friend! You have devoured all when you were standing godmother.
First top off, then half done, then—.” “Will you hold your tongue,”
cried the cat, “one word more and I will eat you too.” “All gone” was
already on the poor mouse’s lips; scarcely had she spoken it before the
cat sprang on her, seized her, and swallowed her down. Verily, that is
the way of the world.



3 Our Lady’s Child

Hard by a great forest dwelt a wood-cutter with his wife, who had an
only child, a little girl three years old. They were so poor, however,
that they no longer had daily bread, and did not know how to get food
for her. One morning the wood-cutter went out sorrowfully to his work
in the forest, and while he was cutting wood, suddenly there stood
before him a tall and beautiful woman with a crown of shining stars on
her head, who said to him, “I am the Virgin Mary, mother of the child
Jesus. Thou art poor and needy, bring thy child to me, I will take her
with me and be her mother, and care for her.” The wood-cutter obeyed,
brought his child, and gave her to the Virgin Mary, who took her up to
heaven with her. There the child fared well, ate sugar-cakes, and drank
sweet milk, and her clothes were of gold, and the little angels played
with her. And when she was fourteen years of age, the Virgin Mary
called her one day and said, “Dear child, I am about to make a long
journey, so take into thy keeping the keys of the thirteen doors of
heaven. Twelve of these thou mayest open, and behold the glory which is
within them, but the thirteenth, to which this little key belongs, is
forbidden thee. Beware of opening it, or thou wilt bring misery on
thyself.” The girl promised to be obedient, and when the Virgin Mary
was gone, she began to examine the dwellings of the kingdom of heaven.
Each day she opened one of them, until she had made the round of the
twelve. In each of them sat one of the Apostles in the midst of a great
light, and she rejoiced in all the magnificence and splendour, and the
little angels who always accompanied her rejoiced with her. Then the
forbidden door alone remained, and she felt a great desire to know what
could be hidden behind it, and said to the angels, “I will not quite
open it, and I will not go inside it, but I will unlock it so that we
can just see a little through the opening.” “Oh no,” said the little
angels, “that would be a sin. The Virgin Mary has forbidden it, and it
might easily cause thy unhappiness.” Then she was silent, but the
desire in her heart was not stilled, but gnawed there and tormented
her, and let her have no rest. And once when the angels had all gone
out, she thought, “Now I am quite alone, and I could peep in. If I do
it, no one will ever know.” She sought out the key, and when she had
got it in her hand, she put it in the lock, and when she had put it in,
she turned it round as well. Then the door sprang open, and she saw
there the Trinity sitting in fire and splendour. She stayed there
awhile, and looked at everything in amazement; then she touched the
light a little with her finger, and her finger became quite golden.
Immediately a great fear fell on her. She shut the door violently, and
ran away. Her terror too would not quit her, let her do what she might,
and her heart beat continually and would not be still; the gold too
stayed on her finger, and would not go away, let her rub it and wash it
never so much.

It was not long before the Virgin Mary came back from her journey. She
called the girl before her, and asked to have the keys of heaven back.
When the maiden gave her the bunch, the Virgin looked into her eyes and
said, “Hast thou not opened the thirteenth door also?” “No,” she
replied. Then she laid her hand on the girl’s heart, and felt how it
beat and beat, and saw right well that she had disobeyed her order and
had opened the door. Then she said once again, “Art thou certain that
thou hast not done it?” “Yes,” said the girl, for the second time. Then
she perceived the finger which had become golden from touching the fire
of heaven, and saw well that the child had sinned, and said for the
third time “Hast thou not done it?” “No,” said the girl for the third
time. Then said the Virgin Mary, “Thou hast not obeyed me, and besides
that thou hast lied, thou art no longer worthy to be in heaven.”

Then the girl fell into a deep sleep, and when she awoke she lay on the
earth below, and in the midst of a wilderness. She wanted to cry out,
but she could bring forth no sound. She sprang up and wanted to run
away, but whithersoever she turned herself, she was continually held
back by thick hedges of thorns through which she could not break. In
the desert, in which she was imprisoned, there stood an old hollow
tree, and this had to be her dwelling-place. Into this she crept when
night came, and here she slept. Here, too, she found a shelter from
storm and rain, but it was a miserable life, and bitterly did she weep
when she remembered how happy she had been in heaven, and how the
angels had played with her. Roots and wild berries were her only food,
and for these she sought as far as she could go. In the autumn she
picked up the fallen nuts and leaves, and carried them into the hole.
The nuts were her food in winter, and when snow and ice came, she crept
amongst the leaves like a poor little animal that she might not freeze.
Before long her clothes were all torn, and one bit of them after
another fell off her. As soon, however, as the sun shone warm again,
she went out and sat in front of the tree, and her long hair covered
her on all sides like a mantle. Thus she sat year after year, and felt
the pain and the misery of the world. One day, when the trees were once
more clothed in fresh green, the King of the country was hunting in the
forest, and followed a roe, and as it had fled into the thicket which
shut in this part of the forest, he got off his horse, tore the bushes
asunder, and cut himself a path with his sword. When he had at last
forced his way through, he saw a wonderfully beautiful maiden sitting
under the tree; and she sat there and was entirely covered with her
golden hair down to her very feet. He stood still and looked at her
full of surprise, then he spoke to her and said, “Who art thou? Why art
thou sitting here in the wilderness?” But she gave no answer, for she
could not open her mouth. The King continued, “Wilt thou go with me to
my castle?” Then she just nodded her head a little. The King took her
in his arms, carried her to his horse, and rode home with her, and when
he reached the royal castle he caused her to be dressed in beautiful
garments, and gave her all things in abundance. Although she could not
speak, she was still so beautiful and charming that he began to love
her with all his heart, and it was not long before he married her.

After a year or so had passed, the Queen brought a son into the world.
Thereupon the Virgin Mary appeared to her in the night when she lay in
her bed alone, and said, “If thou wilt tell the truth and confess that
thou didst unlock the forbidden door, I will open thy mouth and give
thee back thy speech, but if thou perseverest in thy sin, and deniest
obstinately, I will take thy new-born child away with me.” Then the
queen was permitted to answer, but she remained hard, and said, “No, I
did not open the forbidden door;” and the Virgin Mary took the new-born
child from her arms, and vanished with it. Next morning when the child
was not to be found, it was whispered among the people that the Queen
was a man-eater, and had killed her own child. She heard all this and
could say nothing to the contrary, but the King would not believe it,
for he loved her so much.

When a year had gone by the Queen again bore a son, and in the night
the Virgin Mary again came to her, and said, “If thou wilt confess that
thou openedst the forbidden door, I will give thee thy child back and
untie thy tongue; but if you continuest in sin and deniest it, I will
take away with me this new child also.” Then the Queen again said, “No,
I did not open the forbidden door;” and the Virgin took the child out
of her arms, and away with her to heaven. Next morning, when this child
also had disappeared, the people declared quite loudly that the Queen
had devoured it, and the King’s councillors demanded that she should be
brought to justice. The King, however, loved her so dearly that he
would not believe it, and commanded the councillors under pain of death
not to say any more about it.

The following year the Queen gave birth to a beautiful little daughter,
and for the third time the Virgin Mary appeared to her in the night and
said, “Follow me.” She took the Queen by the hand and led her to
heaven, and showed her there her two eldest children, who smiled at
her, and were playing with the ball of the world. When the Queen
rejoiced thereat, the Virgin Mary said, “Is thy heart not yet softened?
If thou wilt own that thou openedst the forbidden door, I will give
thee back thy two little sons.” But for the third time the Queen
answered, “No, I did not open the forbidden door.” Then the Virgin let
her sink down to earth once more, and took from her likewise her third
child.

Next morning, when the loss was reported abroad, all the people cried
loudly, “The Queen is a man-eater. She must be judged,” and the King
was no longer able to restrain his councillors. Thereupon a trial was
held, and as she could not answer, and defend herself, she was
condemned to be burnt alive. The wood was got together, and when she
was fast bound to the stake, and the fire began to burn round about
her, the hard ice of pride melted, her heart was moved by repentance,
and she thought, “If I could but confess before my death that I opened
the door.” Then her voice came back to her, and she cried out loudly,
“Yes, Mary, I did it;” and straight-way rain fell from the sky and
extinguished the flames of fire, and a light broke forth above her, and
the Virgin Mary descended with the two little sons by her side, and the
new-born daughter in her arms. She spoke kindly to her, and said, “He
who repents his sin and acknowledges it, is forgiven.” Then she gave
her the three children, untied her tongue, and granted her happiness
for her whole life.



4 The Story of the Youth Who Went Forth to Learn What Fear Was

A certain father had two sons, the elder of whom was smart and
sensible, and could do everything, but the younger was stupid and could
neither learn nor understand anything, and when people saw him they
said, “There’s a fellow who will give his father some trouble!” When
anything had to be done, it was always the elder who was forced to do
it; but if his father bade him fetch anything when it was late, or in
the night-time, and the way led through the churchyard, or any other
dismal place, he answered “Oh, no, father, I’ll not go there, it makes
me shudder!” for he was afraid. Or when stories were told by the fire
at night which made the flesh creep, the listeners sometimes said “Oh,
it makes us shudder!” The younger sat in a corner and listened with the
rest of them, and could not imagine what they could mean. “They are
always saying ‘it makes me shudder, it makes me shudder!’ It does not
make me shudder,” thought he. “That, too, must be an art of which I
understand nothing.”

Now it came to pass that his father said to him one day “Hearken to me,
thou fellow in the corner there, thou art growing tall and strong, and
thou too must learn something by which thou canst earn thy living. Look
how thy brother works, but thou dost not even earn thy salt.” “Well,
father,” he replied, “I am quite willing to learn something—indeed, if
it could but be managed, I should like to learn how to shudder. I don’t
understand that at all yet.” The elder brother smiled when he heard
that, and thought to himself, “Good God, what a blockhead that brother
of mine is! He will never be good for anything as long as he lives. He
who wants to be a sickle must bend himself betimes.”

The father sighed, and answered him “thou shalt soon learn what it is
to shudder, but thou wilt not earn thy bread by that.”

Soon after this the sexton came to the house on a visit, and the father
bewailed his trouble, and told him how his younger son was so backward
in every respect that he knew nothing and learnt nothing. “Just think,”
said he, “when I asked him how he was going to earn his bread, he
actually wanted to learn to shudder.” “If that be all,” replied the
sexton, “he can learn that with me. Send him to me, and I will soon
polish him.” The father was glad to do it, for he thought, “It will
train the boy a little.” The sexton therefore took him into his house,
and he had to ring the bell. After a day or two, the sexton awoke him
at midnight, and bade him arise and go up into the church tower and
ring the bell. “Thou shalt soon learn what shuddering is,” thought he,
and secretly went there before him; and when the boy was at the top of
the tower and turned round, and was just going to take hold of the bell
rope, he saw a white figure standing on the stairs opposite the
sounding hole. “Who is there?” cried he, but the figure made no reply,
and did not move or stir. “Give an answer,” cried the boy, “or take thy
self off, thou hast no business here at night.”

The sexton, however, remained standing motionless that the boy might
think he was a ghost. The boy cried a second time, “What do you want
here?—speak if thou art an honest fellow, or I will throw thee down the
steps!” The sexton thought, “he can’t intend to be as bad as his
words,” uttered no sound and stood as if he were made of stone. Then
the boy called to him for the third time, and as that was also to no
purpose, he ran against him and pushed the ghost down the stairs, so
that it fell down ten steps and remained lying there in a corner.
Thereupon he rang the bell, went home, and without saying a word went
to bed, and fell asleep. The sexton’s wife waited a long time for her
husband, but he did not come back. At length she became uneasy, and
wakened the boy, and asked, “Dost thou not know where my husband is? He
climbed up the tower before thou didst.” “No, I don’t know,” replied
the boy, “but some one was standing by the sounding hole on the other
side of the steps, and as he would neither give an answer nor go away,
I took him for a scoundrel, and threw him downstairs, just go there and
you will see if it was he. I should be sorry if it were.” The woman ran
away and found her husband, who was lying moaning in the corner, and
had broken his leg.

She carried him down, and then with loud screams she hastened to the
boy’s father. “Your boy,” cried she, “has been the cause of a great
misfortune! He has thrown my husband down the steps and made him break
his leg. Take the good-for-nothing fellow away from our house.” The
father was terrified, and ran thither and scolded the boy. “What wicked
tricks are these?” said he, “the devil must have put this into thy
head.” “Father,” he replied, “do listen to me. I am quite innocent. He
was standing there by night like one who is intending to do some evil.
I did not know who it was, and I entreated him three times either to
speak or to go away.” “Ah,” said the father, “I have nothing but
unhappiness with you. Go out of my sight. I will see thee no more.”

“Yes, father, right willingly, wait only until it is day. Then will I
go forth and learn how to shudder, and then I shall, at any rate,
understand one art which will support me.” “Learn what thou wilt,”
spake the father, “it is all the same to me. Here are fifty thalers for
thee. Take these and go into the wide world, and tell no one from
whence thou comest, and who is thy father, for I have reason to be
ashamed of thee.” “Yes, father, it shall be as you will. If you desire
nothing more than that, I can easily keep it in mind.”

When day dawned, therefore, the boy put his fifty thalers into his
pocket, and went forth on the great highway, and continually said to
himself, “If I could but shudder! If I could but shudder!” Then a man
approached who heard this conversation which the youth was holding with
himself, and when they had walked a little farther to where they could
see the gallows, the man said to him, “Look, there is the tree where
seven men have married the ropemaker’s daughter, and are now learning
how to fly. Sit down below it, and wait till night comes, and you will
soon learn how to shudder.” “If that is all that is wanted,” answered
the youth, “it is easily done; but if I learn how to shudder as fast as
that, thou shalt have my fifty thalers. Just come back to me early in
the morning.” Then the youth went to the gallows, sat down below it,
and waited till evening came. And as he was cold, he lighted himself a
fire, but at midnight the wind blew so sharply that in spite of his
fire, he could not get warm. And as the wind knocked the hanged men
against each other, and they moved backwards and forwards, he thought
to himself “Thou shiverest below by the fire, but how those up above
must freeze and suffer!” And as he felt pity for them, he raised the
ladder, and climbed up, unbound one of them after the other, and
brought down all seven. Then he stirred the fire, blew it, and set them
all round it to warm themselves. But they sat there and did not stir,
and the fire caught their clothes. So he said, “Take care, or I will
hang you up again.” The dead men, however, did not hear, but were quite
silent, and let their rags go on burning. On this he grew angry, and
said, “If you will not take care, I cannot help you, I will not be
burnt with you,” and he hung them up again each in his turn. Then he
sat down by his fire and fell asleep, and the next morning the man came
to him and wanted to have the fifty thalers, and said, “Well, dost thou
know how to shudder?” “No,” answered he, “how was I to get to know?
Those fellows up there did not open their mouths, and were so stupid
that they let the few old rags which they had on their bodies get
burnt.” Then the man saw that he would not get the fifty thalers that
day, and went away saying, “One of this kind has never come my way
before.”

The youth likewise went his way, and once more began to mutter to
himself, “Ah, if I could but shudder! Ah, if I could but shudder!” A
waggoner who was striding behind him heard that and asked, “Who are
you?” “I don’t know,” answered the youth. Then the waggoner asked,
“From whence comest thou?” “I know not.” “Who is thy father?” “That I
may not tell thee.” “What is it that thou art always muttering between
thy teeth.” “Ah,” replied the youth, “I do so wish I could shudder, but
no one can teach me how to do it.” “Give up thy foolish chatter,” said
the waggoner. “Come, go with me, I will see about a place for thee.”
The youth went with the waggoner, and in the evening they arrived at an
inn where they wished to pass the night. Then at the entrance of the
room the youth again said quite loudly, “If I could but shudder! If I
could but shudder!” The host who heard this, laughed and said, “If that
is your desire, there ought to be a good opportunity for you here.”
“Ah, be silent,” said the hostess, “so many inquisitive persons have
already lost their lives, it would be a pity and a shame if such
beautiful eyes as these should never see the daylight again.”

But the youth said, “However difficult it may be, I will learn it and
for this purpose indeed have I journeyed forth.” He let the host have
no rest, until the latter told him, that not far from thence stood a
haunted castle where any one could very easily learn what shuddering
was, if he would but watch in it for three nights. The King had
promised that he who would venture should have his daughter to wife,
and she was the most beautiful maiden the sun shone on. Great treasures
likewise lay in the castle, which were guarded by evil spirits, and
these treasures would then be freed, and would make a poor man rich
enough. Already many men had gone into the castle, but as yet none had
come out again. Then the youth went next morning to the King and said
if he were allowed he would watch three nights in the haunted castle.
The King looked at him, and as the youth pleased him, he said, “Thou
mayest ask for three things to take into the castle with thee, but they
must be things without life.” Then he answered, “Then I ask for a fire,
a turning lathe, and a cutting-board with the knife.” The King had
these things carried into the castle for him during the day. When night
was drawing near, the youth went up and made himself a bright fire in
one of the rooms, placed the cutting-board and knife beside it, and
seated himself by the turning-lathe. “Ah, if I could but shudder!” said
he, “but I shall not learn it here either.” Towards midnight he was
about to poke his fire, and as he was blowing it, something cried
suddenly from one corner, “Au, miau! how cold we are!” “You
simpletons!” cried he, “what are you crying about? If you are cold,
come and take a seat by the fire and warm yourselves.” And when he had
said that, two great black cats came with one tremendous leap and sat
down on each side of him, and looked savagely at him with their fiery
eyes. After a short time, when they had warmed themselves, they said,
“Comrade, shall we have a game at cards?” “Why not?” he replied, “but
just show me your paws.” Then they stretched out their claws. “Oh,”
said he, “what long nails you have! Wait, I must first cut them for
you.” Thereupon he seized them by the throats, put them on the
cutting-board and screwed their feet fast. “I have looked at your
fingers,” said he, “and my fancy for card-playing has gone,” and he
struck them dead and threw them out into the water. But when he had
made away with these two, and was about to sit down again by his fire,
out from every hole and corner came black cats and black dogs with
red-hot chains, and more and more of them came until he could no longer
stir, and they yelled horribly, and got on his fire, pulled it to
pieces, and tried to put it out. He watched them for a while quietly,
but at last when they were going too far, he seized his cutting-knife,
and cried, “Away with ye, vermin,” and began to cut them down. Part of
them ran away, the others he killed, and threw out into the fish-pond.
When he came back he fanned the embers of his fire again and warmed
himself. And as he thus sat, his eyes would keep open no longer, and he
felt a desire to sleep. Then he looked round and saw a great bed in the
corner. “That is the very thing for me,” said he, and got into it. When
he was just going to shut his eyes, however, the bed began to move of
its own accord, and went over the whole of the castle. “That’s right,”
said he, “but go faster.” Then the bed rolled on as if six horses were
harnessed to it, up and down, over thresholds and steps, but suddenly
hop, hop, it turned over upside down, and lay on him like a mountain.
But he threw quilts and pillows up in the air, got out and said, “Now
any one who likes, may drive,” and lay down by his fire, and slept till
it was day. In the morning the King came, and when he saw him lying
there on the ground, he thought the evil spirits had killed him and he
was dead. Then said he, “After all it is a pity,—he is a handsome man.”
The youth heard it, got up, and said, “It has not come to that yet.”
Then the King was astonished, but very glad, and asked how he had
fared. “Very well indeed,” answered he; “one night is past, the two
others will get over likewise.” Then he went to the innkeeper, who
opened his eyes very wide, and said, “I never expected to see thee
alive again! Hast thou learnt how to shudder yet?” “No,” said he, “it
is all in vain. If some one would but tell me.”

The second night he again went up into the old castle, sat down by the
fire, and once more began his old song, “If I could but shudder.” When
midnight came, an uproar and noise of tumbling about was heard; at
first it was low, but it grew louder and louder. Then it was quiet for
awhile, and at length with a loud scream, half a man came down the
chimney and fell before him. “Hollo!” cried he, “another half belongs
to this. This is too little!” Then the uproar began again, there was a
roaring and howling, and the other half fell down likewise. “Wait,”
said he, “I will just blow up the fire a little for thee.” When he had
done that and looked round again, the two pieces were joined together,
and a frightful man was sitting in his place. “That is no part of our
bargain,” said the youth, “the bench is mine.” The man wanted to push
him away; the youth, however, would not allow that, but thrust him off
with all his strength, and seated himself again in his own place. Then
still more men fell down, one after the other; they brought nine dead
men’s legs and two skulls, and set them up and played at nine-pins with
them. The youth also wanted to play and said “Hark you, can I join
you?” “Yes, if thou hast any money.” “Money enough,” replied he, “but
your balls are not quite round.” Then he took the skulls and put them
in the lathe and turned them till they were round. “There, now, they
will roll better!” said he. “Hurrah! Now it goes merrily!” He played
with them and lost some of his money, but when it struck twelve,
everything vanished from his sight. He lay down and quietly fell
asleep. Next morning the King came to inquire after him. “How has it
fared with you this time?” asked he. “I have been playing at
nine-pins,” he answered, “and have lost a couple of farthings.” “Hast
thou not shuddered then?” “Eh, what?” said he, “I have made merry. If I
did but know what it was to shudder!”

The third night he sat down again on his bench and said quite sadly,
“If I could but shudder.” When it grew late, six tall men came in and
brought a coffin. Then said he, “Ha, ha, that is certainly my little
cousin, who died only a few days ago,” and he beckoned with his finger,
and cried “Come, little cousin, come.” They placed the coffin on the
ground, but he went to it and took the lid off, and a dead man lay
therein. He felt his face, but it was cold as ice. “Stop,” said he, “I
will warm thee a little,” and went to the fire and warmed his hand and
laid it on the dead man’s face, but he remained cold. Then he took him
out, and sat down by the fire and laid him on his breast and rubbed his
arms that the blood might circulate again. As this also did no good, he
thought to himself “When two people lie in bed together, they warm each
other,” and carried him to the bed, covered him over and lay down by
him. After a short time the dead man became warm too, and began to
move. Then said the youth, “See, little cousin, have I not warmed
thee?” The dead man, however, got up and cried, “Now will I strangle
thee.”

“What!” said he, “is that the way thou thankest me? Thou shalt at once
go into thy coffin again,” and he took him up, threw him into it, and
shut the lid. Then came the six men and carried him away again. “I
cannot manage to shudder,” said he. “I shall never learn it here as
long as I live.”

Then a man entered who was taller than all others, and looked terrible.
He was old, however, and had a long white beard. “Thou wretch,” cried
he, “thou shalt soon learn what it is to shudder, for thou shalt die.”
“Not so fast,” replied the youth. “If I am to die, I shall have to have
a say in it.” “I will soon seize thee,” said the fiend. “Softly,
softly, do not talk so big. I am as strong as thou art, and perhaps
even stronger.” “We shall see,” said the old man. “If thou art
stronger, I will let thee go—come, we will try.” Then he led him by
dark passages to a smith’s forge, took an axe, and with one blow struck
an anvil into the ground. “I can do better than that,” said the youth,
and went to the other anvil. The old man placed himself near and wanted
to look on, and his white beard hung down. Then the youth seized the
axe, split the anvil with one blow, and struck the old man’s beard in
with it. “Now I have thee,” said the youth. “Now it is thou who will
have to die.” Then he seized an iron bar and beat the old man till he
moaned and entreated him to stop, and he would give him great riches.
The youth drew out the axe and let him go. The old man led him back
into the castle, and in a cellar showed him three chests full of gold.
“Of these,” said he, “one part is for the poor, the other for the king,
the third is thine.” In the meantime it struck twelve, and the spirit
disappeared; the youth, therefore, was left in darkness. “I shall still
be able to find my way out,” said he, and felt about, found the way
into the room, and slept there by his fire. Next morning the King came
and said “Now thou must have learnt what shuddering is?” “No,” he
answered; “what can it be? My dead cousin was here, and a bearded man
came and showed me a great deal of money down below, but no one told me
what it was to shudder.” “Then,” said the King, “thou hast delivered
the castle, and shalt marry my daughter.” “That is all very well,” said
he, “but still I do not know what it is to shudder.”

Then the gold was brought up and the wedding celebrated; but howsoever
much the young king loved his wife, and however happy he was, he still
said always “If I could but shudder—if I could but shudder.” And at
last she was angry at this. Her waiting-maid said, “I will find a cure
for him; he shall soon learn what it is to shudder.” She went out to
the stream which flowed through the garden, and had a whole bucketful
of gudgeons brought to her. At night when the young king was sleeping,
his wife was to draw the clothes off him and empty the bucketful of
cold water with the gudgeons in it over him, so that the little fishes
would sprawl about him. When this was done, he woke up and cried “Oh,
what makes me shudder so?—what makes me shudder so, dear wife? Ah! now
I know what it is to shudder!”



5 The Wolf and the Seven Little Kids

There was once upon a time an old goat who had seven little kids, and
loved them with all the love of a mother for her children. One day she
wanted to go into the forest and fetch some food. So she called all
seven to her and said, “Dear children, I have to go into the forest, be
on your guard against the wolf; if he come in, he will devour you
all—skin, hair, and all. The wretch often disguises himself, but you
will know him at once by his rough voice and his black feet.” The kids
said, “Dear mother, we will take good care of ourselves; you may go
away without any anxiety.” Then the old one bleated, and went on her
way with an easy mind.

It was not long before some one knocked at the house-door and called,
“Open the door, dear children; your mother is here, and has brought
something back with her for each of you.” But the little kids knew that
it was the wolf, by the rough voice; “We will not open the door,” cried
they, “thou art not our mother. She has a soft, pleasant voice, but thy
voice is rough; thou art the wolf!” Then the wolf went away to a
shopkeeper and bought himself a great lump of chalk, ate this and made
his voice soft with it. The he came back, knocked at the door of the
house, and cried, “Open the door, dear children, your mother is here
and has brought something back with her for each of you.” But the wolf
had laid his black paws against the window, and the children saw them
and cried, “We will not open the door, our mother has not black feet
like thee; thou art the wolf.” Then the wolf ran to a baker and said,
“I have hurt my feet, rub some dough over them for me.” And when the
baker had rubbed his feet over, he ran to the miller and said, “Strew
some white meal over my feet for me.” The miller thought to himself,
“The wolf wants to deceive someone,” and refused; but the wolf said,
“If thou wilt not do it, I will devour thee.” Then the miller was
afraid, and made his paws white for him. Truly men are like that.

So now the wretch went for the third time to the house-door, knocked at
it and said, “Open the door for me, children, your dear little mother
has come home, and has brought every one of you something back from the
forest with her.” The little kids cried, “First show us thy paws that
we may know if thou art our dear little mother.” Then he put his paws
in through the window, and when the kids saw that they were white, they
believed that all he said was true, and opened the door. But who should
come in but the wolf! They were terrified and wanted to hide
themselves. One sprang under the table, the second into the bed, the
third into the stove, the fourth into the kitchen, the fifth into the
cupboard, the sixth under the washing-bowl, and the seventh into the
clock-case. But the wolf found them all, and used no great ceremony;
one after the other he swallowed them down his throat. The youngest,
who was in the clock-case, was the only one he did not find. When the
wolf had satisfied his appetite he took himself off, laid himself down
under a tree in the green meadow outside, and began to sleep. Soon
afterwards the old goat came home again from the forest. Ah! What a
sight she saw there! The house-door stood wide open. The table, chairs,
and benches were thrown down, the washing-bowl lay broken to pieces,
and the quilts and pillows were pulled off the bed. She sought her
children, but they were nowhere to be found. She called them one after
another by name, but no one answered. At last, when she came to the
youngest, a soft voice cried, “Dear mother, I am in the clock-case.”
She took the kid out, and it told her that the wolf had come and had
eaten all the others. Then you may imagine how she wept over her poor
children.

At length in her grief she went out, and the youngest kid ran with her.
When they came to the meadow, there lay the wolf by the tree and snored
so loud that the branches shook. She looked at him on every side and
saw that something was moving and struggling in his gorged belly. “Ah,
heavens,” said she, “is it possible that my poor children whom he has
swallowed down for his supper, can be still alive?” Then the kid had to
run home and fetch scissors, and a needle and thread, and the goat cut
open the monster’s stomach, and hardly had she make one cut, than one
little kid thrust its head out, and when she cut farther, all six
sprang out one after another, and were all still alive, and had
suffered no injury whatever, for in his greediness the monster had
swallowed them down whole. What rejoicing there was! They embraced
their dear mother, and jumped like a sailor at his wedding. The mother,
however, said, “Now go and look for some big stones, and we will fill
the wicked beast’s stomach with them while he is still asleep.” Then
the seven kids dragged the stones thither with all speed, and put as
many of them into his stomach as they could get in; and the mother
sewed him up again in the greatest haste, so that he was not aware of
anything and never once stirred.

When the wolf at length had had his sleep out, he got on his legs, and
as the stones in his stomach made him very thirsty, he wanted to go to
a well to drink. But when he began to walk and move about, the stones
in his stomach knocked against each other and rattled. Then cried he,

“What rumbles and tumbles
Against my poor bones?
I thought ’t was six kids,
But it’s naught but big stones.”


And when he got to the well and stooped over the water and was just
about to drink, the heavy stones made him fall in, and there was no
help, but he had to drown miserably. When the seven kids saw that, they
came running to the spot and cried aloud, “The wolf is dead! The wolf
is dead!” and danced for joy round about the well with their mother.



6 Faithful John

There was once on a time an old king who was ill, and thought to
himself, “I am lying on what must be my death-bed.” Then said he, “Tell
Faithful John to come to me.” Faithful John was his favourite servant,
and was so called, because he had for his whole life long been so true
to him. When therefore he came beside the bed, the King said to him,
“Most faithful John, I feel my end approaching, and have no anxiety
except about my son. He is still of tender age, and cannot always know
how to guide himself. If thou dost not promise me to teach him
everything that he ought to know, and to be his foster-father, I cannot
close my eyes in peace.” Then answered Faithful John, “I will not
forsake him, and will serve him with fidelity, even if it should cost
me my life.” On this, the old King said, “Now I die in comfort and
peace.” Then he added, “After my death, thou shalt show him the whole
castle: all the chambers, halls, and vaults, and all the treasures
which lie therein, but the last chamber in the long gallery, in which
is the picture of the princess of the Golden Dwelling, shalt thou not
show. If he sees that picture, he will fall violently in love with her,
and will drop down in a swoon, and go through great danger for her
sake, therefore thou must preserve him from that.” And when Faithful
John had once more given his promise to the old King about this, the
King said no more, but laid his head on his pillow, and died.

When the old King had been carried to his grave, Faithful John told the
young King all that he had promised his father on his deathbed, and
said, “This will I assuredly perform, and will be faithful to thee as I
have been faithful to him, even if it should cost me my life.” When the
mourning was over, Faithful John said to him, “It is now time that thou
shouldst see thine inheritance. I will show thee thy father’s palace.”
Then he took him about everywhere, up and down, and let him see all the
riches, and the magnificent apartments, only there was one room which
he did not open, that in which hung the dangerous picture. The picture
was, however, so placed that when the door was opened you looked
straight on it, and it was so admirably painted that it seemed to
breathe and live, and there was nothing more charming or more beautiful
in the whole world. The young King, however, plainly remarked that
Faithful John always walked past this one door, and said, “Why dost
thou never open this one for me?” “There is something within it,” he
replied, “which would terrify thee.” But the King answered, “I have
seen all the palace, and I will know what is in this room also,” and he
went and tried to break open the door by force. Then Faithful John held
him back and said, “I promised thy father before his death that thou
shouldst not see that which is in this chamber, it might bring the
greatest misfortune on thee and on me.” “Ah, no,” replied the young
King, “if I do not go in, it will be my certain destruction. I should
have no rest day or night until I had seen it with my own eyes. I shall
not leave the place now until thou hast unlocked the door.”

Then Faithful John saw that there was no help for it now, and with a
heavy heart and many sighs, sought out the key from the great bunch.
When he had opened the door, he went in first, and thought by standing
before him he could hide the portrait so that the King should not see
it in front of him, but what availed that? The King stood on tip-toe
and saw it over his shoulder. And when he saw the portrait of the
maiden, which was so magnificent and shone with gold and precious
stones, he fell fainting to the ground. Faithful John took him up,
carried him to his bed, and sorrowfully thought, “The misfortune has
befallen us, Lord God, what will be the end of it?” Then he
strengthened him with wine, until he came to himself again. The first
words the King said were, “Ah, the beautiful portrait! whose it it?”
“That is the princess of the Golden Dwelling,” answered Faithful John.
Then the King continued, “My love for her is so great, that if all the
leaves on all the trees were tongues, they could not declare it. I will
give my life to win her. Thou art my most Faithful John, thou must help
me.”

The faithful servant considered within himself for a long time how to
set about the matter, for it was difficult even to obtain a sight of
the King’s daughter. At length he thought of a way, and said to the
King, “Everything which she has about her is of gold—tables, chairs,
dishes, glasses, bowls, and household furniture. Among thy treasures
are five tons of gold; let one of the goldsmiths of the Kingdom work
these up into all manner of vessels and utensils, into all kinds of
birds, wild beasts and strange animals, such as may please her, and we
will go there with them and try our luck.”

The King ordered all the goldsmiths to be brought to him, and they had
to work night and day until at last the most splendid things were
prepared. When everything was stowed on board a ship, Faithful John put
on the dress of a merchant, and the King was forced to do the same in
order to make himself quite unrecognizable. Then they sailed across the
sea, and sailed on until they came to the town wherein dwelt the
princess of the Golden Dwelling.

Faithful John bade the King stay behind on the ship, and wait for him.
“Perhaps I shall bring the princess with me,” said he, “therefore see
that everything is in order; have the golden vessels set out and the
whole ship decorated.” Then he gathered together in his apron all kinds
of gold things, went on shore and walked straight to the royal palace.
When he entered the courtyard of the palace, a beautiful girl was
standing there by the well with two golden buckets in her hand, drawing
water with them. And when she was just turning round to carry away the
sparkling water she saw the stranger, and asked who he was. So he
answered, “I am a merchant,” and opened his apron, and let her look in.
Then she cried, “Oh, what beautiful gold things!” and put her pails
down and looked at the golden wares one after the other. Then said the
girl, “The princess must see these, she has such great pleasure in
golden things, that she will buy all you have.” She took him by the
hand and led him upstairs, for she was the waiting-maid. When the
King’s daughter saw the wares, she was quite delighted and said, “They
are so beautifully worked, that I will buy them all of thee.” But
Faithful John said, “I am only the servant of a rich merchant. The
things I have here are not to be compared with those my master has in
his ship. They are the most beautiful and valuable things that have
ever been made in gold.” She wanted to have everything brought to her
there, but he said, “There are so many of them that it would take a
great many days to do that, and so many rooms would be required to
exhibit them, that your house is not big enough.” Then her curiosity
and longing were still more excited, until at last she said, “Conduct
me to the ship, I will go there myself, and behold the treasures of
thine master.”

On this Faithful John was quite delighted, and led her to the ship, and
when the King saw her, he perceived that her beauty was even greater
than the picture had represented it to be, and thought no other than
that his heart would burst in twain. Then she got into the ship, and
the King led her within. Faithful John, however, remained behind with
the pilot, and ordered the ship to be pushed off, saying, “Set all
sail, till it fly like a bird in air.” Within, however, the King showed
her the golden vessels, every one of them, also the wild beasts and
strange animals. Many hours went by whilst she was seeing everything,
and in her delight she did not observe that the ship was sailing away.
After she had looked at the last, she thanked the merchant and wanted
to go home, but when she came to the side of the ship, she saw that it
was on the deep sea far from land, and hurrying onwards with all sail
set. “Ah,” cried she in her alarm, “I am betrayed! I am carried away
and have fallen into the power of a merchant—I would die rather!” The
King, however, seized her hand, and said, “I am not a merchant. I am a
king, and of no meaner origin than thou art, and if I have carried thee
away with subtlety, that has come to pass because of my exceeding great
love for thee. The first time that I looked on thy portrait, I fell
fainting to the ground.” When the princess of the Golden Dwelling heard
that, she was comforted, and her heart was inclined unto him, so that
she willingly consented to be his wife.

It so happened, however, while they were sailing onwards over the deep
sea, that Faithful John, who was sitting on the fore part of the
vessel, making music, saw three ravens in the air, which came flying
towards them. On this he stopped playing and listened to what they were
saying to each other, for that he well understood. One cried, “Oh,
there he is carrying home the princess of the Golden Dwelling.” “Yes,”
replied the second, “but he has not got her yet.” Said the third, “But
he has got her, she is sitting beside him in the ship.” Then the first
began again, and cried, “What good will that do him? When they reach
land a chestnut horse will leap forward to meet him, and the prince
will want to mount it, but if he does that, it will run away with him,
and rise up into the air with him, and he will never see his maiden
more.” Spake the second, “But is there no escape?”

“Oh, yes, if any one else gets on it swiftly, and takes out the pistol
which must be in its holster, and shoots the horse dead with it, the
young King is saved. But who knows that? And whosoever does know it,
and tells it to him, will be turned to stone from the toe to the knee.”
Then said the second, “I know more than that; even if the horse be
killed, the young King will still not keep his bride. When they go into
the castle together, a wrought bridal garment will be lying there in a
dish, and looking as if it were woven of gold and silver; it is,
however, nothing but sulphur and pitch, and if he put it on, it will
burn him to the very bone and marrow.” Said the third, “Is there no
escape at all?”

“Oh, yes,” replied the second, “if any one with gloves on seizes the
garment and throws it into the fire and burns it, the young King will
be saved. “But what avails that?” “Whosoever knows it and tells it to
him, half his body will become stone from the knee to the heart.”

Then said the third, “I know still more; even if the bridal garment be
burnt, the young King will still not have his bride. After the wedding,
when the dancing begins and the young queen is dancing, she will
suddenly turn pale and fall down as if dead, and if some one does not
lift her up and draw three drops of blood from her right breast and
spit them out again, she will die. But if any one who knows that were
to declare it, he would become stone from the crown of his head to the
sole of his foot.” When the ravens had spoken of this together, they
flew onwards, and Faithful John had well understood everything, but
from that time forth he became quiet and sad, for if he concealed what
he had heard from his master, the latter would be unfortunate, and if
he discovered it to him, he himself must sacrifice his life. At length,
however, he said to himself, “I will save my master, even if it bring
destruction on myself.”

When therefore they came to shore, all happened as had been foretold by
the ravens, and a magnificent chestnut horse sprang forward. “Good,”
said the King, “he shall carry me to my palace,” and was about to mount
it when Faithful John got before him, jumped quickly on it, drew the
pistol out of the holster, and shot the horse. Then the other
attendants of the King, who after all were not very fond of Faithful
John, cried, “How shameful to kill the beautiful animal, that was to
have carried the King to his palace.” But the King said, “Hold your
peace and leave him alone, he is my most faithful John, who knows what
may be the good of that!” They went into the palace, and in the hall
there stood a dish, and therein lay the bridal garment looking no
otherwise than as if it were made of gold and silver. The young King
went towards it and was about to take hold of it, but Faithful John
pushed him away, seized it with gloves on, carried it quickly to the
fire and burnt it. The other attendants again began to murmur, and
said, “Behold, now he is even burning the King’s bridal garment!” But
the young King said, “Who knows what good he may have done, leave him
alone, he is my most faithful John.”

And now the wedding was solemnized: the dance began, and the bride also
took part in it; then Faithful John was watchful and looked into her
face, and suddenly she turned pale and fell to the ground, as if she
were dead. On this he ran hastily to her, lifted her up and bore her
into a chamber—then he laid her down, and knelt and sucked the three
drops of blood from her right breast, and spat them out. Immediately
she breathed again and recovered herself, but the young King had seen
this, and being ignorant why Faithful John had done it, was angry and
cried, “Throw him into a dungeon.” Next morning Faithful John was
condemned, and led to the gallows, and when he stood on high, and was
about to be executed, he said, “Every one who has to die is permitted
before his end to make one last speech; may I too claim the right?”
“Yes,” answered the King, “it shall be granted unto thee.” Then said
Faithful John, “I am unjustly condemned, and have always been true to
thee,” and he related how he had hearkened to the conversation of the
ravens when on the sea, and how he had been obliged to do all these
things in order to save his master. Then cried the King, “Oh, my most
Faithful John. Pardon, pardon—bring him down.” But as Faithful John
spoke the last word he had fallen down lifeless and become a stone.

Thereupon the King and the Queen suffered great anguish, and the King
said, “Ah, how ill I have requited great fidelity!” and ordered the
stone figure to be taken up and placed in his bedroom beside his bed.
And as often as he looked on it he wept and said, “Ah, if I could bring
thee to life again, my most faithful John.” Some time passed and the
Queen bore twins, two sons who grew fast and were her delight. Once
when the Queen was at church and the two children were sitting playing
beside their father, the latter full of grief again looked at the stone
figure, sighed and said, “Ah, if I could but bring thee to life again,
my most faithful John.” Then the stone began to speak and said, “Thou
canst bring me to life again if thou wilt use for that purpose what is
dearest to thee.” Then cried the King, “I will give everything I have
in the world for thee.” The stone continued, “If thou wilt will cut off
the heads of thy two children with thine own hand, and sprinkle me with
their blood, I shall be restored to life.”

The King was terrified when he heard that he himself must kill his
dearest children, but he thought of faithful John’s great fidelity, and
how he had died for him, drew his sword, and with his own hand cut off
the children’s heads. And when he had smeared the stone with their
blood, life returned to it, and Faithful John stood once more safe and
healthy before him. He said to the King, “Thy truth shall not go
unrewarded,” and took the heads of the children, put them on again, and
rubbed the wounds with their blood, on which they became whole again
immediately, and jumped about, and went on playing as if nothing had
happened. Then the King was full of joy, and when he saw the Queen
coming he hid Faithful John and the two children in a great cupboard.
When she entered, he said to her, “Hast thou been praying in the
church?” “Yes,” answered she, “but I have constantly been thinking of
Faithful John and what misfortune has befallen him through us.” Then
said he, “Dear wife, we can give him his life again, but it will cost
us our two little sons, whom we must sacrifice.” The Queen turned pale,
and her heart was full of terror, but she said, “We owe it to him, for
his great fidelity.” Then the King was rejoiced that she thought as he
had thought, and went and opened the cupboard, and brought forth
Faithful John and the children, and said, “God be praised, he is
delivered, and we have our little sons again also,” and told her how
everything had occurred. Then they dwelt together in much happiness
until their death.



7 The Good Bargain

There was once a peasant who had driven his cow to the fair, and sold
her for seven thalers. On the way home he had to pass a pond, and
already from afar he heard the frogs crying, “Aik, aik, aik, aik.”
“Well,” said he to himself, “they are talking without rhyme or reason,
it is seven that I have received, not eight.” When he got to the water,
he cried to them, “Stupid animals that you are! Don’t you know better
than that? It is seven thalers and not eight.” The frogs, however,
stood to their, “aik aik, aik, aik.” “Come, then, if you won’t believe
it, I can count it out to you.” And he took his money out of his pocket
and counted out the seven thalers, always reckoning four and twenty
groschen to a thaler. The frogs, however, paid no attention to his
reckoning, but still cried, “aik, aik, aik, aik.” “What,” cried the
peasant, quite angry, “since you are determined to know better than I,
count it yourselves,” and threw all the money into the water to them.
He stood still and wanted to wait until they were done and had brought
him his own again, but the frogs maintained their opinion and cried
continually, “aik, aik, aik, aik,” and besides that, did not throw the
money out again. He still waited a long while until evening came on and
he was forced to go home. Then he abused the frogs and cried, “You
water-splashers, you thick-heads, you goggle-eyes, you have great
mouths and can screech till you hurt one’s ears, but you cannot count
seven thalers! Do you think I’m going to stand here till you get done?”
And with that he went away, but the frogs still cried, “aik, aik, aik,
aik,” after him till he went home quite angry.

After a while he bought another cow, which he killed, and he made the
calculation that if he sold the meat well he might gain as much as the
two cows were worth, and have the skin into the bargain. When therefore
he got to the town with the meat, a great troop of dogs were gathered
together in front of the gate, with a large greyhound at the head of
them, which jumped at the meat, snuffed at it, and barked, “Wow, wow,
wow.” As there was no stopping him, the peasant said to him, “Yes, yes,
I know quite well that thou art saying, ‘wow, wow, wow,’ because thou
wantest some of the meat; but I should fare badly if I were to give it
to thee.” The dog, however, answered nothing but “wow, wow.” “Wilt thou
promise not to devour it all then, and wilt thou go bail for thy
companions?” “Wow, wow, wow,” said the dog. “Well, if thou insistest on
it, I will leave it for thee; I know thee well, and know who is thy
master; but this I tell thee, I must have my money in three days or
else it will go ill with thee; thou must just bring it out to me.”
Thereupon he unloaded the meat and turned back again, the dogs fell
upon it and loudly barked, “wow, wow.”

The countryman, who heard them from afar, said to himself, “Hark, now
they all want some, but the big one is responsible to me for it.”

When three days had passed, the countryman thought, “To-night my money
will be in my pocket,” and was quite delighted. But no one would come
and pay it. “There is no trusting any one now,” said he; and at last he
lost patience, and went into the town to the butcher and demanded his
money. The butcher thought it was a joke, but the peasant said,
“Jesting apart, I will have my money! Did not the great dog bring you
the whole of the slaughtered cow three days ago?” Then the butcher grew
angry, snatched a broomstick and drove him out. “Wait a while,” said
the peasant, “there is still some justice in the world!” and went to
the royal palace and begged for an audience. He was led before the
King, who sat there with his daughter, and asked him what injury he had
suffered. “Alas!” said he, “the frogs and the dogs have taken from me
what is mine, and the butcher has paid me for it with the stick,” and
he related at full length all that had happened. Thereupon the King’s
daughter began to laugh heartily, and the King said to him, “I cannot
give you justice in this, but you shall have my daughter to wife for
it,—in her whole life she has never yet laughed as she has just done at
thee, and I have promised her to him who could make her laugh. Thou
mayst thank God for thy good fortune!”

“Oh,” answered the peasant, “I will not have her, I have a wife
already, and she is one too many for me; when I go home, it is just as
bad as if I had a wife standing in every corner.” Then the King grew
angry, and said, “Thou art a boor.” “Ah, Lord King,” replied the
peasant, “what can you expect from an ox, but beef?” “Stop,” answered
the King, “thou shalt have another reward. Be off now, but come back in
three days, and then thou shalt have five hundred counted out in full.”

When the peasant went out by the gate, the sentry said, “Thou hast made
the King’s daughter laugh, so thou wilt certainly receive something
good.” “Yes, that is what I think,” answered the peasant; “five hundred
are to be counted out to me.” “Hark thee,” said the soldier, “give me
some of it. What canst thou do with all that money?” “As it is thou,”
said the peasant, “thou shalt have two hundred; present thyself in
three days’ time before the King, and let it be paid to thee.” A Jew,
who was standing by and had heard the conversation, ran after the
peasant, held him by the coat, and said, “Oh, wonder! what a luck-child
thou art! I will change it for thee, I will change it for thee into
small coins, what dost thou want with the great thalers?” “Jew,” said
the countryman, “three hundred canst thou still have; give it to me at
once in coin, in three days from this, thou wilt be paid for it by the
King.” The Jew was delighted with the profit, and brought the sum in
bad groschen, three of which were worth two good ones. After three days
had passed, according to the King’s command, the peasant went before
the King. “Pull his coat off,” said the latter, “and he shall have his
five hundred.” “Ah!” said the peasant, “they no longer belong to me; I
presented two hundred of them to the sentinel, and three hundred the
Jew has changed for me, so by right nothing at all belongs to me.” In
the meantime the soldier and the Jew entered and claimed what they had
gained from the peasant, and they received the blows strictly counted
out. The soldier bore it patiently and knew already how it tasted, but
the Jew said sorrowfully, “Alas, alas, are these the heavy thalers?”
The King could not help laughing at the peasant, and as all his anger
was gone, he said, “As thou hast already lost thy reward before it fell
to thy lot, I will give thee something in the place of it. Go into my
treasure chamber and get some money for thyself, as much as thou wilt.”
The peasant did not need to be told twice, and stuffed into his big
pockets whatsoever would go in. Afterwards he went to an inn and
counted out his money. The Jew had crept after him and heard how he
muttered to himself, “That rogue of a King has cheated me after all,
why could he not have given me the money himself, and then I should
have known what I had? How can I tell now if what I have had the luck
to put in my pockets is right or not?” “Good heavens!” said the Jew to
himself, “that man is speaking disrespectfully of our lord the King, I
will run and inform, and then I shall get a reward, and he will be
punished as well.”

When the King heard of the peasant’s words he fell into a passion, and
commanded the Jew to go and bring the offender to him. The Jew ran to
the peasant, “You are to go at once to the lord King in the very
clothes you have on.” “I know what’s right better than that,” answered
the peasant, “I shall have a new coat made first. Dost thou think that
a man with so much money in his pocket is to go there in his ragged old
coat?” The Jew, as he saw that the peasant would not stir without
another coat, and as he feared that if the King’s anger cooled, he
himself would lose his reward, and the peasant his punishment, said, “I
will out of pure friendship lend thee a coat for the short time. What
will people not do for love!” The peasant was contented with this, put
the Jew’s coat on, and went off with him.

The King reproached the countryman because of the evil speaking of
which the Jew had informed him. “Ah,” said the peasant, “what a Jew
says is always false—no true word ever comes out of his mouth! That
rascal there is capable of maintaining that I have his coat on.”

“What is that?” shrieked the Jew. “Is the coat not mine? Have I not
lent it to thee out of pure friendship, in order that thou might appear
before the lord King?” When the King heard that, he said, “The Jew has
assuredly deceived one or the other of us, either myself or the
peasant,” and again he ordered something to be counted out to him in
hard thalers. The peasant, however, went home in the good coat, with
the good money in his pocket, and said to himself, “This time I have
hit it!”



8 The Wonderful Musician

There was once a wonderful musician, who went quite alone through a
forest and thought of all manner of things, and when nothing was left
for him to think about, he said to himself, “Time is beginning to pass
heavily with me here in the forest, I will fetch hither a good
companion for myself.” Then he took his fiddle from his back, and
played so that it echoed through the trees. It was not long before a
wolf came trotting through the thicket towards him. “Ah, here is a wolf
coming! I have no desire for him!” said the musician; but the wolf came
nearer and said to him, “Ah, dear musician, how beautifully thou dost
play. I should like to learn that, too.” “It is soon learnt,” the
musician replied, “thou hast only to do all that I bid thee.” “Oh,
musician,” said the wolf, “I will obey thee as a scholar obeys his
master.” The musician bade him follow, and when they had gone part of
the way together, they came to an old oak-tree which was hollow inside,
and cleft in the middle. “Look,” said the musician, “if thou wilt learn
to fiddle, put thy fore paws into this crevice.” The wolf obeyed, but
the musician quickly picked up a stone and with one blow wedged his two
paws so fast that he was forced to stay there like a prisoner. “Stay
there until I come back again,” said the musician, and went his way.

After a while he again said to himself, “Time is beginning to pass
heavily with me here in the forest, I will fetch hither another
companion,” and took his fiddle and again played in the forest. It was
not long before a fox came creeping through the trees towards him. “Ah,
there’s a fox coming!” said the musician. “I have no desire for him.”
The fox came up to him and said, “Oh, dear musician, how beautifully
thou dost play! I should like to learn that too.” “That is soon
learnt,” said the musician. “Thou hast only to do everything that I bid
thee.” “Oh, musician,” then said the fox, “I will obey thee as a
scholar obeys his master.” “Follow me,” said the musician; and when
they had walked a part of the way, they came to a footpath, with high
bushes on both sides of it. There the musician stood still, and from
one side bent a young hazel-bush down to the ground, and put his foot
on the top of it, then he bent down a young tree from the other side as
well, and said, “Now little fox, if thou wilt learn something, give me
thy left front paw.” The fox obeyed, and the musician fastened his paw
to the left bough. “Little fox,” said he, “now reach me thy right paw”
and he tied it to the right bough. When he had examined whether they
were firm enough, he let go, and the bushes sprang up again, and jerked
up the little fox, so that it hung struggling in the air. “Wait there
till I come back again,” said the musician, and went his way.

Again he said to himself, “Time is beginning to pass heavily with me
here in the forest, I will fetch hither another companion,” so he took
his fiddle, and the sound echoed through the forest. Then a little hare
came springing towards him. “Why, a hare is coming,” said the musician,
“I do not want him.” “Ah, dear musician,” said the hare, “how
beautifully thou dost fiddle; I too, should like to learn that.” “That
is soon learnt,” said the musician, “thou hast only to do everything
that I bid thee.”

“Oh, musician,” replied the little hare, “I will obey thee as a scholar
obeys his master.” They went a part of the way together until they came
to an open space in the forest, where stood an aspen tree. The musician
tied a long string round the little hare’s neck, the other end of which
he fastened to the tree. “Now briskly, little hare, run twenty times
round the tree!” cried the musician, and the little hare obeyed, and
when it had run round twenty times, it had twisted the string twenty
times round the trunk of the tree, and the little hare was caught, and
let it pull and tug as it liked, it only made the string cut into its
tender neck. “Wait there till I come back,” said the musician, and went
onwards.

The wolf, in the meantime, had pushed and pulled and bitten at the
stone, and had worked so long that he had set his feet at liberty and
had drawn them once more out of the cleft. Full of anger and rage he
hurried after the musician and wanted to tear him to pieces. When the
fox saw him running, he began to lament, and cried with all his might,
“Brother wolf, come to my help, the musician has betrayed me!” The wolf
drew down the little tree, bit the cord in two, and freed the fox, who
went with him to take revenge on the musician. They found the tied-up
hare, whom likewise they delivered, and then they all sought the enemy
together.

The musician had once more played his fiddle as he went on his way, and
this time he had been more fortunate. The sound reached the ears of a
poor wood-cutter, who instantly, whether he would or no, gave up his
work and came with his hatchet under his arm to listen to the music.
“At last comes the right companion,” said the musician, “for I was
seeking a human being, and no wild beast.” And he began and played so
beautifully and delightfully that the poor man stood there as if
bewitched, and his heart leaped with gladness. And as he thus stood,
the wolf, the fox, and the hare came up, and he saw well that they had
some evil design. So he raised his glittering axe and placed himself
before the musician, as if to say, “Whoso wishes to touch him let him
beware, for he will have to do with me!” Then the beasts were terrified
and ran back into the forest. The musician, however, played once more
to the man out of gratitude, and then went onwards.



9 The Twelve Brothers

There were once on a time a king and a queen who lived happily together
and had twelve children, but they were all boys. Then said the King to
his wife, “If the thirteenth child which thou art about to bring into
the world, is a girl, the twelve boys shall die, in order that her
possessions may be great, and that the kingdom may fall to her alone.”
He caused likewise twelve coffins to be made, which were already filled
with shavings, and in each lay the little pillow for the dead, and he
had them taken into a locked-up room, and then he gave the Queen the
key of it, and bade her not to speak of this to any one.

The mother, however, now sat and lamented all day long, until the
youngest son, who was always with her, and whom she had named Benjamin,
from the Bible, said to her, “Dear mother, why art thou so sad?”

“Dearest child,” she answered, “I may not tell thee.” But he let her
have no rest until she went and unlocked the room, and showed him the
twelve coffins ready filled with shavings. Then she said, “my dearest
Benjamin, thy father has had these coffins made for thee and for thy
eleven brothers, for if I bring a little girl into the world, you are
all to be killed and buried in them.” And as she wept while she was
saying this, the son comforted her and said, “Weep not, dear mother, we
will save ourselves, and go hence.” But she said, “Go forth into the
forest with thy eleven brothers, and let one sit constantly on the
highest tree which can be found, and keep watch, looking towards the
tower here in the castle. If I give birth to a little son, I will put
up a white flag, and then you may venture to come back, but if I bear a
daughter, I will hoist a red flag, and then fly hence as quickly as you
are able, and may the good God protect you. And every night I will rise
up and pray for you—in winter that you may be able to warm yourself at
a fire, and in summer that you may not faint away in the heat.”

After she had blessed her sons therefore, they went forth into the
forest. They each kept watch in turn, and sat on the highest oak and
looked towards the tower. When eleven days had passed and the turn came
to Benjamin, he saw that a flag was being raised. It was, however, not
the white, but the blood-red flag which announced that they were all to
die. When the brothers heard that, they were very angry and said, “Are
we all to suffer death for the sake of a girl? We swear that we will
avenge ourselves!—wheresoever we find a girl, her red blood shall
flow.”

Thereupon they went deeper into the forest, and in the midst of it,
where it was the darkest, they found a little bewitched hut, which was
standing empty. Then said they, “Here we will dwell, and thou Benjamin,
who art the youngest and weakest, thou shalt stay at home and keep
house, we others will go out and get food.” Then they went into the
forest and shot hares, wild deer, birds and pigeons, and whatsoever
there was to eat; this they took to Benjamin, who had to dress it for
them in order that they might appease their hunger. They lived together
ten years in the little hut, and the time did not appear long to them.

The little daughter which their mother the Queen had given birth to,
was now grown up; she was good of heart, and fair of face, and had a
golden star on her forehead. Once, when it was the great washing, she
saw twelve men’s shirts among the things, and asked her mother, “To
whom do these twelve shirts belong, for they are far too small for
father?” Then the Queen answered with a heavy heart, “Dear child, these
belong to thy twelve brothers.” Said the maiden, “Where are my twelve
brothers, I have never yet heard of them?” She replied, “God knows
where they are, they are wandering about the world.” Then she took the
maiden and opened the chamber for her, and showed her the twelve
coffins with the shavings, and pillows for the head. “These coffins,”
said she, “were destined for thy brothers, but they went away secretly
before thou wert born,” and she related to her how everything had
happened; then said the maiden, “Dear mother, weep not, I will go and
seek my brothers.”

So she took the twelve shirts and went forth, and straight into the
great forest. She walked the whole day, and in the evening she came to
the bewitched hut. Then she entered it and found a young boy, who
asked, “From whence comest thou, and whither art thou bound?” and was
astonished that she was so beautiful, and wore royal garments, and had
a star on her forehead. And she answered, “I am a king’s daughter, and
am seeking my twelve brothers, and I will walk as far as the sky is
blue until I find them.” She likewise showed him the twelve shirts
which belonged to them. Then Benjamin saw that she was his sister, and
said, “I am Benjamin, thy youngest brother.” And she began to weep for
joy, and Benjamin wept also, and they kissed and embraced each other
with the greatest love. But after this he said, “Dear sister, there is
still one difficulty. We have agreed that every maiden whom we meet
shall die, because we have been obliged to leave our kingdom on account
of a girl.” Then said she, “I will willingly die, if by so doing I can
deliver my twelve brothers.”

“No,” answered he, “thou shalt not die, seat thyself beneath this tub
until our eleven brothers come, and then I will soon come to an
agreement with them.”

She did so, and when it was night the others came from hunting, and
their dinner was ready. And as they were sitting at table, and eating,
they asked, “What news is there?” Said Benjamin, “Don’t you know
anything?” “No,” they answered. He continued, “You have been in the
forest and I have stayed at home, and yet I know more than you do.”
“Tell us then,” they cried. He answered, “But promise me that the first
maiden who meets us shall not be killed.” “Yes,” they all cried, “she
shall have mercy, only do tell us.”

Then said he, “Our sister is here,” and he lifted up the tub, and the
King’s daughter came forth in her royal garments with the golden star
on her forehead, and she was beautiful, delicate and fair. Then they
were all rejoiced, and fell on her neck, and kissed and loved her with
all their hearts.

Now she stayed at home with Benjamin and helped him with the work. The
eleven went into the forest and caught game, and deer, and birds, and
wood-pigeons that they might have food, and the little sister and
Benjamin took care to make it ready for them. She sought for the wood
for cooking and herbs for vegetables, and put the pans on the fire so
that the dinner was always ready when the eleven came. She likewise
kept order in the little house, and put beautifully white clean
coverings on the little beds, and the brothers were always contented
and lived in great harmony with her.

Once on a time the two at home had prepared a beautiful entertainment,
and when they were all together, they sat down and ate and drank and
were full of gladness. There was, however, a little garden belonging to
the bewitched house wherein stood twelve lily flowers, which are
likewise called students. She wished to give her brothers pleasure, and
plucked the twelve flowers, and thought she would present each brother
with one while at dinner. But at the self-same moment that she plucked
the flowers the twelve brothers were changed into twelve ravens, and
flew away over the forest, and the house and garden vanished likewise.
And now the poor maiden was alone in the wild forest, and when she
looked around, an old woman was standing near her who said, “My child,
what hast thou done? Why didst thou not leave the twelve white flowers
growing? They were thy brothers, who are now for evermore changed into
ravens.” The maiden said, weeping, “Is there no way of delivering
them?”

“No,” said the woman, “there is but one in the whole world, and that is
so hard that thou wilt not deliver them by it, for thou must be dumb
for seven years, and mayst not speak or laugh, and if thou speakest one
single word, and only an hour of the seven years is wanting, all is in
vain, and thy brothers will be killed by the one word.”

Then said the maiden in her heart, “I know with certainty that I shall
set my brothers free,” and went and sought a high tree and seated
herself in it and span, and neither spoke nor laughed. Now it so
happened that a king was hunting in the forest, who had a great
greyhound which ran to the tree on which the maiden was sitting, and
sprang about it, whining, and barking at her. Then the King came by and
saw the beautiful King’s daughter with the golden star on her brow, and
was so charmed with her beauty that he called to ask her if she would
be his wife. She made no answer, but nodded a little with her head. So
he climbed up the tree himself, carried her down, placed her on his
horse, and bore her home. Then the wedding was solemnized with great
magnificence and rejoicing, but the bride neither spoke nor smiled.
When they had lived happily together for a few years, the King’s
mother, who was a wicked woman, began to slander the young Queen, and
said to the King, “This is a common beggar girl whom thou hast brought
back with thee. Who knows what impious tricks she practises secretly!
Even if she be dumb, and not able to speak, she still might laugh for
once; but those who do not laugh have bad consciences.” At first the
King would not believe it, but the old woman urged this so long, and
accused her of so many evil things, that at last the King let himself
be persuaded and sentenced her to death.

And now a great fire was lighted in the courtyard in which she was to
be burnt, and the King stood above at the window and looked on with
tearful eyes, because he still loved her so much. And when she was
bound fast to the stake, and the fire was licking at her clothes with
its red tongue, the last instant of the seven years expired. Then a
whirring sound was heard in the air, and twelve ravens came flying
towards the place, and sank downwards, and when they touched the earth
they were her twelve brothers, whom she had delivered. They tore the
fire asunder, extinguished the flames, set their dear sister free, and
kissed and embraced her. And now as she dared to open her mouth and
speak, she told the King why she had been dumb, and had never laughed.
The King rejoiced when he heard that she was innocent, and they all
lived in great unity until their death. The wicked step-mother was
taken before the judge, and put into a barrel filled with boiling oil
and venomous snakes, and died an evil death.



10 The Pack of Ragamuffins

The cock once said to the hen, “It is now the time when our nuts are
ripe, so let us go to the hill together and for once eat our fill
before the squirrel takes them all away.” “Yes,” replied the hen,
“come, we will have some pleasure together.” Then they went away to the
hill, and on it was a bright day they stayed till evening. Now I do not
know whether it was that they had eaten till they were too fat, or
whether they had become proud, but they would not go home on foot, and
the cock had to build a little carriage of nut-shells. When it was
ready, the little hen seated herself in it and said to the cock, “Thou
canst just harness thyself to it.” “I like that!” said the cock, “I
would rather go home on foot than let myself be harnessed to it; no,
that is not our bargain. I do not mind being coachman and sitting on
the box, but drag it myself I will not.”

As they were thus disputing, a duck quacked to them, “You thieving
folks, who bade you go to my nut-hill? Well, you shall suffer for it!”
and ran with open beak at the cock. But the cock also was not idle, and
fell boldly on the duck, and at last wounded her so with his spurs that
she also begged for mercy, and willingly let herself be harnessed to
the carriage as a punishment. The little cock now seated himself on the
box and was coachman, and thereupon they went off in a gallop, with
“Duck, go as fast as thou canst.” When they had driven a part of the
way they met two foot-passengers, a pin and a needle. They cried,
“Stop! stop!” and said that it would soon be as dark as pitch, and then
they could not go a step further, and that it was so dirty on the road,
and asked if they could not get into the carriage for a while. They had
been at the tailor’s public-house by the gate, and had stayed too long
over the beer. As they were thin people, who did not take up much room,
the cock let them both get in, but they had to promise him and his
little hen not to step on their feet. Late in the evening they came to
an inn, and as they did not like to go further by night, and as the
duck also was not strong on her feet, and fell from one side to the
other, they went in. The host at first made many objections, his house
was already full, besides he thought they could not be very
distinguished persons; but at last, as they made pleasant speeches, and
told him that he should have the egg which the little hen has laid on
the way, and should likewise keep the duck, which laid one every day,
he at length said that they might stay the night. And now they had
themselves well served, and feasted and rioted. Early in the morning,
when day was breaking, and every one was asleep, the cock awoke the
hen, brought the egg, pecked it open, and they ate it together, but
they threw the shell on the hearth. Then they went to the needle which
was still asleep, took it by the head and stuck it into the cushion of
the landlord’s chair, and put the pin in his towel, and at the last
without more ado they flew away over the heath. The duck who liked to
sleep in the open air and had stayed in the yard, heard them going
away, made herself merry and found a stream, down which she swam, which
was a much quicker way of travelling than being harnessed to a
carriage. The host did not get out of bed for two hours after this; he
washed himself and wanted to dry himself, then the pin went over his
face and made a red streak from one ear to the other. After this he
went into the kitchen and wanted to light a pipe, but when he came to
the hearth the egg-shell darted into his eyes. “This morning everything
attacks my head,” said he, and angrily sat down on his grandfather’s
chair, but he quickly started up again and cried, “Woe is me,” for the
needle had pricked him still worse than the pin, and not in the head.
Now he was thoroughly angry, and suspected the guests who had come so
late the night before, and when he went and looked about for them, they
were gone. Then he made a vow to take no more ragamuffins into his
house, for they consume much, pay for nothing, and play mischievous
tricks into the bargain by way of gratitude.



11 Little Brother and Little Sister

Little brother took his little sister by the hand and said, “Since our
mother died we have had no happiness; our step-mother beats us every
day, and if we come near her she kicks us away with her foot. Our meals
are the hard crusts of bread that are left over; and the little dog
under the table is better off, for she often throws it a nice bit. May
Heaven pity us. If our mother only knew! Come, we will go forth
together into the wide world.”

They walked the whole day over meadows, fields, and stony places; and
when it rained the little sister said, “Heaven and our hearts are
weeping together.” In the evening they came to a large forest, and they
were so weary with sorrow and hunger and the long walk, that they lay
down in a hollow tree and fell asleep.

The next day when they awoke, the sun was already high in the sky, and
shone down hot into the tree. Then the brother said, “Sister, I am
thirsty; if I knew of a little brook I would go and just take a drink;
I think I hear one running.” The brother got up and took the little
sister by the hand, and they set off to find the brook.

But the wicked step-mother was a witch, and had seen how the two
children had gone away, and had crept after them privily, as witches do
creep, and had bewitched all the brooks in the forest.

Now when they found a little brook leaping brightly over the stones,
the brother was going to drink out of it, but the sister heard how it
said as it ran, “Who drinks of me will be a tiger; who drinks of me
will be a tiger.” Then the sister cried, “Pray, dear brother, do not
drink, or you will become a wild beast, and tear me to pieces.” The
brother did not drink, although he was so thirsty, but said, “I will
wait for the next spring.”

When they came to the next brook the sister heard this also say, “Who
drinks of me will be a wolf; who drinks of me will be a wolf.” Then the
sister cried out, “Pray, dear brother, do not drink, or you will become
a wolf, and devour me.” The brother did not drink, and said, “I will
wait until we come to the next spring, but then I must drink, say what
you like; for my thirst is too great.”

And when they came to the third brook the sister heard how it said as
it ran, “Who drinks of me will be a roebuck; who drinks of me will be a
roebuck.” The sister said, “Oh, I pray you, dear brother, do not drink,
or you will become a roebuck, and run away from me.” But the brother
had knelt down at once by the brook, and had bent down and drunk some
of the water, and as soon as the first drops touched his lips he lay
there a young roebuck.

And now the sister wept over her poor bewitched brother, and the little
roe wept also, and sat sorrowfully near to her. But at last the girl
said, “Be quiet, dear little roe, I will never, never leave you.”

Then she untied her golden garter and put it round the roebuck’s neck,
and she plucked rushes and wove them into a soft cord. With this she
tied the little beast and led it on, and she walked deeper and deeper
into the forest.

And when they had gone a very long way they came at last to a little
house, and the girl looked in; and as it was empty, she thought, “We
can stay here and live.” Then she sought for leaves and moss to make a
soft bed for the roe; and every morning she went out and gathered roots
and berries and nuts for herself, and brought tender grass for the roe,
who ate out of her hand, and was content and played round about her. In
the evening, when the sister was tired, and had said her prayer, she
laid her head upon the roebuck’s back: that was her pillow, and she
slept softly on it. And if only the brother had had his human form it
would have been a delightful life.

For some time they were alone like this in the wilderness. But it
happened that the King of the country held a great hunt in the forest.
Then the blasts of the horns, the barking of dogs, and the merry shouts
of the huntsmen rang through the trees, and the roebuck heard all, and
was only too anxious to be there. “Oh,” said he, to his sister, “let me
be off to the hunt, I cannot bear it any longer;” and he begged so much
that at last she agreed. “But,” said she to him, “come back to me in
the evening; I must shut my door for fear of the rough huntsmen, so
knock and say, ‘My little sister, let me in!’ that I may know you; and
if you do not say that, I shall not open the door.” Then the young
roebuck sprang away; so happy was he and so merry in the open air.

The King and the huntsmen saw the pretty creature, and started after
him, but they could not catch him, and when they thought that they
surely had him, away he sprang through the bushes and could not be
seen. When it was dark he ran to the cottage, knocked, and said, “My
little sister, let me in.” Then the door was opened for him, and he
jumped in, and rested himself the whole night through upon his soft
bed.

The next day the hunt went on afresh, and when the roebuck again heard
the bugle-horn, and the ho! ho! of the huntsmen, he had no peace, but
said, “Sister, let me out, I must be off.” His sister opened the door
for him, and said, “But you must be here again in the evening and say
your pass-word.”

When the King and his huntsmen again saw the young roebuck with the
golden collar, they all chased him, but he was too quick and nimble for
them. This went on for the whole day, but at last by the evening the
huntsmen had surrounded him, and one of them wounded him a little in
the foot, so that he limped and ran slowly. Then a hunter crept after
him to the cottage and heard how he said, “My little sister, let me
in,” and saw that the door was opened for him, and was shut again at
once. The huntsman took notice of it all, and went to the King and told
him what he had seen and heard. Then the King said, “To-morrow we will
hunt once more.”

The little sister, however, was dreadfully frightened when she saw that
her fawn was hurt. She washed the blood off him, laid herbs on the
wound, and said, “Go to your bed, dear roe, that you may get well
again.” But the wound was so slight that the roebuck, next morning, did
not feel it any more. And when he again heard the sport outside, he
said, “I cannot bear it, I must be there; they shall not find it so
easy to catch me.” The sister cried, and said, “This time they will
kill you, and here am I alone in the forest and forsaken by all the
world. I will not let you out.” “Then you will have me die of grief,”
answered the roe; “when I hear the bugle-horns I feel as if I must jump
out of my skin.” Then the sister could not do otherwise, but opened the
door for him with a heavy heart, and the roebuck, full of health and
joy, bounded into the forest.

When the King saw him, he said to his huntsmen, “Now chase him all day
long till night-fall, but take care that no one does him any harm.”

As soon as the sun had set, the King said to the huntsman, “Now come
and show me the cottage in the wood;” and when he was at the door, he
knocked and called out, “Dear little sister, let me in.” Then the door
opened, and the King walked in, and there stood a maiden more lovely
than any he had ever seen. The maiden was frightened when she saw, not
her little roe, but a man come in who wore a golden crown upon his
head. But the King looked kindly at her, stretched out his hand, and
said, “Will you go with me to my palace and be my dear wife?” “Yes,
indeed,” answered the maiden, “but the little roe must go with me, I
cannot leave him.” The King said, “It shall stay with you as long as
you live, and shall want nothing.” Just then he came running in, and
the sister again tied him with the cord of rushes, took it in her own
hand, and went away with the King from the cottage.

The King took the lovely maiden upon his horse and carried her to his
palace, where the wedding was held with great pomp. She was now the
Queen, and they lived for a long time happily together; the roebuck was
tended and cherished, and ran about in the palace-garden.

But the wicked step-mother, because of whom the children had gone out
into the world, thought all the time that the sister had been torn to
pieces by the wild beasts in the wood, and that the brother had been
shot for a roebuck by the huntsmen. Now when she heard that they were
so happy, and so well off, envy and hatred rose in her heart and left
her no peace, and she thought of nothing but how she could bring them
again to misfortune. Her own daughter, who was ugly as night, and had
only one eye, grumbled at her and said, “A Queen! that ought to have
been my luck.” “Only be quiet,” answered the old woman, and comforted
her by saying, “when the time comes I shall be ready.”

As time went on, the Queen had a pretty little boy, and it happened
that the King was out hunting; so the old witch took the form of the
chamber-maid, went into the room where the Queen lay, and said to her,
“Come, the bath is ready; it will do you good, and give you fresh
strength; make haste before it gets cold.”

The daughter also was close by; so they carried the weakly Queen into
the bath-room, and put her into the bath; then they shut the door and
ran away. But in the bath-room they had made a fire of such deadly heat
that the beautiful young Queen was soon suffocated.

When this was done the old woman took her daughter, put a nightcap on
her head, and laid her in bed in place of the Queen. She gave her too
the shape and the look of the Queen, only she could not make good the
lost eye. But in order that the King might not see it, she was to lie
on the side on which she had no eye.

In the evening when he came home and heard that he had a son he was
heartily glad, and was going to the bed of his dear wife to see how she
was. But the old woman quickly called out, “For your life leave the
curtains closed; the Queen ought not to see the light yet, and must
have rest.” The King went away, and did not find out that a false Queen
was lying in the bed.

But at midnight, when all slept, the nurse, who was sitting in the
nursery by the cradle, and who was the only person awake, saw the door
open and the true Queen walk in. She took the child out of the cradle,
laid it on her arm, and suckled it. Then she shook up its pillow, laid
the child down again, and covered it with the little quilt. And she did
not forget the roebuck, but went into the corner where it lay, and
stroked its back. Then she went quite silently out of the door again.
The next morning the nurse asked the guards whether anyone had come
into the palace during the night, but they answered, “No, we have seen
no one.”

She came thus many nights and never spoke a word: the nurse always saw
her, but she did not dare to tell anyone about it.

When some time had passed in this manner, the Queen began to speak in
the night, and said—

“How fares my child, how fares my roe?
Twice shall I come, then never more.”


The nurse did not answer, but when the Queen had gone again, went to
the King and told him all. The King said, “Ah, heavens! what is this?
To-morrow night I will watch by the child.” In the evening he went into
the nursery, and at midnight the Queen again appeared and said—

“How fares my child, how fares my roe?
Once will I come, then never more.”


And she nursed the child as she was wont to do before she disappeared.
The King dared not speak to her, but on the next night he watched
again. Then she said—

“How fares my child, how fares my roe?
This time I come, then never more.”


Then the King could not restrain himself; he sprang towards her, and
said, “You can be none other than my dear wife.” She answered, “Yes, I
am your dear wife,” and at the same moment she received life again, and
by God’s grace became fresh, rosy, and full of health.

Then she told the King the evil deed which the wicked witch and her
daughter had been guilty of towards her. The King ordered both to be
led before the judge, and judgment was delivered against them. The
daughter was taken into the forest where she was torn to pieces by wild
beasts, but the witch was cast into the fire and miserably burnt. And
as soon as she was burnt the roebuck changed his shape, and received
his human form again, so the sister and brother lived happily together
all their lives.



12 Rapunzel

There were once a man and a woman who had long in vain wished for a
child. At length the woman hoped that God was about to grant her
desire. These people had a little window at the back of their house
from which a splendid garden could be seen, which was full of the most
beautiful flowers and herbs. It was, however, surrounded by a high
wall, and no one dared to go into it because it belonged to an
enchantress, who had great power and was dreaded by all the world. One
day the woman was standing by this window and looking down into the
garden, when she saw a bed which was planted with the most beautiful
rampion (rapunzel), and it looked so fresh and green that she longed
for it, and had the greatest desire to eat some. This desire increased
every day, and as she knew that she could not get any of it, she quite
pined away, and looked pale and miserable. Then her husband was
alarmed, and asked, “What aileth thee, dear wife?” “Ah,” she replied,
“if I can’t get some of the rampion, which is in the garden behind our
house, to eat, I shall die.” The man, who loved her, thought, “Sooner
than let thy wife die, bring her some of the rampion thyself, let it
cost thee what it will.” In the twilight of the evening, he clambered
down over the wall into the garden of the enchantress, hastily clutched
a handful of rampion, and took it to his wife. She at once made herself
a salad of it, and ate it with much relish. She, however, liked it so
much—so very much, that the next day she longed for it three times as
much as before. If he was to have any rest, her husband must once more
descend into the garden. In the gloom of evening, therefore, he let
himself down again; but when he had clambered down the wall he was
terribly afraid, for he saw the enchantress standing before him. “How
canst thou dare,” said she with angry look, “to descend into my garden
and steal my rampion like a thief? Thou shalt suffer for it!” “Ah,”
answered he, “let mercy take the place of justice, I only made up my
mind to do it out of necessity. My wife saw your rampion from the
window, and felt such a longing for it that she would have died if she
had not got some to eat.” Then the enchantress allowed her anger to be
softened, and said to him, “If the case be as thou sayest, I will allow
thee to take away with thee as much rampion as thou wilt, only I make
one condition, thou must give me the child which thy wife will bring
into the world; it shall be well treated, and I will care for it like a
mother.” The man in his terror consented to everything, and when the
woman was brought to bed, the enchantress appeared at once, gave the
child the name of Rapunzel, and took it away with her.

Rapunzel grew into the most beautiful child beneath the sun. When she
was twelve years old, the enchantress shut her into a tower, which lay
in a forest, and had neither stairs nor door, but quite at the top was
a little window. When the enchantress wanted to go in, she placed
herself beneath it and cried,

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down thy hair to me.”


Rapunzel had magnificent long hair, fine as spun gold, and when she
heard the voice of the enchantress she unfastened her braided tresses,
wound them round one of the hooks of the window above, and then the
hair fell twenty ells down, and the enchantress climbed up by it.

After a year or two, it came to pass that the King’s son rode through
the forest and went by the tower. Then he heard a song, which was so
charming that he stood still and listened. This was Rapunzel, who in
her solitude passed her time in letting her sweet voice resound. The
King’s son wanted to climb up to her, and looked for the door of the
tower, but none was to be found. He rode home, but the singing had so
deeply touched his heart, that every day he went out into the forest
and listened to it. Once when he was thus standing behind a tree, he
saw that an enchantress came there, and he heard how she cried,

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down thy hair.”


Then Rapunzel let down the braids of her hair, and the enchantress
climbed up to her. “If that is the ladder by which one mounts, I will
for once try my fortune,” said he, and the next day when it began to
grow dark, he went to the tower and cried,

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down thy hair.”


Immediately the hair fell down and the King’s son climbed up.

At first Rapunzel was terribly frightened when a man such as her eyes
had never yet beheld, came to her; but the King’s son began to talk to
her quite like a friend, and told her that his heart had been so
stirred that it had let him have no rest, and he had been forced to see
her. Then Rapunzel lost her fear, and when he asked her if she would
take him for her husband, and she saw that he was young and handsome,
she thought, “He will love me more than old Dame Gothel does;” and she
said yes, and laid her hand in his. She said, “I will willingly go away
with thee, but I do not know how to get down. Bring with thee a skein
of silk every time that thou comest, and I will weave a ladder with it,
and when that is ready I will descend, and thou wilt take me on thy
horse.” They agreed that until that time he should come to her every
evening, for the old woman came by day. The enchantress remarked
nothing of this, until once Rapunzel said to her, “Tell me, Dame
Gothel, how it happens that you are so much heavier for me to draw up
than the young King’s son—he is with me in a moment.” “Ah! thou wicked
child,” cried the enchantress “What do I hear thee say! I thought I had
separated thee from all the world, and yet thou hast deceived me.” In
her anger she clutched Rapunzel’s beautiful tresses, wrapped them twice
round her left hand, seized a pair of scissors with the right, and
snip, snap, they were cut off, and the lovely braids lay on the ground.
And she was so pitiless that she took poor Rapunzel into a desert where
she had to live in great grief and misery.

On the same day, however, that she cast out Rapunzel, the enchantress
in the evening fastened the braids of hair which she had cut off, to
the hook of the window, and when the King’s son came and cried,

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down thy hair,”


she let the hair down. The King’s son ascended, but he did not find his
dearest Rapunzel above, but the enchantress, who gazed at him with
wicked and venomous looks. “Aha!” she cried mockingly, “Thou wouldst
fetch thy dearest, but the beautiful bird sits no longer singing in the
nest; the cat has got it, and will scratch out thy eyes as well.
Rapunzel is lost to thee; thou wilt never see her more.” The King’s son
was beside himself with pain, and in his despair he leapt down from the
tower. He escaped with his life, but the thorns into which he fell,
pierced his eyes. Then he wandered quite blind about the forest, ate
nothing but roots and berries, and did nothing but lament and weep over
the loss of his dearest wife. Thus he roamed about in misery for some
years, and at length came to the desert where Rapunzel, with the twins
to which she had given birth, a boy and a girl, lived in wretchedness.
He heard a voice, and it seemed so familiar to him that he went towards
it, and when he approached, Rapunzel knew him and fell on his neck and
wept. Two of her tears wetted his eyes and they grew clear again, and
he could see with them as before. He led her to his kingdom where he
was joyfully received, and they lived for a long time afterwards, happy
and contented.



13 The Three Little Men in the Wood

There was once a man whose wife died, and a woman whose husband died,
and the man had a daughter, and the woman also had a daughter. The
girls were acquainted with each other, and went out walking together,
and afterwards came to the woman in her house. Then said she to the
man’s daughter, “Listen, tell thy father that I would like to marry
him, and then thou shalt wash thyself in milk every morning, and drink
wine, but my own daughter shall wash herself in water and drink water.”
The girl went home, and told her father what the woman had said. The
man said, “What shall I do? Marriage is a joy and also a torment.” At
length as he could come to no decision, he pulled off his boot, and
said, “Take this boot, it has a hole in the sole of it. Go with it up
to the loft, hang it on the big nail, and then pour water into it. If
it hold the water, then I will again take a wife, but if it run
through, I will not.” The girl did as she was ordered, but the water
drew the hole together, and the boot became full to the top. She
informed her father how it had turned out. Then he himself went up, and
when he saw that she was right, he went to the widow and wooed her, and
the wedding was celebrated.

The next morning, when the two girls got up, there stood before the
man’s daughter milk for her to wash in and wine for her to drink, but
before the woman’s daughter stood water to wash herself with and water
for drinking. On the second morning, stood water for washing and water
for drinking before the man’s daughter as well as before the woman’s
daughter. And on the third morning stood water for washing and water
for drinking before the man’s daughter, and milk for washing and wine
for drinking, before the woman’s daughter, and so it continued. The
woman became bitterly unkind to her step-daughter, and day by day did
her best to treat her still worse. She was also envious because her
step-daughter was beautiful and lovable, and her own daughter ugly and
repulsive.

Once, in winter, when everything was frozen as hard as a stone, and
hill and vale lay covered with snow, the woman made a frock of paper,
called her step-daughter, and said, “Here, put on this dress and go out
into the wood, and fetch me a little basketful of strawberries,—I have
a fancy for some.” “Good heavens!” said the girl, “no strawberries grow
in winter! The ground is frozen, and besides the snow has covered
everything. And why am I to go in this paper frock? It is so cold
outside that one’s very breath freezes! The wind will blow through the
frock, and the thorns will tear it off my body.” “Wilt thou contradict
me again?” said the stepmother, “See that thou goest, and do not show
thy face again until thou hast the basketful of strawberries!” Then she
gave her a little piece of hard bread, and said, “This will last thee
the day,” and thought, “Thou wilt die of cold and hunger outside, and
wilt never be seen again by me.”

Then the maiden was obedient, and put on the paper frock, and went out
with the basket. Far and wide there was nothing but snow, and not a
green blade to be seen. When she got into the wood she saw a small
house out of which peeped three dwarfs. She wished them good day, and
knocked modestly at the door. They cried, “Come in,” and she entered
the room and seated herself on the bench by the stove, where she began
to warm herself and eat her breakfast. The elves said, “Give us, too,
some of it.” “Willingly,” she said, and divided her bit of bread in two
and gave them the half. They asked, “What dost thou here in the forest
in the winter time, in thy thin dress?” “Ah,” she answered, “I am to
look for a basketful of strawberries, and am not to go home until I can
take them with me.” When she had eaten her bread, they gave her a broom
and said, “Sweep away the snow at the back door with it.” But when she
was outside, the three little men said to each other, “What shall we
give her as she is so good, and has shared her bread with us?” Then
said the first, “My gift is, that she shall every day grow more
beautiful.” The second said, “My gift is, that gold pieces shall fall
out of her mouth every time she speaks.” The third said, “My gift is,
that a king shall come and take her to wife.”

The girl, however, did as the little men had bidden her, swept away the
snow behind the little house with the broom, and what did she find but
real ripe strawberries, which came up quite dark-red out of the snow!
In her joy she hastily gathered her basket full, thanked the little
men, shook hands with each of them, and ran home to take her
step-mother what she had longed for so much. When she went in and said
good-evening, a piece of gold at once fell from her mouth. Thereupon
she related what had happened to her in the wood, but with every word
she spoke, gold pieces fell from her mouth, until very soon the whole
room was covered with them. “Now look at her arrogance,” cried the
step-sister, “to throw about gold in that way!” but she was secretly
envious of it, and wanted to go into the forest also to seek
strawberries. The mother said, “No, my dear little daughter, it is too
cold, thou mightest die of cold.” However, as her daughter let her have
no peace, the mother at last yielded, made her a magnificent dress of
fur, which she was obliged to put on, and gave her bread-and-butter and
cake with her.

The girl went into the forest and straight up to the little house. The
three little elves peeped out again, but she did not greet them, and
without looking round at them and without speaking to them, she went
awkwardly into the room, seated herself by the stove, and began to eat
her bread-and-butter and cake. “Give us some of it,” cried the little
men; but she replied, “There is not enough for myself, so how can I
give it away to other people?” When she had done eating, they said,
“There is a broom for thee, sweep all clean for us outside by the
back-door.” “Humph! Sweep for yourselves,” she answered, “I am not your
servant.” When she saw that they were not going to give her anything,
she went out by the door. Then the little men said to each other, “What
shall we give her as she is so naughty, and has a wicked envious heart,
that will never let her do a good turn to any one?” The first said, “I
grant that she may grow uglier every day.” The second said, “I grant
that at every word she says, a toad shall spring out of her mouth.” The
third said, “I grant that she may die a miserable death.” The maiden
looked for strawberries outside, but as she found none, she went
angrily home. And when she opened her mouth, and was about to tell her
mother what had happened to her in the wood, with every word she said,
a toad sprang out of her mouth, so that every one was seized with
horror of her.

Then the step-mother was still more enraged, and thought of nothing but
how to do every possible injury to the man’s daughter, whose beauty,
however, grew daily greater. At length she took a cauldron, set it on
the fire, and boiled yarn in it. When it was boiled, she flung it on
the poor girl’s shoulder, and gave her an axe in order that she might
go on the frozen river, cut a hole in the ice, and rinse the yarn. She
was obedient, went thither and cut a hole in the ice; and while she was
in the midst of her cutting, a splendid carriage came driving up, in
which sat the King. The carriage stopped, and the King asked,”My child,
who are thou, and what art thou doing here?” “I am a poor girl, and I
am rinsing yarn.” Then the King felt compassion, and when he saw that
she was so very beautiful, he said to her, “Wilt thou go away with me?”
“Ah, yes, with all my heart,” she answered, for she was glad to get
away from the mother and sister.

So she got into the carriage and drove away with the King, and when
they arrived at his palace, the wedding was celebrated with great pomp,
as the little men had granted to the maiden. When a year was over, the
young Queen bore a son, and as the step-mother had heard of her great
good-fortune, she came with her daughter to the palace and pretended
that she wanted to pay her a visit. Once, however, when the King had
gone out, and no one else was present, the wicked woman seized the
Queen by the head, and her daughter seized her by the feet, and they
lifted her out of the bed, and threw her out of the window into the
stream which flowed by. Then the ugly daughter laid herself in the bed,
and the old woman covered her up over her head. When the King came home
again and wanted to speak to his wife, the old woman cried, “Hush,
hush, that can’t be now, she is lying in a violent perspiration; you
must let her rest to-day.” The King suspected no evil, and did not come
back again till next morning; and as he talked with his wife and she
answered him, with every word a toad leaped out, whereas formerly a
piece of gold had fallen out. Then he asked what that could be, but the
old woman said that she had got that from the violent perspiration, and
would soon lose it again. During the night, however, the scullion saw a
duck come swimming up the gutter, and it said,

“King, what art thou doing now?
Sleepest thou, or wakest thou?”


And as he returned no answer, it said,

“And my guests, What may they do?”


The scullion said,

“They are sleeping soundly, too.”


Then it asked again,

“What does little baby mine?”


He answered,

“Sleepeth in her cradle fine.”


Then she went upstairs in the form of the Queen, nursed the baby, shook
up its little bed, covered it over, and then swam away again down the
gutter in the shape of a duck. She came thus for two nights; on the
third, she said to the scullion, “Go and tell the King to take his
sword and swing it three times over me on the threshold.” Then the
scullion ran and told this to the King, who came with his sword and
swung it thrice over the spirit, and at the third time, his wife stood
before him strong, living, and healthy as she had been before.
Thereupon the King was full of great joy, but he kept the Queen hidden
in a chamber until the Sunday, when the baby was to be christened. And
when it was christened he said, “What does a person deserve who drags
another out of bed and throws him in the water?” “The wretch deserves
nothing better,” answered the old woman, “than to be taken and put in a
barrel stuck full of nails, and rolled down hill into the water.”
“Then,” said the King, “Thou hast pronounced thine own sentence;” and
he ordered such a barrel to be brought, and the old woman to be put
into it with her daughter, and then the top was hammered on, and the
barrel rolled down hill until it went into the river.



14 The Three Spinners

There was once a girl who was idle and would not spin, and let her
mother say what she would, she could not bring her to it. At last the
mother was once so overcome with anger and impatience, that she beat
her, on which the girl began to weep loudly. Now at this very moment
the Queen drove by, and when she heard the weeping she stopped her
carriage, went into the house and asked the mother why she was beating
her daughter so that the cries could be heard out on the road? Then the
woman was ashamed to reveal the laziness of her daughter and said, “I
cannot get her to leave off spinning. She insists on spinning for ever
and ever, and I am poor, and cannot procure the flax.” Then answered
the Queen, “There is nothing that I like better to hear than spinning,
and I am never happier than when the wheels are humming. Let me have
your daughter with me in the palace. I have flax enough, and there she
shall spin as much as she likes.” The mother was heartily satisfied
with this, and the Queen took the girl with her. When they had arrived
at the palace, she led her up into three rooms which were filled from
the bottom to the top with the finest flax. “Now spin me this flax,”
said she, “and when thou hast done it, thou shalt have my eldest son
for a husband, even if thou art poor. I care not for that, thy
indefatigable industry is dowry enough.” The girl was secretly
terrified, for she could not have spun the flax, no, not if she had
lived till she was three hundred years old, and had sat at it every day
from morning till night. When therefore she was alone, she began to
weep, and sat thus for three days without moving a finger. On the third
day came the Queen, and when she saw that nothing had been spun yet,
she was surprised; but the girl excused herself by saying that she had
not been able to begin because of her great distress at leaving her
mother’s house. The queen was satisfied with this, but said when she
was going away, “To-morrow thou must begin to work.”

When the girl was alone again, she did not know what to do, and in her
distress went to the window. Then she saw three women coming towards
her, the first of whom had a broad flat foot, the second had such a
great underlip that it hung down over her chin, and the third had a
broad thumb. They remained standing before the window, looked up, and
asked the girl what was amiss with her? She complained of her trouble,
and then they offered her their help and said, “If thou wilt invite us
to the wedding, not be ashamed of us, and wilt call us thine aunts, and
likewise wilt place us at thy table, we will spin up the flax for thee,
and that in a very short time.” “With all my heart,” she replied, “do
but come in and begin the work at once.” Then she let in the three
strange women, and cleared a place in the first room, where they seated
themselves and began their spinning. The one drew the thread and trod
the wheel, the other wetted the thread, the third twisted it, and
struck the table with her finger, and as often as she struck it, a
skein of thread fell to the ground that was spun in the finest manner
possible. The girl concealed the three spinners from the Queen, and
showed her whenever she came the great quantity of spun thread, until
the latter could not praise her enough. When the first room was empty
she went to the second, and at last to the third, and that too was
quickly cleared. Then the three women took leave and said to the girl,
“Do not forget what thou hast promised us,—it will make thy fortune.”

When the maiden showed the Queen the empty rooms, and the great heap of
yarn, she gave orders for the wedding, and the bridegroom rejoiced that
he was to have such a clever and industrious wife, and praised her
mightily. “I have three aunts,” said the girl, “and as they have been
very kind to me, I should not like to forget them in my good fortune;
allow me to invite them to the wedding, and let them sit with us at
table.” The Queen and the bridegroom said, “Why should we not allow
that?” Therefore when the feast began, the three women entered in
strange apparel, and the bride said, “Welcome, dear aunts.” “Ah,” said
the bridegroom, “how comest thou by these odious friends?” Thereupon he
went to the one with the broad flat foot, and said, “How do you come by
such a broad foot?” “By treading,” she answered, “by treading.” Then
the bridegroom went to the second, and said, “How do you come by your
falling lip?” “By licking,” she answered, “by licking.” Then he asked
the third, “How do you come by your broad thumb?” “By twisting the
thread,” she answered, “by twisting the thread.” On this the King’s son
was alarmed and said, “Neither now nor ever shall my beautiful bride
touch a spinning-wheel.” And thus she got rid of the hateful
flax-spinning.



15 Hansel and Grethel

Hard by a great forest dwelt a poor wood-cutter with his wife and his
two children. The boy was called Hansel and the girl Grethel. He had
little to bite and to break, and once when great scarcity fell on the
land, he could no longer procure daily bread. Now when he thought over
this by night in his bed, and tossed about in his anxiety, he groaned
and said to his wife, “What is to become of us? How are we to feed our
poor children, when we no longer have anything even for ourselves?”
“I’ll tell you what, husband,” answered the woman, “Early to-morrow
morning we will take the children out into the forest to where it is
the thickest, there we will light a fire for them, and give each of
them one piece of bread more, and then we will go to our work and leave
them alone. They will not find the way home again, and we shall be rid
of them.” “No, wife,” said the man, “I will not do that; how can I bear
to leave my children alone in the forest?—the wild animals would soon
come and tear them to pieces.” “O, thou fool!” said she, “Then we must
all four die of hunger, thou mayest as well plane the planks for our
coffins,” and she left him no peace until he consented. “But I feel
very sorry for the poor children, all the same,” said the man.

The two children had also not been able to sleep for hunger, and had
heard what their step-mother had said to their father. Grethel wept
bitter tears, and said to Hansel, “Now all is over with us.” “Be quiet,
Grethel,” said Hansel, “do not distress thyself, I will soon find a way
to help us.” And when the old folks had fallen asleep, he got up, put
on his little coat, opened the door below, and crept outside. The moon
shone brightly, and the white pebbles which lay in front of the house
glittered like real silver pennies. Hansel stooped and put as many of
them in the little pocket of his coat as he could possibly get in. Then
he went back and said to Grethel, “Be comforted, dear little sister,
and sleep in peace, God will not forsake us,” and he lay down again in
his bed. When day dawned, but before the sun had risen, the woman came
and awoke the two children, saying “Get up, you sluggards! we are going
into the forest to fetch wood.” She gave each a little piece of bread,
and said, “There is something for your dinner, but do not eat it up
before then, for you will get nothing else.” Grethel took the bread
under her apron, as Hansel had the stones in his pocket. Then they all
set out together on the way to the forest. When they had walked a short
time, Hansel stood still and peeped back at the house, and did so again
and again. His father said, “Hansel, what art thou looking at there and
staying behind for? Mind what thou art about, and do not forget how to
use thy legs.” “Ah, father,” said Hansel, “I am looking at my little
white cat, which is sitting up on the roof, and wants to say good-bye
to me.” The wife said, “Fool, that is not thy little cat, that is the
morning sun which is shining on the chimneys.” Hansel, however, had not
been looking back at the cat, but had been constantly throwing one of
the white pebble-stones out of his pocket on the road.

When they had reached the middle of the forest, the father said, “Now,
children, pile up some wood, and I will light a fire that you may not
be cold.” Hansel and Grethel gathered brushwood together, as high as a
little hill. The brushwood was lighted, and when the flames were
burning very high, the woman said, “Now, children, lay yourselves down
by the fire and rest, we will go into the forest and cut some wood.
When we have done, we will come back and fetch you away.”

Hansel and Grethel sat by the fire, and when noon came, each ate a
little piece of bread, and as they heard the strokes of the wood-axe
they believed that their father was near. It was not, however, the axe,
it was a branch which he had fastened to a withered tree which the wind
was blowing backwards and forwards. And as they had been sitting such a
long time, their eyes shut with fatigue, and they fell fast asleep.
When at last they awoke, it was already dark night. Grethel began to
cry and said, “How are we to get out of the forest now?” But Hansel
comforted her and said, “Just wait a little, until the moon has risen,
and then we will soon find the way.” And when the full moon had risen,
Hansel took his little sister by the hand, and followed the pebbles
which shone like newly-coined silver pieces, and showed them the way.

They walked the whole night long, and by break of day came once more to
their father’s house. They knocked at the door, and when the woman
opened it and saw that it was Hansel and Grethel, she said, “You
naughty children, why have you slept so long in the forest?—we thought
you were never coming back at all!” The father, however, rejoiced, for
it had cut him to the heart to leave them behind alone.

Not long afterwards, there was once more great scarcity in all parts,
and the children heard their mother saying at night to their father,
“Everything is eaten again, we have one half loaf left, and after that
there is an end. The children must go, we will take them farther into
the wood, so that they will not find their way out again; there is no
other means of saving ourselves!” The man’s heart was heavy, and he
thought “it would be better for thee to share the last mouthful with
thy children.” The woman, however, would listen to nothing that he had
to say, but scolded and reproached him. He who says A must say B,
likewise, and as he had yielded the first time, he had to do so a
second time also.

The children were, however, still awake and had heard the conversation.
When the old folks were asleep, Hansel again got up, and wanted to go
out and pick up pebbles as he had done before, but the woman had locked
the door, and Hansel could not get out. Nevertheless he comforted his
little sister, and said, “Do not cry, Grethel, go to sleep quietly, the
good God will help us.”

Early in the morning came the woman, and took the children out of their
beds. Their bit of bread was given to them, but it was still smaller
than the time before. On the way into the forest Hansel crumbled his in
his pocket, and often stood still and threw a morsel on the ground.
“Hansel, why dost thou stop and look round?” said the father, “go on.”
“I am looking back at my little pigeon which is sitting on the roof,
and wants to say good-bye to me,” answered Hansel. “Simpleton!” said
the woman, “that is not thy little pigeon, that is the morning sun that
is shining on the chimney.” Hansel, however, little by little, threw
all the crumbs on the path.

The woman led the children still deeper into the forest, where they had
never in their lives been before. Then a great fire was again made, and
the mother said, “Just sit there, you children, and when you are tired
you may sleep a little; we are going into the forest to cut wood, and
in the evening when we are done, we will come and fetch you away.” When
it was noon, Grethel shared her piece of bread with Hansel, who had
scattered his by the way. Then they fell asleep and evening came and
went, but no one came to the poor children. They did not awake until it
was dark night, and Hansel comforted his little sister and said, “Just
wait, Grethel, until the moon rises, and then we shall see the crumbs
of bread which I have strewn about, they will show us our way home
again.” When the moon came they set out, but they found no crumbs, for
the many thousands of birds which fly about in the woods and fields had
picked them all up. Hansel said to Grethel, “We shall soon find the
way,” but they did not find it. They walked the whole night and all the
next day too from morning till evening, but they did not get out of the
forest, and were very hungry, for they had nothing to eat but two or
three berries, which grew on the ground. And as they were so weary that
their legs would carry them no longer, they lay down beneath a tree and
fell asleep.

It was now three mornings since they had left their father’s house.
They began to walk again, but they always got deeper into the forest,
and if help did not come soon, they must die of hunger and weariness.
When it was mid-day, they saw a beautiful snow-white bird sitting on a
bough, which sang so delightfully that they stood still and listened to
it. And when it had finished its song, it spread its wings and flew
away before them, and they followed it until they reached a little
house, on the roof of which it alighted; and when they came quite up to
little house they saw that it was built of bread and covered with
cakes, but that the windows were of clear sugar. “We will set to work
on that,” said Hansel, “and have a good meal. I will eat a bit of the
roof, and thou, Grethel, canst eat some of the window, it will taste
sweet.” Hansel reached up above, and broke off a little of the roof to
try how it tasted, and Grethel leant against the window and nibbled at
the panes. Then a soft voice cried from the room,

“Nibble, nibble, gnaw,
Who is nibbling at my little house?”


The children answered,

“The wind, the wind,
The heaven-born wind,”


and went on eating without disturbing themselves. Hansel, who thought
the roof tasted very nice, tore down a great piece of it, and Grethel
pushed out the whole of one round window-pane, sat down, and enjoyed
herself with it. Suddenly the door opened, and a very, very old woman,
who supported herself on crutches, came creeping out. Hansel and
Grethel were so terribly frightened that they let fall what they had in
their hands. The old woman, however, nodded her head, and said, “Oh,
you dear children, who has brought you here? Do come in, and stay with
me. No harm shall happen to you.” She took them both by the hand, and
led them into her little house. Then good food was set before them,
milk and pancakes, with sugar, apples, and nuts. Afterwards two pretty
little beds were covered with clean white linen, and Hansel and Grethel
lay down in them, and thought they were in heaven.

The old woman had only pretended to be so kind; she was in reality a
wicked witch, who lay in wait for children, and had only built the
little house of bread in order to entice them there. When a child fell
into her power, she killed it, cooked and ate it, and that was a feast
day with her. Witches have red eyes, and cannot see far, but they have
a keen scent like the beasts, and are aware when human beings draw
near. When Hansel and Grethel came into her neighborhood, she laughed
maliciously, and said mockingly, “I have them, they shall not escape me
again!” Early in the morning before the children were awake, she was
already up, and when she saw both of them sleeping and looking so
pretty, with their plump red cheeks, she muttered to herself, “That
will be a dainty mouthful!” Then she seized Hansel with her shrivelled
hand, carried him into a little stable, and shut him in with a grated
door. He might scream as he liked, that was of no use. Then she went to
Grethel, shook her till she awoke, and cried, “Get up, lazy thing,
fetch some water, and cook something good for thy brother, he is in the
stable outside, and is to be made fat. When he is fat, I will eat him.”
Grethel began to weep bitterly, but it was all in vain, she was forced
to do what the wicked witch ordered her.

And now the best food was cooked for poor Hansel, but Grethel got
nothing but crab-shells. Every morning the woman crept to the little
stable, and cried, “Hansel, stretch out thy finger that I may feel if
thou wilt soon be fat.” Hansel, however, stretched out a little bone to
her, and the old woman, who had dim eyes, could not see it, and thought
it was Hansel’s finger, and was astonished that there was no way of
fattening him. When four weeks had gone by, and Hansel still continued
thin, she was seized with impatience and would not wait any longer.
“Hola, Grethel,” she cried to the girl, “be active, and bring some
water. Let Hansel be fat or lean, to-morrow I will kill him, and cook
him.” Ah, how the poor little sister did lament when she had to fetch
the water, and how her tears did flow down over her cheeks! “Dear God,
do help us,” she cried. “If the wild beasts in the forest had but
devoured us, we should at any rate have died together.” “Just keep thy
noise to thyself,” said the old woman, “all that won’t help thee at
all.”

Early in the morning, Grethel had to go out and hang up the cauldron
with the water, and light the fire. “We will bake first,” said the old
woman, “I have already heated the oven, and kneaded the dough.” She
pushed poor Grethel out to the oven, from which flames of fire were
already darting. “Creep in,” said the witch, “and see if it is properly
heated, so that we can shut the bread in.” And when once Grethel was
inside, she intended to shut the oven and let her bake in it, and then
she would eat her, too. But Grethel saw what she had in her mind, and
said, “I do not know how I am to do it; how do you get in?” “Silly
goose,” said the old woman, “The door is big enough; just look, I can
get in myself!” and she crept up and thrust her head into the oven.
Then Grethel gave her a push that drove her far into it, and shut the
iron door, and fastened the bolt. Oh! then she began to howl quite
horribly, but Grethel ran away, and the godless witch was miserably
burnt to death.

Grethel, however, ran like lightning to Hansel, opened his little
stable, and cried, “Hansel, we are saved! The old witch is dead!” Then
Hansel sprang out like a bird from its cage when the door is opened for
it. How they did rejoice and embrace each other, and dance about and
kiss each other! And as they had no longer any need to fear her, they
went into the witch’s house, and in every corner there stood chests
full of pearls and jewels. “These are far better than pebbles!” said
Hansel, and thrust into his pockets whatever could be got in, and
Grethel said, “I, too, will take something home with me,” and filled
her pinafore full. “But now we will go away.” said Hansel, “that we may
get out of the witch’s forest.”

When they had walked for two hours, they came to a great piece of
water. “We cannot get over,” said Hansel, “I see no foot-plank, and no
bridge.” “And no boat crosses either,” answered Grethel, “but a white
duck is swimming there; if I ask her, she will help us over.” Then she
cried,

“Little duck, little duck, dost thou see,
Hansel and Grethel are waiting for thee?
There’s never a plank, or bridge in sight,
Take us across on thy back so white.”


The duck came to them, and Hansel seated himself on its back, and told
his sister to sit by him. “No,” replied Grethel, “that will be too
heavy for the little duck; she shall take us across, one after the
other.” The good little duck did so, and when they were once safely
across and had walked for a short time, the forest seemed to be more
and more familiar to them, and at length they saw from afar their
father’s house. Then they began to run, rushed into the parlour, and
threw themselves into their father’s arms. The man had not known one
happy hour since he had left the children in the forest; the woman,
however, was dead. Grethel emptied her pinafore until pearls and
precious stones ran about the room, and Hansel threw one handful after
another out of his pocket to add to them. Then all anxiety was at an
end, and they lived together in perfect happiness. My tale is done,
there runs a mouse, whosoever catches it, may make himself a big fur
cap out of it.



16 The Three Snake-Leaves

There was once on a time a poor man, who could no longer support his
only son. Then said the son, “Dear father, things go so badly with us
that I am a burden to you. I would rather go away and see how I can
earn my bread.” So the father gave him his blessing, and with great
sorrow took leave of him. At this time the King of a mighty empire was
at war, and the youth took service with him, and with him went out to
fight. And when he came before the enemy, there was a battle, and great
danger, and it rained shot until his comrades fell on all sides, and
when the leader also was killed, those left were about to take flight,
but the youth stepped forth, spoke boldly to them, and cried, “We will
not let our fatherland be ruined!” Then the others followed him, and he
pressed on and conquered the enemy. When the King heard that he owed
the victory to him alone, he raised him above all the others, gave him
great treasures, and made him the first in the kingdom.

The King had a daughter who was very beautiful, but she was also very
strange. She had made a vow to take no one as her lord and husband who
did not promise to let himself be buried alive with her if she died
first. “If he loves me with all his heart,” said she, “of what use will
life be to him afterwards?” On her side she would do the same, and if
he died first, would go down to the grave with him. This strange oath
had up to this time frightened away all wooers, but the youth became so
charmed with her beauty that he cared for nothing, but asked her father
for her. “But dost thou know what thou must promise?” said the King. “I
must be buried with her,” he replied, “if I outlive her, but my love is
so great that I do not mind the danger.” Then the King consented, and
the wedding was solemnized with great splendour.

They lived now for a while happy and contented with each other, and
then it befell that the young Queen was attacked by a severe illness,
and no physician could save her. And as she lay there dead, the young
King remembered what he had been obliged to promise, and was horrified
at having to lie down alive in the grave, but there was no escape. The
King had placed sentries at all the gates, and it was not possible to
avoid his fate. When the day came when the corpse was to be buried, he
was taken down into the royal vault with it and then the door was shut
and bolted.

Near the coffin stood a table on which were four candles, four loaves
of bread, and four bottles of wine, and when this provision came to an
end, he would have to die of hunger. And now he sat there full of pain
and grief, ate every day only a little piece of bread, drank only a
mouthful of wine, and nevertheless saw death daily drawing nearer.
Whilst he thus gazed before him, he saw a snake creep out of a corner
of the vault and approach the dead body. And as he thought it came to
gnaw at it, he drew his sword and said, “As long as I live, thou shalt
not touch her,” and hewed the snake in three pieces. After a time a
second snake crept out of the hole, and when it saw the other lying
dead and cut in pieces, it went back, but soon came again with three
green leaves in its mouth. Then it took the three pieces of the snake,
laid them together, as they ought to go, and placed one of the leaves
on each wound. Immediately the severed parts joined themselves
together, the snake moved, and became alive again, and both of them
hastened away together. The leaves were left lying on the ground, and a
desire came into the mind of the unhappy man who had been watching all
this, to know if the wondrous power of the leaves which had brought the
snake to life again, could not likewise be of service to a human being.
So he picked up the leaves and laid one of them on the mouth of his
dead wife, and the two others on her eyes. And hardly had he done this
than the blood stirred in her veins, rose into her pale face, and
coloured it again. Then she drew breath, opened her eyes, and said,
“Ah, God, where am I?” “Thou art with me, dear wife,” he answered, and
told her how everything had happened, and how he had brought her back
again to life. Then he gave her some wine and bread, and when she had
regained her strength, he raised her up and they went to the door and
knocked, and called so loudly that the sentries heard it, and told the
King. The King came down himself and opened the door, and there he
found both strong and well, and rejoiced with them that now all sorrow
was over. The young King, however, took the three snake-leaves with
him, gave them to a servant and said, “Keep them for me carefully, and
carry them constantly about thee; who knows in what trouble they may
yet be of service to us!”

A change had, however, taken place in his wife; after she had been
restored to life, it seemed as if all love for her husband had gone out
of her heart. After some time, when he wanted to make a voyage over the
sea, to visit his old father, and they had gone on board a ship, she
forgot the great love and fidelity which he had shown her, and which
had been the means of rescuing her from death, and conceived a wicked
inclination for the skipper. And once when the young King lay there
asleep, she called in the skipper and seized the sleeper by the head,
and the skipper took him by the feet, and thus they threw him down into
the sea. When the shameful deed was done, she said, “Now let us return
home, and say that he died on the way. I will extol and praise thee so
to my father that he will marry me to thee, and make thee the heir to
his crown.” But the faithful servant who had seen all that they did,
unseen by them, unfastened a little boat from the ship, got into it,
sailed after his master, and let the traitors go on their way. He
fished up the dead body, and by the help of the three snake-leaves
which he carried about with him, and laid on the eyes and mouth, he
fortunately brought the young King back to life.

They both rowed with all their strength day and night, and their little
boat flew so swiftly that they reached the old King before the others
did. He was astonished when he saw them come alone, and asked what had
happened to them. When he learnt the wickedness of his daughter he
said, “I cannot believe that she has behaved so ill, but the truth will
soon come to light,” and bade both go into a secret chamber and keep
themselves hidden from every one. Soon afterwards the great ship came
sailing in, and the godless woman appeared before her father with a
troubled countenance. He said, “Why dost thou come back alone? Where is
thy husband?” “Ah, dear father,” she replied, “I come home again in
great grief; during the voyage, my husband became suddenly ill and
died, and if the good skipper had not given me his help, it would have
gone ill with me. He was present at his death, and can tell you all.”
The King said, “I will make the dead alive again,” and opened the
chamber, and bade the two come out. When the woman saw her husband, she
was thunderstruck, and fell on her knees and begged for mercy. The King
said, “There is no mercy. He was ready to die with thee and restored
thee to life again, but thou hast murdered him in his sleep, and shalt
receive the reward that thou deservest.” Then she was placed with her
accomplice in a ship which had been pierced with holes, and sent out to
sea, where they soon sank amid the waves.



17 The White Snake

A long time ago there lived a king who was famed for his wisdom through
all the land. Nothing was hidden from him, and it seemed as if news of
the most secret things was brought to him through the air. But he had a
strange custom; every day after dinner, when the table was cleared, and
no one else was present, a trusty servant had to bring him one more
dish. It was covered, however, and even the servant did not know what
was in it, neither did anyone know, for the King never took off the
cover to eat of it until he was quite alone.

This had gone on for a long time, when one day the servant, who took
away the dish, was overcome with such curiosity that he could not help
carrying the dish into his room. When he had carefully locked the door,
he lifted up the cover, and saw a white snake lying on the dish. But
when he saw it he could not deny himself the pleasure of tasting it, so
he cut off a little bit and put it into his mouth. No sooner had it
touched his tongue than he heard a strange whispering of little voices
outside his window. He went and listened, and then noticed that it was
the sparrows who were chattering together, and telling one another of
all kinds of things which they had seen in the fields and woods. Eating
the snake had given him power of understanding the language of animals.

Now it so happened that on this very day the Queen lost her most
beautiful ring, and suspicion of having stolen it fell upon this trusty
servant, who was allowed to go everywhere. The King ordered the man to
be brought before him, and threatened with angry words that unless he
could before the morrow point out the thief, he himself should be
looked upon as guilty and executed. In vain he declared his innocence;
he was dismissed with no better answer.

In his trouble and fear he went down into the courtyard and took
thought how to help himself out of his trouble. Now some ducks were
sitting together quietly by a brook and taking their rest; and, whilst
they were making their feathers smooth with their bills, they were
having a confidential conversation together. The servant stood by and
listened. They were telling one another of all the places where they
had been waddling about all the morning, and what good food they had
found, and one said in a pitiful tone, “Something lies heavy on my
stomach; as I was eating in haste I swallowed a ring which lay under
the Queen’s window.” The servant at once seized her by the neck,
carried her to the kitchen, and said to the cook, “Here is a fine duck;
pray, kill her.” “Yes,” said the cook, and weighed her in his hand;
“she has spared no trouble to fatten herself, and has been waiting to
be roasted long enough.” So he cut off her head, and as she was being
dressed for the spit, the Queen’s ring was found inside her.

The servant could now easily prove his innocence; and the King, to make
amends for the wrong, allowed him to ask a favor, and promised him the
best place in the court that he could wish for. The servant refused
everything, and only asked for a horse and some money for traveling, as
he had a mind to see the world and go about a little.

When his request was granted he set out on his way, and one day came to
a pond, where he saw three fishes caught in the reeds and gasping for
water. Now, though it is said that fishes are dumb, he heard them
lamenting that they must perish so miserably, and, as he had a kind
heart, he got off his horse and put the three prisoners back into the
water. They quivered with delight, put out their heads, and cried to
him, “We will remember you and repay you for saving us!”

He rode on, and after a while it seemed to him that he heard a voice in
the sand at his feet. He listened, and heard an ant-king complain, “Why
cannot folks, with their clumsy beasts, keep off our bodies? That
stupid horse, with his heavy hoofs, has been treading down my people
without mercy!” So he turned on to a side path and the ant-king cried
out to him, “We will remember you—one good turn deserves another!”

The path led him into a wood, and here he saw two old ravens standing
by their nest, and throwing out their young ones. “Out with you, you
idle, good-for-nothing creatures!” cried they; “we cannot find food for
you any longer; you are big enough, and can provide for yourselves.”
But the poor young ravens lay upon the ground, flapping their wings,
and crying, “Oh, what helpless chicks we are! We must shift for
ourselves, and yet we cannot fly! What can we do, but lie here and
starve?” So the good young fellow alighted and killed his horse with
his sword, and gave it to them for food. Then they came hopping up to
it, satisfied their hunger, and cried, “We will remember you—one good
turn deserves another!”

And now he had to use his own legs, and when he had walked a long way,
he came to a large city. There was a great noise and crowd in the
streets, and a man rode up on horseback, crying aloud, “The King’s
daughter wants a husband; but whoever sues for her hand must perform a
hard task, and if he does not succeed he will forfeit his life.” Many
had already made the attempt, but in vain; nevertheless when the youth
saw the King’s daughter he was so overcome by her great beauty that he
forgot all danger, went before the King, and declared himself a suitor.

So he was led out to the sea, and a gold ring was thrown into it, in
his sight; then the King ordered him to fetch this ring up from the
bottom of the sea, and added, “If you come up again without it you will
be thrown in again and again until you perish amid the waves.” All the
people grieved for the handsome youth; then they went away, leaving him
alone by the sea.

He stood on the shore and considered what he should do, when suddenly
he saw three fishes come swimming towards him, and they were the very
fishes whose lives he had saved. The one in the middle held a mussel in
its mouth, which it laid on the shore at the youth’s feet, and when he
had taken it up and opened it, there lay the gold ring in the shell.
Full of joy he took it to the King, and expected that he would grant
him the promised reward.

But when the proud princess perceived that he was not her equal in
birth, she scorned him, and required him first to perform another task.
She went down into the garden and strewed with her own hands ten
sacks-full of millet-seed on the grass; then she said, “To-morrow
morning before sunrise these must be picked up, and not a single grain
be wanting.”

The youth sat down in the garden and considered how it might be
possible to perform this task, but he could think of nothing, and there
he sat sorrowfully awaiting the break of day, when he should be led to
death. But as soon as the first rays of the sun shone into the garden
he saw all the ten sacks standing side by side, quite full, and not a
single grain was missing. The ant-king had come in the night with
thousands and thousands of ants, and the grateful creatures had by
great industry picked up all the millet-seed and gathered them into the
sacks.

Presently the King’s daughter herself came down into the garden, and
was amazed to see that the young man had done the task she had given
him. But she could not yet conquer her proud heart, and said, “Although
he has performed both the tasks, he shall not be my husband until he
has brought me an apple from the Tree of Life.”

The youth did not know where the Tree of Life stood, but he set out,
and would have gone on for ever, as long as his legs would carry him,
though he had no hope of finding it. After he had wandered through
three kingdoms, he came one evening to a wood, and lay down under a
tree to sleep. But he heard a rustling in the branches, and a golden
apple fell into his hand. At the same time three ravens flew down to
him, perched themselves upon his knee, and said, “We are the three
young ravens whom you saved from starving; when we had grown big, and
heard that you were seeking the Golden Apple, we flew over the sea to
the end of the world, where the Tree of Life stands, and have brought
you the apple.” The youth, full of joy, set out homewards, and took the
Golden Apple to the King’s beautiful daughter, who had no more excuses
left to make. They cut the Apple of Life in two and ate it together;
and then her heart became full of love for him, and they lived in
undisturbed happiness to a great age.



18 The Straw, the Coal, and the Bean

In a village dwelt a poor old woman, who had gathered together a dish
of beans and wanted to cook them. So she made a fire on her hearth, and
that it might burn the quicker, she lighted it with a handful of straw.
When she was emptying the beans into the pan, one dropped without her
observing it, and lay on the ground beside a straw, and soon afterwards
a burning coal from the fire leapt down to the two. Then the straw
began and said, “Dear friends, from whence do you come here?” The coal
replied, “I fortunately sprang out of the fire, and if I had not
escaped by main force, my death would have been certain,—I should have
been burnt to ashes.” The bean said, “I too have escaped with a whole
skin, but if the old woman had got me into the pan, I should have been
made into broth without any mercy, like my comrades.” “And would a
better fate have fallen to my lot?” said the straw. “The old woman has
destroyed all my brethren in fire and smoke; she seized sixty of them
at once, and took their lives. I luckily slipped through her fingers.”

“But what are we to do now?” said the coal.

“I think,” answered the bean, “that as we have so fortunately escaped
death, we should keep together like good companions, and lest a new
mischance should overtake us here, we should go away together, and
repair to a foreign country.”

The proposition pleased the two others, and they set out on their way
in company. Soon, however, they came to a little brook, and as there
was no bridge or foot-plank, they did not know how they were to get
over it. The straw hit on a good idea, and said, “I will lay myself
straight across, and then you can walk over on me as on a bridge.” The
straw therefore stretched itself from one bank to the other, and the
coal, who was of an impetuous disposition, tripped quite boldly on to
the newly-built bridge. But when she had reached the middle, and heard
the water rushing beneath her, she was, after all, afraid, and stood
still, and ventured no farther. The straw, however, began to burn,
broke in two pieces, and fell into the stream. The coal slipped after
her, hissed when she got into the water, and breathed her last. The
bean, who had prudently stayed behind on the shore, could not but laugh
at the event, was unable to stop, and laughed so heartily that she
burst. It would have been all over with her, likewise, if, by good
fortune, a tailor who was traveling in search of work, had not sat down
to rest by the brook. As he had a compassionate heart he pulled out his
needle and thread, and sewed her together. The bean thanked him most
prettily, but as the tailor used black thread, all beans since then
have a black seam.



19 The Fisherman and His Wife

There was once on a time a Fisherman who lived with his wife in a
miserable hovel close by the sea, and every day he went out fishing.
And once as he was sitting with his rod, looking at the clear water,
his line suddenly went down, far down below, and when he drew it up
again he brought out a large Flounder. Then the Flounder said to him,
“Hark, you Fisherman, I pray you, let me live, I am no Flounder really,
but an enchanted prince. What good will it do you to kill me? I should
not be good to eat, put me in the water again, and let me go.” “Come,”
said the Fisherman, “there is no need for so many words about it—a fish
that can talk I should certainly let go, anyhow,” with that he put him
back again into the clear water, and the Flounder went to the bottom,
leaving a long streak of blood behind him. Then the Fisherman got up
and went home to his wife in the hovel.

“Husband,” said the woman, “have you caught nothing to-day?” “No,” said
the man, “I did catch a Flounder, who said he was an enchanted prince,
so I let him go again.” “Did you not wish for anything first?” said the
woman. “No,” said the man; “what should I wish for?” “Ah,” said the
woman, “it is surely hard to have to live always in this dirty hovel;
you might have wished for a small cottage for us. Go back and call him.
Tell him we want to have a small cottage, he will certainly give us
that.” “Ah,” said the man, “why should I go there again?” “Why,” said
the woman, “you did catch him, and you let him go again; he is sure to
do it. Go at once.” The man still did not quite like to go, but did not
like to oppose his wife, and went to the sea.

When he got there the sea was all green and yellow, and no longer so
smooth; so he stood still and said,

“Flounder, flounder in the sea,
Come, I pray thee, here to me;
For my wife, good Ilsabil,
Wills not as I’d have her will.”


Then the Flounder came swimming to him and said, “Well what does she
want, then?” “Ah,” said the man, “I did catch you, and my wife says I
really ought to have wished for something. She does not like to live in
a wretched hovel any longer. She would like to have a cottage.” “Go,
then,” said the Flounder, “she has it already.”

When the man went home, his wife was no longer in the hovel, but
instead of it there stood a small cottage, and she was sitting on a
bench before the door. Then she took him by the hand and said to him,
“Just come inside, look, now isn’t this a great deal better?” So they
went in, and there was a small porch, and a pretty little parlor and
bedroom, and a kitchen and pantry, with the best of furniture, and
fitted up with the most beautiful things made of tin and brass,
whatsoever was wanted. And behind the cottage there was a small yard,
with hens and ducks, and a little garden with flowers and fruit.
“Look,” said the wife, “is not that nice!” “Yes,” said the husband,
“and so we must always think it,—now we will live quite contented.” “We
will think about that,” said the wife. With that they ate something and
went to bed.

Everything went well for a week or a fortnight, and then the woman
said, “Hark you, husband, this cottage is far too small for us, and the
garden and yard are little; the Flounder might just as well have given
us a larger house. I should like to live in a great stone castle; go to
the Flounder, and tell him to give us a castle.” “Ah, wife,” said the
man, “the cottage is quite good enough; why should we live in a
castle?” “What!” said the woman; “just go there, the Flounder can
always do that.” “No, wife,” said the man, “the Flounder has just given
us the cottage, I do not like to go back so soon, it might make him
angry.” “Go,” said the woman, “he can do it quite easily, and will be
glad to do it; just you go to him.”

The man’s heart grew heavy, and he would not go. He said to himself,
“It is not right,” and yet he went. And when he came to the sea the
water was quite purple and dark-blue, and grey and thick, and no longer
so green and yellow, but it was still quiet. And he stood there and
said—

“Flounder, flounder in the sea,
Come, I pray thee, here to me;
For my wife, good Ilsabil,
Wills not as I’d have her will.”


“Well, what does she want, then?” said the Flounder. “Alas,” said the
man, half scared, “she wants to live in a great stone castle.” “Go to
it, then, she is standing before the door,” said the Flounder.

Then the man went away, intending to go home, but when he got there, he
found a great stone palace, and his wife was just standing on the steps
going in, and she took him by the hand and said, “Come in.” So he went
in with her, and in the castle was a great hall paved with marble, and
many servants, who flung wide the doors; And the walls were all bright
with beautiful hangings, and in the rooms were chairs and tables of
pure gold, and crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and all the
rooms and bed-rooms had carpets, and food and wine of the very best
were standing on all the tables, so that they nearly broke down beneath
it. Behind the house, too, there was a great court-yard, with stables
for horses and cows, and the very best of carriages; there was a
magnificent large garden, too, with the most beautiful flowers and
fruit-trees, and a park quite half a mile long, in which were stags,
deer, and hares, and everything that could be desired. “Come,” said the
woman, “isn’t that beautiful?” “Yes, indeed,” said the man, “now let it
be; and we will live in this beautiful castle and be content.” “We will
consider about that,” said the woman, “and sleep upon it;” thereupon
they went to bed.

Next morning the wife awoke first, and it was just daybreak, and from
her bed she saw the beautiful country lying before her. Her husband was
still stretching himself, so she poked him in the side with her elbow,
and said, “Get up, husband, and just peep out of the window. Look you,
couldn’t we be the King over all that land? Go to the Flounder, we will
be the King.” “Ah, wife,” said the man, “why should we be King? I do
not want to be King.” “Well,” said the wife, “if you won’t be King, I
will; go to the Flounder, for I will be King.” “Ah, wife,” said the
man, “why do you want to be King? I do not like to say that to him.”
“Why not?” said the woman; “go to him this instant; I must be King!” So
the man went, and was quite unhappy because his wife wished to be King.
“It is not right; it is not right,” thought he. He did not wish to go,
but yet he went.

And when he came to the sea, it was quite dark-grey, and the water
heaved up from below, and smelt putrid. Then he went and stood by it,
and said,

“Flounder, flounder in the sea,
Come, I pray thee, here to me;
For my wife, good Ilsabil,
Wills not as I’d have her will”


“Well, what does she want, then?” said the Flounder. “Alas,” said the
man, “she wants to be King.” “Go to her; she is King already.”

So the man went, and when he came to the palace, the castle had become
much larger, and had a great tower and magnificent ornaments, and the
sentinel was standing before the door, and there were numbers of
soldiers with kettle-drums and trumpets. And when he went inside the
house, everything was of real marble and gold, with velvet covers and
great golden tassels. Then the doors of the hall were opened, and there
was the court in all its splendour, and his wife was sitting on a high
throne of gold and diamonds, with a great crown of gold on her head,
and a sceptre of pure gold and jewels in her hand, and on both sides of
her stood her maids-in-waiting in a row, each of them always one head
shorter than the last.

Then he went and stood before her, and said, “Ah, wife, and now you are
King.” “Yes,” said the woman, “now I am King.” So he stood and looked
at her, and when he had looked at her thus for some time, he said, “And
now that you are King, let all else be, now we will wish for nothing
more.” “Nay, husband,” said the woman, quite anxiously, “I find time
pass very heavily, I can bear it no longer; go to the Flounder—I am
King, but I must be Emperor, too.” “Alas, wife, why do you wish to be
Emperor?” “Husband,” said she, “go to the Flounder. I will be Emperor.”
“Alas, wife,” said the man, “he cannot make you Emperor; I may not say
that to the fish. There is only one Emperor in the land. An Emperor the
Flounder cannot make you! I assure you he cannot.”

“What!” said the woman, “I am the King, and you are nothing but my
husband; will you go this moment? go at once! If he can make a King he
can make an emperor. I will be Emperor; go instantly.” So he was forced
to go. As the man went, however, he was troubled in mind, and thought
to himself, “It will not end well; it will not end well! Emperor is too
shameless! The Flounder will at last be tired out.”

With that he reached the sea, and the sea was quite black and thick,
and began to boil up from below, so that it threw up bubbles, and such
a sharp wind blew over it that it curdled, and the man was afraid. Then
he went and stood by it, and said,

“Flounder, flounder in the sea,
Come, I pray thee, here to me;
For my wife, good Ilsabil,
Wills not as I’d have her will.”


“Well, what does she want, then?” said the Flounder. “Alas, Flounder,”
said he, “my wife wants to be Emperor.” “Go to her,” said the Flounder;
“she is Emperor already.”

So the man went, and when he got there the whole palace was made of
polished marble with alabaster figures and golden ornaments, and
soldiers were marching before the door blowing trumpets, and beating
cymbals and drums; and in the house, barons, and counts, and dukes were
going about as servants. Then they opened the doors to him, which were
of pure gold. And when he entered, there sat his wife on a throne,
which was made of one piece of gold, and was quite two miles high; and
she wore a great golden crown that was three yards high, and set with
diamonds and carbuncles, and in one hand she had the sceptre, and in
the other the imperial orb; and on both sides of her stood the yeomen
of the guard in two rows, each being smaller than the one before him,
from the biggest giant, who was two miles high, to the very smallest
dwarf, just as big as my little finger. And before it stood a number of
princes and dukes.

Then the man went and stood among them, and said, “Wife, are you
Emperor now?” “Yes,” said she, “now I am Emperor.” Then he stood and
looked at her well, and when he had looked at her thus for some time,
he said, “Ah, wife, be content, now that you are Emperor.” “Husband,”
said she, “why are you standing there? Now, I am Emperor, but I will be
Pope too; go to the Flounder.” “Alas, wife,” said the man, “what will
you not wish for? You cannot be Pope. There is but one in Christendom.
He cannot make you Pope.” “Husband,” said she, “I will be Pope; go
immediately, I must be Pope this very day.” “No, wife,” said the man,
“I do not like to say that to him; that would not do, it is too much;
the Flounder can’t make you Pope.” “Husband,” said she, “what nonsense!
If he can make an emperor he can make a pope. Go to him directly. I am
Emperor, and you are nothing but my husband; will you go at once?”

Then he was afraid and went; but he was quite faint, and shivered and
shook, and his knees and legs trembled. And a high wind blew over the
land, and the clouds flew, and towards evening all grew dark, and the
leaves fell from the trees, and the water rose and roared as if it were
boiling, and splashed upon the shore. And in the distance he saw ships
which were firing guns in their sore need, pitching and tossing on the
waves. And yet in the midst of the sky there was still a small bit of
blue, though on every side it was as red as in a heavy storm. So, full
of despair, he went and stood in much fear and said,

“Flounder, flounder in the sea,
Come, I pray thee, here to me;”
For my wife, good Ilsabil,
Wills not as I’d have her will.


“Well, what does she want, then?” said the Flounder. “Alas,” said the
man, “she wants to be Pope.” “Go to her then,” said the Flounder; “she
is Pope already.”

So he went, and when he got there, he saw what seemed to be a large
church surrounded by palaces. He pushed his way through the crowd.
Inside, however, everything was lighted up with thousands and thousands
of candles, and his wife was clad in gold, and she was sitting on a
much higher throne, and had three great golden crowns on, and round
about her there was much ecclesiastical splendour; and on both sides of
her was a row of candles the largest of which was as tall as the very
tallest tower, down to the very smallest kitchen candle, and all the
emperors and kings were on their knees before her, kissing her shoe.
“Wife,” said the man, and looked attentively at her, “are you now
Pope?” “Yes,” said she, “I am Pope.” So he stood and looked at her, and
it was just as if he was looking at the bright sun. When he had stood
looking at her thus for a short time, he said, “Ah, wife, if you are
Pope, do let well alone!” But she looked as stiff as a post, and did
not move or show any signs of life. Then said he, “Wife, now that you
are Pope, be satisfied, you cannot become anything greater now.” “I
will consider about that,” said the woman. Thereupon they both went to
bed, but she was not satisfied, and greediness let her have no sleep,
for she was continually thinking what there was left for her to be.

The man slept well and soundly, for he had run about a great deal
during the day; but the woman could not fall asleep at all, and flung
herself from one side to the other the whole night through, thinking
always what more was left for her to be, but unable to call to mind
anything else. At length the sun began to rise, and when the woman saw
the red of dawn, she sat up in bed and looked at it. And when, through
the window, she saw the sun thus rising, she said, “Cannot I, too,
order the sun and moon to rise?” “Husband,” she said, poking him in the
ribs with her elbows, “wake up! go to the Flounder, for I wish to be
even as God is.” The man was still half asleep, but he was so horrified
that he fell out of bed. He thought he must have heard amiss, and
rubbed his eyes, and said, “Alas, wife, what are you saying?”
“Husband,” said she, “if I can’t order the sun and moon to rise, and
have to look on and see the sun and moon rising, I can’t bear it. I
shall not know what it is to have another happy hour, unless I can make
them rise myself.” Then she looked at him so terribly that a shudder
ran over him, and said, “Go at once; I wish to be like unto God.”
“Alas, wife,” said the man, falling on his knees before her, “the
Flounder cannot do that; he can make an emperor and a pope; I beseech
you, go on as you are, and be Pope.” Then she fell into a rage, and her
hair flew wildly about her head, and she cried, “I will not endure
this, I’ll not bear it any longer; wilt thou go?” Then he put on his
trousers and ran away like a madman. But outside a great storm was
raging, and blowing so hard that he could scarcely keep his feet;
houses and trees toppled over, the mountains trembled, rocks rolled
into the sea, the sky was pitch black, and it thundered and lightened,
and the sea came in with black waves as high as church-towers and
mountains, and all with crests of white foam at the top. Then he cried,
but could not hear his own words,

“Flounder, flounder in the sea,
Come, I pray thee, here to me;
For my wife, good Ilsabil,
Wills not as I’d have her will.”


“Well, what does she want, then?” said the Flounder. “Alas,” said he,
“she wants to be like unto God.” “Go to her, and you will find her back
again in the dirty hovel.” And there they are living still at this very
time.



20 The Valiant Little Tailor

One summer’s morning a little tailor was sitting on his table by the
window; he was in good spirits, and sewed with all his might. Then came
a peasant woman down the street crying, “Good jams, cheap! Good jams,
cheap!” This rang pleasantly in the tailor’s ears; he stretched his
delicate head out of the window, and called, “Come up here, dear woman;
here you will get rid of your goods.” The woman came up the three steps
to the tailor with her heavy basket, and he made her unpack the whole
of the pots for him. He inspected all of them, lifted them up, put his
nose to them, and at length said, “The jam seems to me to be good, so
weigh me out four ounces, dear woman, and if it is a quarter of a pound
that is of no consequence.” The woman who had hoped to find a good
sale, gave him what he desired, but went away quite angry and
grumbling. “Now, God bless the jam to my use,” cried the little tailor,
“and give me health and strength;” so he brought the bread out of the
cupboard, cut himself a piece right across the loaf and spread the jam
over it. “This won’t taste bitter,” said he, “but I will just finish
the jacket before I take a bite.” He laid the bread near him, sewed on,
and in his joy, made bigger and bigger stitches. In the meantime the
smell of the sweet jam ascended so to the wall, where the flies were
sitting in great numbers, that they were attracted and descended on it
in hosts. “Hola! who invited you?” said the little tailor, and drove
the unbidden guests away. The flies, however, who understood no German,
would not be turned away, but came back again in ever-increasing
companies. The little tailor at last lost all patience, and got a bit
of cloth from the hole under his work-table, and saying, “Wait, and I
will give it to you,” struck it mercilessly on them. When he drew it
away and counted, there lay before him no fewer than seven, dead and
with legs stretched out. “Art thou a fellow of that sort?” said he, and
could not help admiring his own bravery. “The whole town shall know of
this!” And the little tailor hastened to cut himself a girdle, stitched
it, and embroidered on it in large letters, “Seven at one stroke!”
“What, the town!” he continued, “The whole world shall hear of it!” and
his heart wagged with joy like a lamb’s tail. The tailor put on the
girdle, and resolved to go forth into the world, because he thought his
workshop was too small for his valour. Before he went away, he sought
about in the house to see if there was anything which he could take
with him; however, he found nothing but an old cheese, and that he put
in his pocket. In front of the door he observed a bird which had caught
itself in the thicket. It had to go into his pocket with the cheese.
Now he took to the road boldly, and as he was light and nimble, he felt
no fatigue. The road led him up a mountain, and when he had reached the
highest point of it, there sat a powerful giant looking about him quite
comfortably. The little tailor went bravely up, spoke to him, and said,
“Good day, comrade, so thou art sitting there overlooking the
wide-spread world! I am just on my way thither, and want to try my
luck. Hast thou any inclination to go with me?” The giant looked
contemptuously at the tailor, and said, “Thou ragamuffin! Thou
miserable creature!”

“Oh, indeed?” answered the little tailor, and unbuttoned his coat, and
showed the giant the girdle, “There mayst thou read what kind of a man
I am!” The giant read, “Seven at one stroke,” and thought that they had
been men whom the tailor had killed, and began to feel a little respect
for the tiny fellow. Nevertheless, he wished to try him first, and took
a stone in his hand and squeezed it together so that water dropped out
of it. “Do that likewise,” said the giant, “if thou hast strength?” “Is
that all?” said the tailor, “that is child’s play with us!” and put his
hand into his pocket, brought out the soft cheese, and pressed it until
the liquid ran out of it. “Faith,” said he, “that was a little better,
wasn’t it?” The giant did not know what to say, and could not believe
it of the little man. Then the giant picked up a stone and threw it so
high that the eye could scarcely follow it. “Now, little mite of a man,
do that likewise.” “Well thrown,” said the tailor, “but after all the
stone came down to earth again; I will throw you one which shall never
come back at all.” And he put his hand into his pocket, took out the
bird, and threw it into the air. The bird, delighted with its liberty,
rose, flew away and did not come back. “How does that shot please you,
comrade?” asked the tailor. “Thou canst certainly throw,” said the
giant, “but now we will see if thou art able to carry anything
properly.” He took the little tailor to a mighty oak tree which lay
there felled on the ground, and said, “If thou art strong enough, help
me to carry the tree out of the forest.” “Readily,” answered the little
man; “take thou the trunk on thy shoulders, and I will raise up the
branches and twigs; after all, they are the heaviest.” The giant took
the trunk on his shoulder, but the tailor seated himself on a branch,
and the giant who could not look round, had to carry away the whole
tree, and the little tailor into the bargain: he behind, was quite
merry and happy, and whistled the song, “Three tailors rode forth from
the gate,” as if carrying the tree were child’s play. The giant, after
he had dragged the heavy burden part of the way, could go no further,
and cried, “Hark you, I shall have to let the tree fall!” The tailor
sprang nimbly down, seized the tree with both arms as if he had been
carrying it, and said to the giant, “Thou art such a great fellow, and
yet canst not even carry the tree!”

They went on together, and as they passed a cherry-tree, the giant laid
hold of the top of the tree where the ripest fruit was hanging, bent it
down, gave it into the tailor’s hand, and bade him eat. But the little
tailor was much too weak to hold the tree, and when the giant let it
go, it sprang back again, and the tailor was hurried into the air with
it. When he had fallen down again without injury, the giant said, “What
is this? Hast thou not strength enough to hold the weak twig?” “There
is no lack of strength,” answered the little tailor. “Dost thou think
that could be anything to a man who has struck down seven at one blow?
I leapt over the tree because the huntsmen are shooting down there in
the thicket. Jump as I did, if thou canst do it.” The giant made the
attempt, but could not get over the tree, and remained hanging in the
branches, so that in this also the tailor kept the upper hand.

The giant said, “If thou art such a valiant fellow, come with me into
our cavern and spend the night with us.” The little tailor was willing,
and followed him. When they went into the cave, other giants were
sitting there by the fire, and each of them had a roasted sheep in his
hand and was eating it. The little tailor looked round and thought, “It
is much more spacious here than in my workshop.” The giant showed him a
bed, and said he was to lie down in it and sleep. The bed, however, was
too big for the little tailor; he did not lie down in it, but crept
into a corner. When it was midnight, and the giant thought that the
little tailor was lying in a sound sleep, he got up, took a great iron
bar, cut through the bed with one blow, and thought he had given the
grasshopper his finishing stroke. With the earliest dawn the giants
went into the forest, and had quite forgotten the little tailor, when
all at once he walked up to them quite merrily and boldly. The giants
were terrified, they were afraid that he would strike them all dead,
and ran away in a great hurry.

The little tailor went onwards, always following his own pointed nose.
After he had walked for a long time, he came to the courtyard of a
royal palace, and as he felt weary, he lay down on the grass and fell
asleep. Whilst he lay there, the people came and inspected him on all
sides, and read on his girdle, “Seven at one stroke.” “Ah,” said they,
“What does the great warrior here in the midst of peace? He must be a
mighty lord.” They went and announced him to the King, and gave it as
their opinion that if war should break out, this would be a weighty and
useful man who ought on no account to be allowed to depart. The counsel
pleased the King, and he sent one of his courtiers to the little tailor
to offer him military service when he awoke. The ambassador remained
standing by the sleeper, waited until he stretched his limbs and opened
his eyes, and then conveyed to him this proposal. “For this very reason
have I come here,” the tailor replied, “I am ready to enter the King’s
service.” He was therefore honorably received and a special dwelling
was assigned him.

The soldiers, however, were set against the little tailor, and wished
him a thousand miles away. “What is to be the end of this?” they said
amongst themselves. “If we quarrel with him, and he strikes about him,
seven of us will fall at every blow; not one of us can stand against
him.” They came therefore to a decision, betook themselves in a body to
the King, and begged for their dismissal. “We are not prepared,” said
they, “to stay with a man who kills seven at one stroke.” The King was
sorry that for the sake of one he should lose all his faithful
servants, wished that he had never set eyes on the tailor, and would
willingly have been rid of him again. But he did not venture to give
him his dismissal, for he dreaded lest he should strike him and all his
people dead, and place himself on the royal throne. He thought about it
for a long time, and at last found good counsel. He sent to the little
tailor and caused him to be informed that as he was such a great
warrior, he had one request to make to him. In a forest of his country
lived two giants who caused great mischief with their robbing,
murdering, ravaging, and burning, and no one could approach them
without putting himself in danger of death. If the tailor conquered and
killed these two giants, he would give him his only daughter to wife,
and half of his kingdom as 

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