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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 ***

H o u s e h o l d Ta l e s b y
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 a dowry, likewise one hundred horsemen should go with him to
assist him. “That would indeed be a fine thing for a man like me!” thought
the little tailor. “One is not offered a beautiful princess and half a kingdom
every day of one’s life!” “Oh, yes,” he replied, “I will soon subdue the

giants, and do not require the help of the hundred horsemen to do it; he who
can hit seven with one blow has no need to be afraid of two.”
The little tailor went forth, and the hundred horsemen followed him.
When he came to the outskirts of the forest, he said to his followers, “Just
stay waiting here, I alone will soon finish off the giants.” Then he bounded
into the forest and looked about right and left. After a while he perceived
both giants. They lay sleeping under a tree, and snored so that the branches
waved up and down. The little tailor, not idle, gathered two pocketsful of
stones, and with these climbed up the tree. When he was half-way up, he
slipped down by a branch, until he sat just above the sleepers, and then let
one stone after another fall on the breast of one of the giants. For a long
time the giant felt nothing, but at last he awoke, pushed his comrade, and
said, “Why art thou knocking me?” “Thou must be dreaming,” said the
other, “I am not knocking thee.” They laid themselves down to sleep again,
and then the tailor threw a stone down on the second. “What is the meaning
of this?” cried the other. “Why art thou pelting me?” “I am not pelting
thee,” answered the first, growling. They disputed about it for a time, but as
they were weary they let the matter rest, and their eyes closed once more.
The little tailor began his game again, picked out the biggest stone, and
threw it with all his might on the breast of the first giant. “That is too bad!”
cried he, and sprang up like a madman, and pushed his companion against
the tree until it shook. The other paid him back in the same coin, and they
got into such a rage that they tore up trees and belabored each other so long,
that at last they both fell down dead on the ground at the same time. Then
the little tailor leapt down. “It is a lucky thing,” said he, “that they did not
tear up the tree on which I was sitting, or I should have had to spring on to
another like a squirrel; but we tailors are nimble.” He drew out his sword
and gave each of them a couple of thrusts in the breast, and then went out to
the horsemen and said, “The work is done; I have given both of them their
finishing stroke, but it was hard work! They tore up trees in their sore need,
and defended themselves with them, but all that is to no purpose when a
man like myself comes, who can kill seven at one blow.” “But are you not
wounded?” asked the horsemen. “You need not concern yourself about
that,” answered the tailor, “They have not bent one hair of mine.” The
horsemen would not believe him, and rode into the forest; there they found
the giants swimming in their blood, and all round about lay the torn-up
trees.

The little tailor demanded of the King the promised reward; he, however,
repented of his promise, and again bethought himself how he could get rid
of the hero. “Before thou receivest my daughter, and the half of my
kingdom,” said he to him, “thou must perform one more heroic deed. In the
forest roams a unicorn which does great harm, and thou must catch it first.”
“I fear one unicorn still less than two giants. Seven at one blow, is my kind
of affair.” He took a rope and an axe with him, went forth into the forest,
and again bade those who were sent with him to wait outside. He had to
seek long. The unicorn soon came towards him, and rushed directly on the
tailor, as if it would spit him on his horn without more ceremony. “Softly,
softly; it can’t be done as quickly as that,” said he, and stood still and
waited until the animal was quite close, and then sprang nimbly behind the
tree. The unicorn ran against the tree with all its strength, and struck its horn
so fast in the trunk that it had not strength enough to draw it out again, and
thus it was caught. “Now, I have got the bird,” said the tailor, and came out
from behind the tree and put the rope round its neck, and then with his axe
he hewed the horn out of the tree, and when all was ready he led the beast
away and took it to the King.
The King still would not give him the promised reward, and made a third
demand. Before the wedding the tailor was to catch him a wild boar that
made great havoc in the forest, and the huntsmen should give him their
help. “Willingly,” said the tailor, “that is child’s play!” He did not take the
huntsmen with him into the forest, and they were well pleased that he did
not, for the wild boar had several times received them in such a manner that
they had no inclination to lie in wait for him. When the boar perceived the
tailor, it ran on him with foaming mouth and whetted tusks, and was about
to throw him to the ground, but the active hero sprang into a chapel which
was near, and up to the window at once, and in one bound out again. The
boar ran in after him, but the tailor ran round outside and shut the door
behind it, and then the raging beast, which was much too heavy and
awkward to leap out of the window, was caught. The little tailor called the
huntsmen thither that they might see the prisoner with their own eyes. The
hero, however went to the King, who was now, whether he liked it or not,
obliged to keep his promise, and gave him his daughter and the half of his
kingdom. Had he known that it was no warlike hero, but a little tailor who
was standing before him, it would have gone to his heart still more than it

did. The wedding was held with great magnificence and small joy, and out
of a tailor a king was made.
After some time the young Queen heard her husband say in his dreams at
night, “Boy, make me the doublet, and patch the pantaloons, or else I will
rap the yard-measure over thine ears.” Then she discovered in what state of
life the young lord had been born, and next morning complained of her
wrongs to her father, and begged him to help her to get rid of her husband,
who was nothing else but a tailor. The King comforted her and said, “Leave
thy bed-room door open this night, and my servants shall stand outside, and
when he has fallen asleep shall go in, bind him, and take him on board a
ship which shall carry him into the wide world.” The woman was satisfied
with this; but the King’s armour-bearer, who had heard all, was friendly
with the young lord, and informed him of the whole plot. “I’ll put a screw
into that business,” said the little tailor. At night he went to bed with his
wife at the usual time, and when she thought that he had fallen asleep, she
got up, opened the door, and then lay down again. The little tailor, who was
only pretending to be asleep, began to cry out in a clear voice, “Boy, make
me the doublet and patch me the pantaloons, or I will rap the yard-measure
over thine ears. I smote seven at one blow. I killed two giants, I brought
away one unicorn and caught a wild boar, and am I to fear those who are
standing outside the room.” When these men heard the tailor speaking thus,
they were overcome by a great dread, and ran as if the wild huntsman were
behind them, and none of them would venture anything further against him.
So the little tailor was a king and remained one, to the end of his life.

21 Cinderella
The wife of a rich man fell sick, and as she felt that her end was drawing
near, she called her only daughter to her bedside and said, “Dear child, be
good and pious, and then the good God will always protect thee, and I will
look down on thee from heaven and be near thee.” Thereupon she closed
her eyes and departed. Every day the maiden went out to her mother’s
grave, and wept, and she remained pious and good. When winter came the
snow spread a white sheet over the grave, and when the spring sun had
drawn it off again, the man had taken another wife.
The woman had brought two daughters into the house with her, who were
beautiful and fair of face, but vile and black of heart. Now began a bad time
for the poor step-child. “Is the stupid goose to sit in the parlour with us?”
said they. “He who wants to eat bread must earn it; out with the kitchen-
wench.” They took her pretty clothes away from her, put an old grey
bedgown on her, and gave her wooden shoes. “Just look at the proud
princess, how decked out she is!” they cried, and laughed, and led her into
the kitchen. There she had to do hard work from morning till night, get up
before daybreak, carry water, light fires, cook and wash. Besides this, the
sisters did her every imaginable injury—they mocked her and emptied her
peas and lentils into the ashes, so that she was forced to sit and pick them
out again. In the evening when she had worked till she was weary she had
no bed to go to, but had to sleep by the fireside in the ashes. And as on that
account she always looked dusty and dirty, they called her Cinderella. It
happened that the father was once going to the fair, and he asked his two
step-daughters what he should bring back for them. “Beautiful dresses,”
said one, “Pearls and jewels,” said the second. “And thou, Cinderella,” said
he, “what wilt thou have?” “Father, break off for me the first branch which
knocks against your hat on your way home.” So he bought beautiful
dresses, pearls and jewels for his two step-daughters, and on his way home,
as he was riding through a green thicket, a hazel twig brushed against him
and knocked off his hat. Then he broke off the branch and took it with him.
When he reached home he gave his step-daughters the things which they

had wished for, and to Cinderella he gave the branch from the hazel-bush.
Cinderella thanked him, went to her mother’s grave and planted the branch
on it, and wept so much that the tears fell down on it and watered it. And it
grew, however, and became a handsome tree. Thrice a day Cinderella went
and sat beneath it, and wept and prayed, and a little white bird always came
on the tree, and if Cinderella expressed a wish, the bird threw down to her
what she had wished for.
It happened, however, that the King appointed a festival which was to
last three days, and to which all the beautiful young girls in the country
were invited, in order that his son might choose himself a bride. When the
two step-sisters heard that they too were to appear among the number, they
were delighted, called Cinderella and said, “Comb our hair for us, brush our
shoes and fasten our buckles, for we are going to the festival at the King’s
palace.” Cinderella obeyed, but wept, because she too would have liked to
go with them to the dance, and begged her step-mother to allow her to do
so. “Thou go, Cinderella!” said she; “Thou art dusty and dirty and wouldst
go to the festival? Thou hast no clothes and shoes, and yet wouldst dance!”
As, however, Cinderella went on asking, the step-mother at last said, “I
have emptied a dish of lentils into the ashes for thee, if thou hast picked
them out again in two hours, thou shalt go with us.” The maiden went
through the back-door into the garden, and called, “You tame pigeons, you
turtle-doves, and all you birds beneath the sky, come and help me to pick
“The good into the pot,
The bad into the crop.”

Then two white pigeons came in by the kitchen-window, and afterwards the
turtle-doves, and at last all the birds beneath the sky, came whirring and
crowding in, and alighted amongst the ashes. And the pigeons nodded with
their heads and began pick, pick, pick, pick, and the rest began also pick,
pick, pick, pick, and gathered all the good grains into the dish. Hardly had
one hour passed before they had finished, and all flew out again. Then the
girl took the dish to her step-mother, and was glad, and believed that now
she would be allowed to go with them to the festival. But the step-mother
said, “No, Cinderella, thou hast no clothes and thou canst not dance; thou
wouldst only be laughed at.” And as Cinderella wept at this, the step-mother
said, “If thou canst pick two dishes of lentils out of the ashes for me in one
hour, thou shalt go with us.” And she thought to herself, “That she most

certainly cannot do.” When the step-mother had emptied the two dishes of
lentils amongst the ashes, the maiden went through the back-door into the
garden and cried, You tame pigeons, you turtle-doves, and all you birds
under heaven, come and help me to pick
“The good into the pot,
The bad into the crop.”

Then two white pigeons came in by the kitchen-window, and afterwards
the turtle-doves, and at length all the birds beneath the sky, came whirring
and crowding in, and alighted amongst the ashes. And the doves nodded
with their heads and began pick, pick, pick, pick, and the others began also
pick, pick, pick, pick, and gathered all the good seeds into the dishes, and
before half an hour was over they had already finished, and all flew out
again. Then the maiden carried the dishes to the step-mother and was
delighted, and believed that she might now go with them to the festival. But
the step-mother said, “All this will not help thee; thou goest not with us, for
thou hast no clothes and canst not dance; we should be ashamed of thee!”
On this she turned her back on Cinderella, and hurried away with her two
proud daughters.
As no one was now at home, Cinderella went to her mother’s grave
beneath the hazel-tree, and cried,
“Shiver and quiver, little tree,
Silver and gold throw down over me.”

Then the bird threw a gold and silver dress down to her, and slippers
embroidered with silk and silver. She put on the dress with all speed, and
went to the festival. Her step-sisters and the step-mother however did not
know her, and thought she must be a foreign princess, for she looked so
beautiful in the golden dress. They never once thought of Cinderella, and
believed that she was sitting at home in the dirt, picking lentils out of the
ashes. The prince went to meet her, took her by the hand and danced with
her. He would dance with no other maiden, and never left loose of her hand,
and if any one else came to invite her, he said, “This is my partner.”
She danced till it was evening, and then she wanted to go home. But the
King’s son said, “I will go with thee and bear thee company,” for he wished
to see to whom the beautiful maiden belonged. She escaped from him,
however, and sprang into the pigeon-house. The King’s son waited until her

father came, and then he told him that the stranger maiden had leapt into the
pigeon-house. The old man thought, “Can it be Cinderella?” and they had to
bring him an axe and a pickaxe that he might hew the pigeon-house to
pieces, but no one was inside it. And when they got home Cinderella lay in
her dirty clothes among the ashes, and a dim little oil-lamp was burning on
the mantle-piece, for Cinderella had jumped quickly down from the back of
the pigeon-house and had run to the little hazel-tree, and there she had taken
off her beautiful clothes and laid them on the grave, and the bird had taken
them away again, and then she had placed herself in the kitchen amongst
the ashes in her grey gown.
Next day when the festival began afresh, and her parents and the step-
sisters had gone once more, Cinderella went to the hazel-tree and said—
“Shiver and quiver, my little tree,
Silver and gold throw down over me.”

Then the bird threw down a much more beautiful dress than on the
preceding day. And when Cinderella appeared at the festival in this dress,
every one was astonished at her beauty. The King’s son had waited until she
came, and instantly took her by the hand and danced with no one but her.
When others came and invited her, he said, “She is my partner.” When
evening came she wished to leave, and the King’s son followed her and
wanted to see into which house she went. But she sprang away from him,
and into the garden behind the house. Therein stood a beautiful tall tree on
which hung the most magnificent pears. She clambered so nimbly between
the branches like a squirrel that the King’s son did not know where she was
gone. He waited until her father came, and said to him, “The stranger-
maiden has escaped from me, and I believe she has climbed up the pear-
tree.” The father thought, “Can it be Cinderella?” and had an axe brought
and cut the tree down, but no one was on it. And when they got into the
kitchen, Cinderella lay there amongst the ashes, as usual, for she had
jumped down on the other side of the tree, had taken the beautiful dress to
the bird on the little hazel-tree, and put on her grey gown.
On the third day, when the parents and sisters had gone away, Cinderella
went once more to her mother’s grave and said to the little tree—
“Shiver and quiver, my little tree,
Silver and gold throw down over me.”

And now the bird threw down to her a dress which was more splendid
and magnificent than any she had yet had, and the slippers were golden.
And when she went to the festival in the dress, no one knew how to speak
for astonishment. The King’s son danced with her only, and if any one
invited her to dance, he said, “She is my partner.”
When evening came, Cinderella wished to leave, and the King’s son was
anxious to go with her, but she escaped from him so quickly that he could
not follow her. The King’s son had, however, used a strategem, and had
caused the whole staircase to be smeared with pitch, and there, when she
ran down, had the maiden’s left slipper remained sticking. The King’s son
picked it up, and it was small and dainty, and all golden. Next morning, he
went with it to the father, and said to him, “No one shall be my wife but she
whose foot this golden slipper fits.” Then were the two sisters glad, for they
had pretty feet. The eldest went with the shoe into her room and wanted to
try it on, and her mother stood by. But she could not get her big toe into it,
and the shoe was too small for her. Then her mother gave her a knife and
said, “Cut the toe off; when thou art Queen thou wilt have no more need to
go on foot.” The maiden cut the toe off, forced the foot into the shoe,
swallowed the pain, and went out to the King’s son. Then he took her on his
horse as his bride and rode away with her. They were, however, obliged to
pass the grave, and there, on the hazel-tree, sat the two pigeons and cried,
“Turn and peep, turn and peep,
There’s blood within the shoe,
The shoe it is too small for her,
The true bride waits for you.”

Then he looked at her foot and saw how the blood was streaming from it.
He turned his horse round and took the false bride home again, and said she
was not the true one, and that the other sister was to put the shoe on. Then
this one went into her chamber and got her toes safely into the shoe, but her
heel was too large. So her mother gave her a knife and said, “Cut a bit off
thy heel; when thou art Queen thou wilt have no more need to go on foot.”
The maiden cut a bit off her heel, forced her foot into the shoe, swallowed
the pain, and went out to the King’s son. He took her on his horse as his
bride, and rode away with her, but when they passed by the hazel-tree, two
little pigeons sat on it and cried,

“Turn and peep, turn and peep,
There’s blood within the shoe
The shoe it is too small for her,
The true bride waits for you.”

He looked down at her foot and saw how the blood was running out of her
shoe, and how it had stained her white stocking. Then he turned his horse
and took the false bride home again. “This also is not the right one,” said
he, “have you no other daughter?” “No,” said the man, “There is still a little
stunted kitchen-wench which my late wife left behind her, but she cannot
possibly be the bride.” The King’s son said he was to send her up to him;
but the mother answered, “Oh, no, she is much too dirty, she cannot show
herself!” He absolutely insisted on it, and Cinderella had to be called. She
first washed her hands and face clean, and then went and bowed down
before the King’s son, who gave her the golden shoe. Then she seated
herself on a stool, drew her foot out of the heavy wooden shoe, and put it
into the slipper, which fitted like a glove. And when she rose up and the
King’s son looked at her face he recognized the beautiful maiden who had
danced with him and cried, “That is the true bride!” The step-mother and
the two sisters were terrified and became pale with rage; he, however, took
Cinderella on his horse and rode away with her. As they passed by the
hazel-tree, the two white doves cried—
“Turn and peep, turn and peep,
No blood is in the shoe,
The shoe is not too small for her,
The true bride rides with you,”

and when they had cried that, the two came flying down and placed
themselves on Cinderella’s shoulders, one on the right, the other on the left,
and remained sitting there.
When the wedding with the King’s son had to be celebrated, the two false
sisters came and wanted to get into favour with Cinderella and share her
good fortune. When the betrothed couple went to church, the elder was at
the right side and the younger at the left, and the pigeons pecked out one
eye of each of them. Afterwards as they came back, the elder was at the left,
and the younger at the right, and then the pigeons pecked out the other eye
of each. And thus, for their wickedness and falsehood, they were punished
with blindness as long as they lived.

22 The Riddle
There was once a King’s son who was seized with a desire to travel about
the world, and took no one with him but a faithful servant. One day he came
to a great forest, and when darkness overtook him he could find no shelter,
and knew not where to pass the night. Then he saw a girl who was going
towards a small house, and when he came nearer, he saw that the maiden
was young and beautiful. He spoke to her, and said, “Dear child, can I and
my servant find shelter for the night in the little house?” “Oh, yes,” said the
girl in a sad voice, “that you certainly can, but I do not advise you to
venture it. Do not go in.” “Why not?” asked the King’s son. The maiden
sighed and said, “My step-mother practises wicked arts; she is ill-disposed
toward strangers.” Then he saw very well that he had come to the house of a
witch, but as it was dark, and he could not go farther, and also was not
afraid, he entered. The old woman was sitting in an armchair by the fire,
and looked at the stranger with her red eyes. “Good evening,” growled she,
and pretended to be quite friendly. “Take a seat and rest yourselves.” She
blew up the fire on which she was cooking something in a small pot. The
daughter warned the two to be prudent, to eat nothing, and drink nothing,
for the old woman brewed evil drinks. They slept quietly until early
morning. When they were making ready for their departure, and the King’s
son was already seated on his horse, the old woman said, “Stop a moment, I
will first hand you a parting draught.” Whilst she fetched it, the King’s son
rode away, and the servant who had to buckle his saddle tight, was the only
one present when the wicked witch came with the drink. “Take that to your
master,” said she. But at that instant the glass broke and the poison spirted
on the horse, and it was so strong that the animal immediately fell down
dead. The servant ran after his master and told him what had happened, but
would not leave his saddle behind him, and ran back to fetch it. When,
however, he came to the dead horse a raven was already sitting on it
devouring it. “Who knows whether we shall find anything better to-day?”
said the servant; so he killed the raven, and took it with him. And now they
journeyed onwards into the forest the whole day, but could not get out of it.

By nightfall they found an inn and entered it. The servant gave the raven to
the innkeeper to make ready for supper. They had, however, stumbled on a
den of murderers, and during the darkness twelve of these came, intending
to kill the strangers and rob them. Before they set about this work, they sat
down to supper, and the innkeeper and the witch sat down with them, and
together they ate a dish of soup in which was cut up the flesh of the raven.
Hardly, however, had they swallowed a couple of mouthfuls, before they all
fell down dead, for the raven had communicated to them the poison from
the horse-flesh. There was no no one else left in the house but the
innkeeper’s daughter, who was honest, and had taken no part in their
godless deeds. She opened all doors to the stranger and showed him the
heaped-up treasures. But the King’s son said she might keep everything, he
would have none of it, and rode onwards with his servant.
After they had traveled about for a long time, they came to a town in
which was a beautiful but proud princess, who had caused it to be
proclaimed that whosoever should set her a riddle which she could not
guess, that man should be her husband; but if she guessed it, his head must
be cut off. She had three days to guess it in, but was so clever that she
always found the answer to the riddle given her, before the appointed time.
Nine suitors had already perished in this manner, when the King’s son
arrived, and blinded by her great beauty, was willing to stake his life for it.
Then he went to her and laid his riddle before her. “What is this?” said he,
“One slew none, and yet slew twelve.” She did not know what that was, she
thought and thought, but she could not find out, she opened her riddle-
books, but it was not in them—in short, her wisdom was at an end. As she
did not know how to help herself, she ordered her maid to creep into the
lord’s sleeping-chamber, and listen to his dreams, and thought that he would
perhaps speak in his sleep and discover the riddle. But the clever servant
had placed himself in the bed instead of his master, and when the maid
came there, he tore off from her the mantle in which she had wrapped
herself, and chased her out with rods. The second night the King’s daughter
sent her maid-in-waiting, who was to see if she could succeed better in
listening, but the servant took her mantle also away from her, and hunted
her out with rods. Now the master believed himself safe for the third night,
and lay down in his own bed. Then came the princess herself, and she had
put on a misty-grey mantle, and she seated herself near him. And when she
thought that he was asleep and dreaming, she spoke to him, and hoped that

he would answer in his sleep, as many do, but he was awake, and
understood and heard everything quite well. Then she asked, “One slew
none, what is that?” He replied, “A raven, which ate of a dead and poisoned
horse, and died of it.” She inquired further, “And yet slew twelve, what is
that?” He answered, “That means twelve murderers, who ate the raven and
died of it.”
When she knew the answer to the riddle she wanted to steal away, but he
held her mantle so fast that she was forced to leave it behind her. Next
morning, the King’s daughter announced that she had guessed the riddle,
and sent for the twelve judges and expounded it before them. But the youth
begged for a hearing, and said, “She stole into my room in the night and
questioned me, otherwise she could not have discovered it.” The judges
said, “Bring us a proof of this.” Then were the three mantles brought thither
by the servant, and when the judges saw the misty-grey one which the
King’s daughter usually wore, they said, “Let the mantle be embroidered
with gold and silver, and then it will be your wedding-mantle.

23 The Mouse, the Bird, and the Sausage
Once on a time a mouse, a bird, and a sausage became companions, kept
house together, lived well and happily with each other, and wonderfully
increased their possessions. The bird’s work was to fly every day into the
forest and bring back wood. The mouse had to carry water, light the fire,
and lay the table, but the sausage had to cook.
He who is too well off is always longing for something new. One day,
therefore, the bird met with another bird, on the way, to whom it related its
excellent circumstances and boasted of them. The other bird, however,
called it a poor simpleton for his hard work, but said that the two at home
had good times. For when the mouse had made her fire and carried her
water, she went into her little room to rest until they called her to lay the
table. The sausage stayed by the pot, saw that the food was cooking well,
and, when it was nearly time for dinner, it rolled itself once or twice
through the broth or vegetables and then they were buttered, salted, and
ready. When the bird came home and laid his burden down, they sat down
to dinner, and after they had had their meal, they slept their fill till next
morning, and that was a splendid life.
Next day the bird, prompted by the other bird, would go no more into the
wood, saying that he had been servant long enough, and had been made a
fool of by them, and that they must change about for once, and try to
arrange it in another way. And, though the mouse and the sausage also
begged most earnestly, the bird would have his way, and said it must be
tried. They cast lots about it, and the lot fell on the sausage who was to
carry wood, the mouse became cook, and the bird was to fetch water.
What happened? The little sausage went out towards the wood, the little
bird lighted the fire, the mouse stayed by the pot and waited alone until
little sausage came home and brought wood for next day. But the little
sausage stayed so long on the road that they both feared something was
amiss, and the bird flew out a little way in the air to meet it. Not far off,
however, it met a dog on the road who had fallen on the poor sausage as

lawful booty, and had seized and swallowed it. The bird charged the dog
with an act of barefaced robbery, but it was in vain to speak, for the dog
said he had found forged letters on the sausage, on which account its life
was forfeited to him.
The bird sadly took up the wood, flew home, and related what he had
seen and heard. They were much troubled, but agreed to do their best and
remain together. The bird therefore laid the cloth, and the mouse made
ready the food, and wanted to dress it, and to get into the pot as the sausage
used to do, and roll and creep amongst the vegetables to mix them; but
before she got into the midst of them she was stopped, and lost her skin and
hair and life in the attempt.
When the bird came to carry up the dinner, no cook was there. In its
distress the bird threw the wood here and there, called and searched, but no
cook was to be found! Owing to his carelessness the wood caught fire, so
that a conflagration ensued, the bird hastened to fetch water, and then the
bucket dropped from his claws into the well, and he fell down with it, and
could not recover himself, but had to drown there.

24 Mother Holle
There was once a widow who had two daughters—one of whom was
pretty and industrious, whilst the other was ugly and idle. But she was much
fonder of the ugly and idle one, because she was her own daughter; and the
other, who was a step-daughter, was obliged to do all the work, and be the
Cinderella of the house. Every day the poor girl had to sit by a well, in the
highway, and spin and spin till her fingers bled.
Now it happened that one day the shuttle was marked with her blood, so
she dipped it in the well, to wash the mark off; but it dropped out of her
hand and fell to the bottom. She began to weep, and ran to her step-mother
and told her of the mishap. But she scolded her sharply, and was so
merciless as to say, “Since you have let the shuttle fall in, you must fetch it
out again.”
So the girl went back to the well, and did not know what to do; and in the
sorrow of her heart she jumped into the well to get the shuttle. She lost her
senses; and when she awoke and came to herself again, she was in a lovely
meadow where the sun was shining and many thousands of flowers were
growing. Along this meadow she went, and at last came to a baker’s oven
full of bread, and the bread cried out, “Oh, take me out! take me out! or I
shall burn; I have been baked a long time!” So she went up to it, and took
out all the loaves one after another with the bread-shovel. After that she
went on till she came to a tree covered with apples, which called out to her,
“Oh, shake me! shake me! we apples are all ripe!” So she shook the tree till
the apples fell like rain, and went on shaking till they were all down, and
when she had gathered them into a heap, she went on her way.
At last she came to a little house, out of which an old woman peeped; but
she had such large teeth that the girl was frightened, and was about to run
away.
But the old woman called out to her, “What are you afraid of, dear child?
Stay with me; if you will do all the work in the house properly, you shall be
the better for it. Only you must take care to make my bed well, and shake it

thoroughly till the feathers fly—for then there is snow on the earth. I am
Mother Holle.
As the old woman spoke so kindly to her, the girl took courage and
agreed to enter her service. She attended to everything to the satisfaction of
her mistress, and always shook her bed so vigorously that the feathers flew
about like snow-flakes. So she had a pleasant life with her; never an angry
word; and boiled or roast meat every day.
She stayed some time with Mother Holle, and then she became sad. At
first she did not know what was the matter with her, but found at length that
it was home-sickness: although she was many thousand times better off
here than at home, still she had a longing to be there. At last she said to the
old woman, “I have a longing for home; and however well off I am down
here, I cannot stay any longer; I must go up again to my own people.”
Mother Holle said, “I am pleased that you long for your home again, and as
you have served me so truly, I myself will take you up again.” Thereupon
she took her by the hand, and led her to a large door. The door was opened,
and just as the maiden was standing beneath the doorway, a heavy shower
of golden rain fell, and all the gold remained sticking to her, so that she was
completely covered over with it.
“You shall have that because you have been so industrious,” said Mother
Holle, and at the same time she gave her back the shuttle which she had let
fall into the well. Thereupon the door closed, and the maiden found herself
up above upon the earth, not far from her mother’s house.
And as she went into the yard the cock was standing by the well-side, and
cried—
“Cock-a-doodle-doo!
Your golden girl’s come back to you!”

So she went in to her mother, and as she arrived thus covered with gold, she
was well received, both by her and her sister.
The girl told all that had happened to her; and as soon as the mother
heard how she had come by so much wealth, she was very anxious to obtain
the same good luck for the ugly and lazy daughter. She had to seat herself
by the well and spin; and in order that her shuttle might be stained with
blood, she stuck her hand into a thorn bush and pricked her finger. Then she
threw her shuttle into the well, and jumped in after it.

She came, like the other, to the beautiful meadow and walked along the
very same path. When she got to the oven the bread again cried, “Oh, take
me out! take me out! or I shall burn; I have been baked a long time!” But
the lazy thing answered, “As if I had any wish to make myself dirty?” and
on she went. Soon she came to the apple-tree, which cried, “Oh, shake me!
shake me! we apples are all ripe!” But she answered, “I like that! one of
you might fall on my head,” and so went on.
When she came to Mother Holle’s house she was not afraid, for she had
already heard of her big teeth, and she hired herself to her immediately.
The first day she forced herself to work diligently, and obeyed Mother
Holle when she told her to do anything, for she was thinking of all the gold
that she would give her. But on the second day she began to be lazy, and on
the third day still more so, and then she would not get up in the morning at
all. Neither did she make Mother Holle’s bed as she ought, and did not
shake it so as to make the feathers fly up. Mother Holle was soon tired of
this, and gave her notice to leave. The lazy girl was willing enough to go,
and thought that now the golden rain would come. Mother Holle led her
also to the great door; but while she was standing beneath it, instead of the
gold a big kettleful of pitch was emptied over her. “That is the reward for
your service,” said Mother Holle, and shut the door.
So the lazy girl went home; but she was quite covered with pitch, and the
cock by the well-side, as soon as he saw her, cried out—
“Cock-a-doodle-doo!
Your pitchy girl’s come back to you!”

But the pitch stuck fast to her, and could not be got off as long as she lived.

25 The Seven Ravens
There was once a man who had seven sons, and still he had no daughter,
however much he wished for one. At length his wife again gave him hope
of a child, and when it came into the world it was a girl. The joy was great,
but the child was sickly and small, and had to be privately baptized on
account of its weakness. The father sent one of the boys in haste to the
spring to fetch water for the baptism. The other six went with him, and as
each of them wanted to be first to fill it, the jug fell into the well. There they
stood and did not know what to do, and none of them dared to go home. As
they still did not return, the father grew impatient, and said, “They have
certainly forgotten it for some game, the wicked boys!” He became afraid
that the girl would have to die without being baptized, and in his anger
cried, “I wish the boys were all turned into ravens.” Hardly was the word
spoken before he heard a whirring of wings over his head in the air, looked
up and saw seven coal-black ravens flying away. The parents could not
recall the curse, and however sad they were at the loss of their seven sons,
they still to some extent comforted themselves with their dear little
daughter, who soon grew strong and every day became more beautiful. For
a long time she did not know that she had had brothers, for her parents were
careful not to mention them before her, but one day she accidentally heard
some people saying of herself, “that the girl was certainly beautiful, but that
in reality she was to blame for the misfortune which had befallen her seven
brothers.” Then she was much troubled, and went to her father and mother
and asked if it was true that she had had brothers, and what had become of
them? The parents now dared keep the secret no longer, but said that what
had befallen her brothers was the will of Heaven, and that her birth had only
been the innocent cause. But the maiden took it to heart daily, and thought
she must deliver her brothers. She had no rest or peace until she set out
secretly, and went forth into the wide world to trace out her brothers and set
them free, let it cost what it might. She took nothing with her but a little
ring belonging to her parents as a keepsake, a loaf of bread against hunger,

a little pitcher of water against thirst, and a little chair as a provision against
weariness.
And now she went continually onwards, far, far to the very end of the
world. Then she came to the sun, but it was too hot and terrible, and
devoured little children. Hastily she ran away, and ran to the moon, but it
was far too cold, and also awful and malicious, and when it saw the child, it
said, “I smell, I smell the flesh of men.” On this she ran swiftly away, and
came to the stars, which were kind and good to her, and each of them sat on
its own particular little chair. But the morning star arose, and gave her the
drumstick of a chicken, and said, “If you thou hast not that drumstick thou
canst not open the Glass mountain, and in the Glass mountain are thy
brothers.”
The maiden took the drumstick, wrapped it carefully in a cloth, and went
onwards again until she came to the Glass mountain. The door was shut,
and she thought she would take out the drumstick; but when she undid the
cloth, it was empty, and she had lost the good star’s present. What was she
now to do? She wished to rescue her brothers, and had no key to the Glass
mountain. The good sister took a knife, cut off one of her little fingers, put
it in the door, and succeeded in opening it. When she had gone inside, a
little dwarf came to meet her, who said, “My child, what are you looking
for?” “I am looking for my brothers, the seven ravens,” she replied. The
dwarf said, “The lord ravens are not at home, but if you will wait here until
they come, step in.” Thereupon the little dwarf carried the ravens’ dinner in,
on seven little plates, and in seven little glasses, and the little sister ate a
morsel from each plate, and from each little glass she took a sip, but in the
last little glass she dropped the ring which she had brought away with her.
Suddenly she heard a whirring of wings and a rushing through the air,
and then the little dwarf said, “Now the lord ravens are flying home.” Then
they came, and wanted to eat and drink, and looked for their little plates and
glasses. Then said one after the other, “Who has eaten something from my
plate? Who has drunk out of my little glass? It was a human mouth.” And
when the seventh came to the bottom of the glass, the ring rolled against his
mouth. Then he looked at it, and saw that it was a ring belonging to his
father and mother, and said, “God grant that our sister may be here, and
then we shall be free.” When the maiden, who was standing behind the door
watching, heard that wish, she came forth, and on this all the ravens were

restored to their human form again. And they embraced and kissed each
other, and went joyfully home.

26 Little Red-Cap
Once upon a time there was a dear little girl who was loved by every one
who looked at her, but most of all by her grandmother, and there was
nothing that she would not have given to the child. Once she gave her a
little cap of red velvet, which suited her so well that she would never wear
anything else; so she was always called “Little Red-Cap.”
One day her mother said to her, “Come, Little Red-Cap, here is a piece of
cake and a bottle of wine; take them to your grandmother, she is ill and
weak, and they will do her good. Set out before it gets hot, and when you
are going, walk nicely and quietly and do not run off the path, or you may
fall and break the bottle, and then your grandmother will get nothing; and
when you go into her room, don’t forget to say, ‘Good-morning,’ and don’t
peep into every corner before you do it.”
“I will take great care,” said Little Red-Cap to her mother, and gave her
hand on it.
The grandmother lived out in the wood, half a league from the village,
and just as Little Red-Cap entered the wood, a wolf met her. Red-Cap did
not know what a wicked creature he was, and was not at all afraid of him.
“Good-day, Little Red-Cap,” said he.
“Thank you kindly, wolf.”
“Whither away so early, Little Red-Cap?”
“To my grandmother’s.”
“What have you got in your apron?”
“Cake and wine; yesterday was baking-day, so poor sick grandmother is
to have something good, to make her stronger.”
“Where does your grandmother live, Little Red-Cap?”
“A good quarter of a league farther on in the wood; her house stands
under the three large oak-trees, the nut-trees are just below; you surely must
know it,” replied Little Red-Cap.

The wolf thought to himself, “What a tender young creature! what a nice
plump mouthful—she will be better to eat than the old woman. I must act
craftily, so as to catch both.” So he walked for a short time by the side of
Little Red-Cap, and then he said, “See Little Red-Cap, how pretty the
flowers are about here—why do you not look round? I believe, too, that you
do not hear how sweetly the little birds are singing; you walk gravely along
as if you were going to school, while everything else out here in the wood is
merry.”
Little Red-Cap raised her eyes, and when she saw the sunbeams dancing
here and there through the trees, and pretty flowers growing everywhere,
she thought, “Suppose I take grandmother a fresh nosegay; that would
please her too. It is so early in the day that I shall still get there in good
time;” and so she ran from the path into the wood to look for flowers. And
whenever she had picked one, she fancied that she saw a still prettier one
farther on, and ran after it, and so got deeper and deeper into the wood.
Meanwhile the wolf ran straight to the grandmother’s house and knocked
at the door.
“Who is there?”
“Little Red-Cap,” replied the wolf. “She is bringing cake and wine; open
the door.”
“Lift the latch,” called out the grandmother, “I am too weak, and cannot
get up.”
The wolf lifted the latch, the door flew open, and without saying a word
he went straight to the grandmother’s bed, and devoured her. Then he put
on her clothes, dressed himself in her cap, laid himself in bed and drew the
curtains.
Little Red-Cap, however, had been running about picking flowers, and
when she had gathered so many that she could carry no more, she
remembered her grandmother, and set out on the way to her.
She was surprised to find the cottage-door standing open, and when she
went into the room, she had such a strange feeling that she said to herself,
“Oh dear! how uneasy I feel to-day, and at other times I like being with
grandmother so much.” She called out, “Good morning,” but received no
answer; so she went to the bed and drew back the curtains. There lay her

grandmother with her cap pulled far over her face, and looking very
strange.
“Oh! grandmother,” she said, “what big ears you have!”
“The better to hear you with, my child,” was the reply.
“But, grandmother, what big eyes you have!” she said.
“The better to see you with, my dear.”
“But, grandmother, what large hands you have!”
“The better to hug you with.”
“Oh! but, grandmother, what a terrible big mouth you have!”
“The better to eat you with!”
And scarcely had the wolf said this, than with one bound he was out of
bed and swallowed up Red-Cap.
When the wolf had appeased his appetite, he lay down again in the bed,
fell asleep and began to snore very loud. The huntsman was just passing the
house, and thought to himself, “How the old woman is snoring! I must just
see if she wants anything.” So he went into the room, and when he came to
the bed, he saw that the wolf was lying in it. “Do I find thee here, thou old
sinner!” said he. “I have long sought thee!” Then just as he was going to
fire at him, it occurred to him that the wolf might have devoured the
grandmother, and that she might still be saved, so he did not fire, but took a
pair of scissors, and began to cut open the stomach of the sleeping wolf.
When he had made two snips, he saw the little Red-Cap shining, and then
he made two snips more, and the little girl sprang out, crying, “Ah, how
frightened I have been! How dark it was inside the wolf;” and after that the
aged grandmother came out alive also, but scarcely able to breathe. Red-
Cap, however, quickly fetched great stones with which they filled the wolf’s
body, and when he awoke, he wanted to run away, but the stones were so
heavy that he fell down at once, and fell dead.
Then all three were delighted. The huntsman drew off the wolf’s skin and
went home with it; the grandmother ate the cake and drank the wine which
Red-Cap had brought, and revived, but Red-Cap thought to herself, “As
long as I live, I will never by myself leave the path, to run into the wood,
when my mother has forbidden me to do so.”
*******

It is also related that once when Red-Cap was again taking cakes to the
old grandmother, another wolf spoke to her, and tried to entice her from the
path. Red-Cap, however, was on her guard, and went straight forward on
her way, and told her grandmother that she had met the wolf, and that he
had said “good-morning” to her, but with such a wicked look in his eyes,
that if they had not been on the public road she was certain he would have
eaten her up. “Well,” said the grandmother, “we will shut the door, that he
may not come in.” Soon afterwards the wolf knocked, and cried, “Open the
door, grandmother, I am little Red-Cap, and am fetching you some cakes.”
But they did not speak, or open the door, so the grey-beard stole twice or
thrice round the house, and at last jumped on the roof, intending to wait
until Red-Cap went home in the evening, and then to steal after her and
devour her in the darkness. But the grandmother saw what was in his
thoughts. In front of the house was a great stone trough, so she said to the
child, “Take the pail, Red-Cap; I made some sausages yesterday, so carry
the water in which I boiled them to the trough.” Red-Cap carried until the
great trough was quite full. Then the smell of the sausages reached the wolf,
and he sniffed and peeped down, and at last stretched out his neck so far
that he could no longer keep his footing and began to slip, and slipped down
from the roof straight into the great trough, and was drowned. But Red-Cap
went joyously home, and never did anything to harm any one.

27 The Bremen Town-Musicians
A certain man had a donkey, which had carried the corn-sacks to the mill
indefatigably for many a long year; but his strength was going, and he was
growing more and more unfit for work. Then his master began to consider
how he might best save his keep; but the donkey, seeing that no good wind
was blowing, ran away and set out on the road to Bremen. “There,” he
thought, “I can surely be town-musician.” When he had walked some
distance, he found a hound lying on the road, gasping like one who had run
till he was tired. “What are you gasping so for, you big fellow?” asked the
donkey.
“Ah,” replied the hound, “as I am old, and daily grow weaker, and no
longer can hunt, my master wanted to kill me, so I took to flight; but now
how am I to earn my bread?”
“I tell you what,” said the donkey, “I am going to Bremen, and shall be
town-musician there; go with me and engage yourself also as a musician. I
will play the lute, and you shall beat the kettledrum.”
The hound agreed, and on they went.
Before long they came to a cat, sitting on the path, with a face like three
rainy days! “Now then, old shaver, what has gone askew with you?” asked
the donkey.
“Who can be merry when his neck is in danger?” answered the cat.
“Because I am now getting old, and my teeth are worn to stumps, and I
prefer to sit by the fire and spin, rather than hunt about after mice, my
mistress wanted to drown me, so I ran away. But now good advice is scarce.
Where am I to go?”
“Go with us to Bremen. You understand night-music, you can be a town-
musician.”
The cat thought well of it, and went with them. After this the three
fugitives came to a farm-yard, where the cock was sitting upon the gate,
crowing with all his might. “Your crow goes through and through one,” said
the donkey. “What is the matter?”

“I have been foretelling fine weather, because it is the day on which Our
Lady washes the Christ-child’s little shirts, and wants to dry them,” said the
cock; “but guests are coming for Sunday, so the housewife has no pity, and
has told the cook that she intends to eat me in the soup to-morrow, and this
evening I am to have my head cut off. Now I am crowing at full pitch while
I can.”
“Ah, but red-comb,” said the donkey, “you had better come away with
us. We are going to Bremen; you can find something better than death
everywhere: you have a good voice, and if we make music together it must
have some quality!”
The cock agreed to this plan, and all four went on together. They could
not, however, reach the city of Bremen in one day, and in the evening they
came to a forest where they meant to pass the night. The donkey and the
hound laid themselves down under a large tree, the cat and the cock settled
themselves in the branches; but the cock flew right to the top, where he was
most safe. Before he went to sleep he looked round on all four sides, and
thought he saw in the distance a little spark burning; so he called out to his
companions that there must be a house not far off, for he saw a light. The
donkey said, “If so, we had better get up and go on, for the shelter here is
bad.” The hound thought that a few bones with some meat on would do him
good too!
So they made their way to the place where the light was, and soon saw it
shine brighter and grow larger, until they came to a well-lighted robber’s
house. The donkey, as the biggest, went to the window and looked in.
“What do you see, my grey-horse?” asked the cock. “What do I see?”
answered the donkey; “a table covered with good things to eat and drink,
and robbers sitting at it enjoying themselves.” “That would be the sort of
thing for us,” said the cock. “Yes, yes; ah, how I wish we were there!” said
the donkey.
Then the animals took counsel together how they should manage to drive
away the robbers, and at last they thought of a plan. The donkey was to
place himself with his fore-feet upon the window-ledge, the hound was to
jump on the donkey’s back, the cat was to climb upon the dog, and lastly
the cock was to fly up and perch upon the head of the cat.
When this was done, at a given signal, they began to perform their music
together: the donkey brayed, the hound barked, the cat mewed, and the cock

crowed; then they burst through the window into the room, so that the glass
clattered! At this horrible din, the robbers sprang up, thinking no otherwise
than that a ghost had come in, and fled in a great fright out into the forest.
The four companions now sat down at the table, well content with what was
left, and ate as if they were going to fast for a month.
As soon as the four minstrels had done, they put out the light, and each
sought for himself a sleeping-place according to his nature and to what
suited him. The donkey laid himself down upon some straw in the yard, the
hound behind the door, the cat upon the hearth near the warm ashes, and the
cock perched himself upon a beam of the roof; and being tired from their
long walk, they soon went to sleep.
When it was past midnight, and the robbers saw from afar that the light
was no longer burning in their house, and all appeared quiet, the captain
said, “We ought not to have let ourselves be frightened out of our wits;” and
ordered one of them to go and examine the house.
The messenger finding all still, went into the kitchen to light a candle,
and, taking the glistening fiery eyes of the cat for live coals, he held a
lucifer-match to them to light it. But the cat did not understand the joke, and
flew in his face, spitting and scratching. He was dreadfully frightened, and
ran to the back-door, but the dog, who lay there sprang up and bit his leg;
and as he ran across the yard by the straw-heap, the donkey gave him a
smart kick with its hind foot. The cock, too, who had been awakened by the
noise, and had become lively, cried down from the beam, “Cock-a-doodle-
doo!”
Then the robber ran back as fast as he could to his captain, and said, “Ah,
there is a horrible witch sitting in the house, who spat on me and scratched
my face with her long claws; and by the door stands a man with a knife,
who stabbed me in the leg; and in the yard there lies a black monster, who
beat me with a wooden club; and above, upon the roof, sits the judge, who
called out, ‘Bring the rogue here to me!’ so I got away as well as I could.”
After this the robbers did not trust themselves in the house again; but it
suited the four musicians of Bremen so well that they did not care to leave it
any more. And the mouth of him who last told this story is still warm.

28 The Singing Bone
In a certain country there was once great lamentation over a wild boar
that laid waste the farmer’s fields, killed the cattle, and ripped up people’s
bodies with his tusks. The King promised a large reward to anyone who
would free the land from this plague; but the beast was so big and strong
that no one dared to go near the forest in which it lived. At last the King
gave notice that whosoever should capture or kill the wild boar should have
his only daughter to wife.
Now there lived in the country two brothers, sons of a poor man, who
declared themselves willing to undertake the hazardous enterprise; the
elder, who was crafty and shrewd, out of pride; the younger, who was
innocent and simple, from a kind heart. The King said, “In order that you
may be the more sure of finding the beast, you must go into the forest from
opposite sides.” So the elder went in on the west side, and the younger on
the east.
When the younger had gone a short way, a little man stepped up to him.
He held in his hand a black spear and said, “I give you this spear because
your heart is pure and good; with this you can boldly attack the wild boar,
and it will do you no harm.”
He thanked the little man, shouldered the spear, and went on fearlessly.
Before long he saw the beast, which rushed at him; but he held the spear
towards it, and in its blind fury it ran so swiftly against it that its heart was
cloven in twain. Then he took the monster on his back and went homewards
with it to the King.
As he came out at the other side of the wood, there stood at the entrance a
house where people were making merry with wine and dancing. His elder
brother had gone in here, and, thinking that after all the boar would not run
away from him, was going to drink until he felt brave. But when he saw his
young brother coming out of the wood laden with his booty, his envious,
evil heart gave him no peace. He called out to him, “Come in, dear brother,
rest and refresh yourself with a cup of wine.”

The youth, who suspected no evil, went in and told him about the good
little man who had given him the spear wherewith he had slain the boar.
The elder brother kept him there until the evening, and then they went
away together, and when in the darkness they came to a bridge over a
brook, the elder brother let the other go first; and when he was half-way
across he gave him such a blow from behind that he fell down dead. He
buried him beneath the bridge, took the boar, and carried it to the King,
pretending that he had killed it; whereupon he obtained the King’s daughter
in marriage. And when his younger brother did not come back he said, “The
boar must have killed him,” and every one believed it.
But as nothing remains hidden from God, so this black deed also was to
come to light.
Years afterwards a shepherd was driving his herd across the bridge, and
saw lying in the sand beneath, a snow-white little bone. He thought that it
would make a good mouth-piece, so he clambered down, picked it up, and
cut out of it a mouth-piece for his horn. But when he blew through it for the
first time, to his great astonishment, the bone began of its own accord to
sing:
“Ah, friend, thou blowest upon my bone!
Long have I lain beside the water;
My brother slew me for the boar,
And took for his wife the King’s young daughter.”

“What a wonderful horn!” said the shepherd; “it sings by itself; I must
take it to my lord the King.” And when he came with it to the King the horn
again began to sing its little song. The King understood it all, and caused
the ground below the bridge to be dug up, and then the whole skeleton of
the murdered man came to light. The wicked brother could not deny the
deed, and was sewn up in a sack and drowned. But the bones of the
murdered man were laid to rest in a beautiful tomb in the churchyard.

29 The Devil With the Three Golden Hairs
There was once a poor woman who gave birth to a little son; and as he
came into the world with a caul on, it was predicted that in his fourteenth
year he would have the King’s daughter for his wife. It happened that soon
afterwards the King came into the village, and no one knew that he was the
King, and when he asked the people what news there was, they answered,
“A child has just been born with a caul on; whatever any one so born
undertakes turns out well. It is prophesied, too, that in his fourteenth year he
will have the King’s daughter for his wife.”
The King, who had a bad heart, and was angry about the prophecy, went
to the parents, and, seeming quite friendly, said, “You poor people, let me
have your child, and I will take care of it.” At first they refused, but when
the stranger offered them a large amount of gold for it, and they thought, “It
is a luck-child, and everything must turn out well for it,” they at last
consented, and gave him the child.
The King put it in a box and rode away with it until he came to a deep
piece of water; then he threw the box into it and thought, “I have freed my
daughter from her unlooked-for suitor.”
The box, however, did not sink, but floated like a boat, and not a drop of
water made its way into it. And it floated to within two miles of the King’s
chief city, where there was a mill, and it came to a stand-still at the mill-
dam. A miller’s boy, who by good luck was standing there, noticed it and
pulled it out with a hook, thinking that he had found a great treasure, but
when he opened it there lay a pretty boy inside, quite fresh and lively. He
took him to the miller and his wife, and as they had no children they were
glad, and said, “God has given him to us.” They took great care of the
foundling, and he grew up in all goodness.
It happened that once in a storm, the King went into the mill, and he
asked the mill-folk if the tall youth was their son. “No,” answered they,
“he’s a foundling. Fourteen years ago he floated down to the mill-dam in a
box, and the mill-boy pulled him out of the water.”

Then the King knew that it was none other than the luck-child which he
had thrown into the water, and he said, “My good people, could not the
youth take a letter to the Queen; I will give him two gold pieces as a
reward?” “Just as the King commands,” answered they, and they told the
boy to hold himself in readiness. Then the King wrote a letter to the Queen,
wherein he said, “As soon as the boy arrives with this letter, let him be
killed and buried, and all must be done before I come home.”
The boy set out with this letter; but he lost his way, and in the evening
came to a large forest. In the darkness he saw a small light; he went towards
it and reached a cottage. When he went in, an old woman was sitting by the
fire quite alone. She started when she saw the boy, and said, “Whence do
you come, and whither are you going?” “I come from the mill,” he
answered, “and wish to go to the Queen, to whom I am taking a letter; but
as I have lost my way in the forest I should like to stay here over night.”
“You poor boy,” said the woman, “you have come into a den of thieves, and
when they come home they will kill you.” “Let them come,” said the boy, “I
am not afraid; but I am so tired that I cannot go any farther:” and he
stretched himself upon a bench and fell asleep.
Soon afterwards the robbers came, and angrily asked what strange boy
was lying there? “Ah,” said the old woman, “it is an innocent child who has
lost himself in the forest, and out of pity I have let him come in; he has to
take a letter to the Queen.” The robbers opened the letter and read it, and in
it was written that the boy as soon as he arrived should be put to death.
Then the hard-hearted robbers felt pity, and their leader tore up the letter
and wrote another, saying, that as soon as the boy came, he should be
married at once to the King’s daughter. Then they let him lie quietly on the
bench until the next morning, and when he awoke they gave him the letter,
and showed him the right way.
And the Queen, when she had received the letter and read it, did as was
written in it, and had a splendid wedding-feast prepared, and the King’s
daughter was married to the luck-child, and as the youth was handsome and
agreeable she lived with him in joy and contentment.
After some time the King returned to his palace and saw that the
prophecy was fulfilled, and the luck-child married to his daughter. “How
has that come to pass?” said he; “I gave quite another order in my letter.”

So the Queen gave him the letter, and said that he might see for himself
what was written in it. The King read the letter and saw quite well that it
had been exchanged for the other. He asked the youth what had become of
the letter entrusted to him, and why he had brought another instead of it. “I
know nothing about it,” answered he; “it must have been changed in the
night, when I slept in the forest.” The King said in a passion, “You shall not
have everything quite so much your own way; whosoever marries my
daughter must fetch me from hell three golden hairs from the head of the
devil; bring me what I want, and you shall keep my daughter.” In this way
the King hoped to be rid of him for ever. But the luck-child answered, “I
will fetch the golden hairs, I am not afraid of the Devil;” thereupon he took
leave of them and began his journey.
The road led him to a large town, where the watchman by the gates asked
him what his trade was, and what he knew. “I know everything,” answered
the luck-child. “Then you can do us a favour,” said the watchman, “if you
will tell us why our market-fountain, which once flowed with wine has
become dry, and no longer gives even water?” “That you shall know,”
answered he; “only wait until I come back.”
Then he went farther and came to another town, and there also the
gatekeeper asked him what was his trade, and what he knew. “I know
everything,” answered he. “Then you can do us a favour and tell us why a
tree in our town which once bore golden apples now does not even put forth
leaves?” “You shall know that,” answered he; “only wait until I come
back.”
Then he went on and came to a wide river over which he must go. The
ferryman asked him what his trade was, and what he knew. “I know
everything,” answered he. “Then you can do me a favour,” said the
ferryman, “and tell me why I must always be rowing backwards and
forwards, and am never set free?” “You shall know that,” answered he;
“only wait until I come back.”
When he had crossed the water he found the entrance to Hell. It was
black and sooty within, and the Devil was not at home, but his grandmother
was sitting in a large arm-chair. “What do you want?” said she to him, but
she did not look so very wicked. “I should like to have three golden hairs
from the devil’s head,” answered he, “else I cannot keep my wife.” “That is

a good deal to ask for,” said she; “if the devil comes home and finds you, it
will cost you your life; but as I pity you, I will see if I cannot help you.”
She changed him into an ant and said, “Creep into the folds of my dress,
you will be safe there.” “Yes,” answered he, “so far, so good; but there are
three things besides that I want to know: why a fountain which once flowed
with wine has become dry, and no longer gives even water; why a tree
which once bore golden apples does not even put forth leaves; and why a
ferry-man must always be going backwards and forwards, and is never set
free?”
“Those are difficult questions,” answered she, “but only be silent and
quiet and pay attention to what the devil says when I pull out the three
golden hairs.”
As the evening came on, the devil returned home. No sooner had he
entered than he noticed that the air was not pure. “I smell man’s flesh,” said
he; “all is not right here.” Then he pried into every corner, and searched, but
could not find anything. His grandmother scolded him. “It has just been
swept,” said she, “and everything put in order, and now you are upsetting it
again; you have always got man’s flesh in your nose. Sit down and eat your
supper.”
When he had eaten and drunk he was tired, and laid his head in his
grandmother’s lap, and before long he was fast asleep, snoring and
breathing heavily. Then the old woman took hold of a golden hair, pulled it
out, and laid it down near her. “Oh!” cried the devil, “what are you doing?”
“I have had a bad dream,” answered the grandmother, “so I seized hold of
your hair.” “What did you dream then?” said the devil. “I dreamed that a
fountain in a market-place from which wine once flowed was dried up, and
not even water would flow out of it; what is the cause of it?” “Oh, ho! if
they did but know it,” answered the devil; “there is a toad sitting under a
stone in the well; if they killed it, the wine would flow again.”
He went to sleep again and snored until the windows shook. Then she
pulled the second hair out. “Ha! what are you doing?” cried the devil
angrily. “Do not take it ill,” said she, “I did it in a dream.” “What have you
dreamt this time?” asked he. “I dreamt that in a certain kingdom there stood
an apple-tree which had once borne golden apples, but now would not even
bear leaves. What, think you, was the reason?” “Oh! if they did but know,”
answered the devil. “A mouse is gnawing at the root; if they killed this they

would have golden apples again, but if it gnaws much longer the tree will
wither altogether. But leave me alone with your dreams: if you disturb me
in my sleep again you will get a box on the ear.”
The grandmother spoke gently to him until he fell asleep again and
snored. Then she took hold of the third golden hair and pulled it out. The
devil jumped up, roared out, and would have treated her ill if she had not
quieted him once more and said, “Who can help bad dreams?” “What was
the dream, then?” asked he, and was quite curious. “I dreamt of a ferry-man
who complained that he must always ferry from one side to the other, and
was never released. What is the cause of it?” “Ah! the fool,” answered the
devil; “when any one comes and wants to go across he must put the oar in
his hand, and the other man will have to ferry and he will be free.” As the
grandmother had plucked out the three golden hairs, and the three questions
were answered, she let the old serpent alone, and he slept until daybreak.
When the devil had gone out again the old woman took the ant out of the
folds of her dress, and gave the luck-child his human shape again. “There
are the three golden hairs for you,” said she. “What the Devil said to your
three questions, I suppose you heard?” “Yes,” answered he, “I heard, and
will take care to remember.” “You have what you want,” said she, “and now
you can go your way.” He thanked the old woman for helping him in his
need, and left hell well content that everything had turned out so
fortunately.
When he came to the ferry-man he was expected to give the promised
answer. “Ferry me across first,” said the luck-child, “and then I will tell you
how you can be set free,” and when he reached the opposite shore he gave
him the devil’s advice: “Next time any one comes, who wants to be ferried
over, just put the oar in his hand.”
He went on and came to the town wherein stood the unfruitful tree, and
there too the watchman wanted an answer. So he told him what he had
heard from the devil: “Kill the mouse which is gnawing at its root, and it
will again bear golden apples.” Then the watchman thanked him, and gave
him as a reward two asses laden with gold, which followed him.
At last he came to the town whose well was dry. He told the watchman
what the devil had said: “A toad is in the well beneath a stone; you must
find it and kill it, and the well will again give wine in plenty.” The
watchman thanked him, and also gave him two asses laden with gold.

At last the luck-child got home to his wife, who was heartily glad to see
him again, and to hear how well he had prospered in everything. To the
King he took what he had asked for, the devil’s three golden hairs, and
when the King saw the four asses laden with gold he was quite content, and
said, “Now all the conditions are fulfilled, and you can keep my daughter.
But tell me, dear son-in-law, where did all that gold come from? this is
tremendous wealth!” “I was rowed across a river,” answered he, “and got it
there; it lies on the shore instead of sand.” “Can I too fetch some of it?” said
the King; and he was quite eager about it. “As much as you like,” answered
he. “There is a ferry-man on the river; let him ferry you over, and you can
fill your sacks on the other side.” The greedy King set out in all haste, and
when he came to the river he beckoned to the ferry-man to put him across.
The ferry-man came and bade him get in, and when they got to the other
shore he put the oar in his hand and sprang out. But from this time forth the
King had to ferry, as a punishment for his sins. Perhaps he is ferrying still?
If he is, it is because no one has taken the oar from him.

30 The Louse and the Flea
A louse and a flea kept house together and were brewing beer in an egg-
shell. Then the little louse fell in and burnt herself. On this the little flea
began to scream loudly. Then said the little room-door, “Little flea, why art
thou screaming?” “Because the louse has burnt herself.”
Then the little door began to creak. On this a little broom in the corner
said, “Why art thou creaking, little door?” “Have I not reason to creak?”
“The little louse has burnt herself,
The little flea is weeping.”

So the little broom began to sweep frantically. Then a little cart passed by
and said, “Why art thou sweeping, little broom?” “Have I not reason to
sweep?”
“The little louse has burnt herself,
The little flea is weeping,
The little door is creaking.”

So the little cart said, “Then I will run,” and began to run wildly. Then
said the ash-heap by which it ran, “Why art thou running so, little cart?”
“Have I not reason to run?”
“The little louse has burnt herself,
The little flea is weeping,
The little door is creaking,
The little broom is sweeping.”

The ash-heap said, “Then I will burn furiously,” and began to burn in
clear flames. A little tree stood near the ash-heap and said, “Ash-heap, why
art thou burning?” “Have I not reason to burn?”
“The little louse has burnt herself,
The little flea is weeping,
The little door is creaking,
The little broom is sweeping,
The little cart is running.”

The little tree said, “Then I will shake myself,” and began to shake
herself so that all her leaves fell off; a girl who came up with her water-
pitcher saw that, and said, “Little tree, why art thou shaking thyself?”
“Have I not reason to shake myself?”
“The little louse has burnt herself,
The little flea is weeping,
The little door is creaking,
The little broom is sweeping,
The little cart is running,
The little ash-heap is burning.”

On this the girl said, “Then I will break my little water-pitcher,” and she
broke her little water-pitcher. Then said the little spring from which ran the
water, “Girl, why art thou breaking thy water-jug?” “Have I not reason to
break my water-jug?”
“The little louse has burnt herself,
The little flea is weeping,
The little door is creaking,
The little broom is sweeping,
The little cart is running,
The little ash-heap is burning,
The little tree is shaking itself.”

“Oh, ho!” said the spring, “then I will begin to flow,” and began to flow
violently. And in the water everything was drowned, the girl, the little tree,
the little ash-heap, the little cart, the broom, the little door, the little flea, the
little louse, all together.

31 The Girl Without Hands
A certain miller had little by little fallen into poverty, and had nothing left
but his mill and a large apple-tree behind it. Once when he had gone into
the forest to fetch wood, an old man stepped up to him whom he had never
seen before, and said, “Why dost thou plague thyself with cutting wood, I
will make thee rich, if thou wilt promise me what is standing behind thy
mill?” “What can that be but my apple-tree?” thought the miller, and said,
“Yes,” and gave a written promise to the stranger. He, however, laughed
mockingly and said, “When three years have passed, I will come and carry
away what belongs to me,” and then he went. When the miller got home,
his wife came to meet him and said, “Tell me, miller, from whence comes
this sudden wealth into our house? All at once every box and chest was
filled; no one brought it in, and I know not how it happened.” He answered,
“It comes from a stranger who met me in the forest, and promised me great
treasure. I, in return, have promised him what stands behind the mill; we
can very well give him the big apple-tree for it.” “Ah, husband,” said the
terrified wife, “that must have been the devil! He did not mean the apple-
tree, but our daughter, who was standing behind the mill sweeping the
yard.”
The miller’s daughter was a beautiful, pious girl, and lived through the
three years in the fear of God and without sin. When therefore the time was
over, and the day came when the Evil-one was to fetch her, she washed
herself clean, and made a circle round herself with chalk. The devil
appeared quite early, but he could not come near to her. Angrily, he said to
the miller, “Take all water away from her, that she may no longer be able to
wash herself, for otherwise I have no power over her.” The miller was
afraid, and did so. The next morning the devil came again, but she had wept
on her hands, and they were quite clean. Again he could not get near her,
and furiously said to the miller, “Cut her hands off, or else I cannot get the
better of her.” The miller was shocked and answered, “How could I cut off
my own child’s hands?” Then the Evil-one threatened him and said, “If thou
dost not do it thou art mine, and I will take thee thyself.” The father became

alarmed, and promised to obey him. So he went to the girl and said, “My
child, if I do not cut off both thine hands, the devil will carry me away, and
in my terror I have promised to do it. Help me in my need, and forgive me
the harm I do thee.” She replied, “Dear father, do with me what you will, I
am your child.” Thereupon she laid down both her hands, and let them be
cut off. The devil came for the third time, but she had wept so long and so
much on the stumps, that after all they were quite clean. Then he had to
give in, and had lost all right over her.
The miller said to her, “I have by means of thee received such great
wealth that I will keep thee most delicately as long as thou livest.” But she
replied, “Here I cannot stay, I will go forth, compassionate people will give
me as much as I require.” Thereupon she caused her maimed arms to be
bound to her back, and by sunrise she set out on her way, and walked the
whole day until night fell. Then she came to a royal garden, and by the
shimmering of the moon she saw that trees covered with beautiful fruits
grew in it, but she could not enter, for there was much water round about it.
And as she had walked the whole day and not eaten one mouthful, and
hunger tormented her, she thought, “Ah, if I were but inside, that I might eat
of the fruit, else must I die of hunger!” Then she knelt down, called on God
the Lord, and prayed. And suddenly an angel came towards her, who made
a dam in the water, so that the moat became dry and she could walk through
it. And now she went into the garden and the angel went with her. She saw a
tree covered with beautiful pears, but they were all counted. Then she went
to them, and to still her hunger, ate one with her mouth from the tree, but no
more. The gardener was watching; but as the angel was standing by, he was
afraid and thought the maiden was a spirit, and was silent, neither did he
dare to cry out, or to speak to the spirit. When she had eaten the pear, she
was satisfied, and went and concealed herself among the bushes. The King
to whom the garden belonged, came down to it next morning, and counted,
and saw that one of the pears was missing, and asked the gardener what had
become of it, as it was not lying beneath the tree, but was gone. Then
answered the gardener, “Last night, a spirit came in, who had no hands, and
ate off one of the pears with its mouth.” The King said, “How did the spirit
get over the water, and where did it go after it had eaten the pear?” The
gardener answered, “Some one came in a snow-white garment from heaven
who made a dam, and kept back the water, that the spirit might walk
through the moat. And as it must have been an angel, I was afraid, and

asked no questions, and did not cry out. When the spirit had eaten the pear,
it went back again.” The King said, “If it be as thou sayest, I will watch
with thee to-night.”
When it grew dark the King came into the garden and brought a priest
with him, who was to speak to the spirit. All three seated themselves
beneath the tree and watched. At midnight the maiden came creeping out of
the thicket, went to the tree, and again ate one pear off it with her mouth,
and beside her stood the angel in white garments. Then the priest went out
to them and said, “Comest thou from heaven or from earth? Art thou a
spirit, or a human being?” She replied, “I am no spirit, but an unhappy
mortal deserted by all but God.” The King said, “If thou art forsaken by all
the world, yet will I not forsake thee.” He took her with him into his royal
palace, and as she was so beautiful and good, he loved her with all his heart,
had silver hands made for her, and took her to wife.
After a year the King had to take the field, so he commended his young
Queen to the care of his mother and said, “If she is brought to bed take care
of her, nurse her well, and tell me of it at once in a letter.” Then she gave
birth to a fine boy. So the old mother made haste to write and announce the
joyful news to him. But the messenger rested by a brook on the way, and as
he was fatigued by the great distance, he fell asleep. Then came the Devil,
who was always seeking to injure the good Queen, and exchanged the letter
for another, in which was written that the Queen had brought a monster into
the world. When the King read the letter he was shocked and much
troubled, but he wrote in answer that they were to take great care of the
Queen and nurse her well until his arrival. The messenger went back with
the letter, but rested at the same place and again fell asleep. Then came the
Devil once more, and put a different letter in his pocket, in which it was
written that they were to put the Queen and her child to death. The old
mother was terribly shocked when she received the letter, and could not
believe it. She wrote back again to the King, but received no other answer,
because each time the Devil substituted a false letter, and in the last letter it
was also written that she was to preserve the Queen’s tongue and eyes as a
token that she had obeyed.
But the old mother wept to think such innocent blood was to be shed, and
had a hind brought by night and cut out her tongue and eyes, and kept them.
Then said she to the Queen, “I cannot have thee killed as the King

commands, but here thou mayst stay no longer. Go forth into the wide
world with thy child, and never come here again.” The poor woman tied her
child on her back, and went away with eyes full of tears. She came into a
great wild forest, and then she fell on her knees and prayed to God, and the
angel of the Lord appeared to her and led her to a little house on which was
a sign with the words, “Here all dwell free.” A snow-white maiden came out
of the little house and said, “Welcome, Lady Queen,” and conducted her
inside. Then they unbound the little boy from her back, and held him to her
breast that he might feed, and laid him in a beautifully-made little bed. Then
said the poor woman, “From whence knowest thou that I was a queen?” The
white maiden answered, “I am an angel sent by God, to watch over thee and
thy child.” The Queen stayed seven years in the little house, and was well
cared for, and by God’s grace, because of her piety, her hands which had
been cut off, grew once more.
At last the King came home again from the war, and his first wish was to
see his wife and the child. Then his aged mother began to weep and said,
“Thou wicked man, why didst thou write to me that I was to take those two
innocent lives?” and she showed him the two letters which the Evil-one had
forged, and then continued, “I did as thou badest me,” and she showed the
tokens, the tongue and eyes. Then the King began to weep for his poor wife
and his little son so much more bitterly than she was doing, that the aged
mother had compassion on him and said, “Be at peace, she still lives; I
secretly caused a hind to be killed, and took these tokens from it; but I
bound the child to thy wife’s back and bade her go forth into the wide
world, and made her promise never to come back here again, because thou
wert so angry with her.” Then spoke the King, “I will go as far as the sky is
blue, and will neither eat nor drink until I have found again my dear wife
and my child, if in the meantime they have not been killed, or died of
hunger.”
Thereupon the King travelled about for seven long years, and sought her
in every cleft of the rocks and in every cave, but he found her not, and
thought she had died of want. During the whole of this time he neither ate
nor drank, but God supported him. At length he came into a great forest,
and found therein the little house whose sign was, “Here all dwell free.”
Then forth came the white maiden, took him by the hand, led him in, and
said, “Welcome, Lord King,” and asked him from whence he came. He
answered, “Soon shall I have travelled about for the space of seven years,

and I seek my wife and her child, but cannot find them.” The angel offered
him meat and drink, but he did not take anything, and only wished to rest a
little. Then he lay down to sleep, and put a handkerchief over his face.
Thereupon the angel went into the chamber where the Queen sat with her
son, whom she usually called “Sorrowful,” and said to her, “Go out with thy
child, thy husband hath come.” So she went to the place where he lay, and
the handkerchief fell from his face. Then said she, “Sorrowful, pick up thy
father’s handkerchief, and cover his face again.” The child picked it up, and
put it over his face again. The King in his sleep heard what passed, and had
pleasure in letting the handkerchief fall once more. But the child grew
impatient, and said, “Dear mother, how can I cover my father’s face when I
have no father in this world? I have learnt to say the prayer, ‘Our Father,
which art in Heaven,’ thou hast told me that my father was in Heaven, and
was the good God, and how can I know a wild man like this? He is not my
father.” When the King heard that, he got up, and asked who they were.
Then said she, “I am thy wife, and that is thy son, Sorrowful.” And he saw
her living hands, and said, “My wife had silver hands.” She answered, “The
good God has caused my natural hands to grow again;” and the angel went
into the inner room, and brought the silver hands, and showed them to him.
Hereupon he knew for a certainty that it was his dear wife and his dear
child, and he kissed them, and was glad, and said, “A heavy stone has fallen
from off mine heart.” Then the angel of God gave them one meal with her,
and after that they went home to the King’s aged mother. There were great
rejoicings everywhere, and the King and Queen were married again, and
lived contentedly to their happy end.

32 Clever Hans
The mother of Hans said, “Whither away, Hans?” Hans answered, “To
Grethel.” “Behave well, Hans.” “Oh, I’ll behave well. Good-bye, mother.”
“Good-bye, Hans.” Hans comes to Grethel, “Good day, Grethel.” “Good
day, Hans. What dost thou bring that is good?” “I bring nothing, I want to
have something given me.” Grethel presents Hans with a needle. Hans says,
“Good-bye, Grethel.” “Good-bye, Hans.”
Hans takes the needle, sticks it into a hay-cart, and follows the cart home.
“Good evening, mother.” “Good evening, Hans. Where hast thou been?”
“With Grethel.” “What didst thou take her?” “Took nothing; had something
given me.” “What did Grethel give thee?” “Gave me a needle.” “Where is
the needle, Hans?” “Stuck it in the hay-cart.” “That was ill done, Hans.
Thou shouldst have stuck the needle in thy sleeve.” “Never mind, I’ll do
better next time.”
“Whither away, Hans?” “To Grethel, mother.” “Behave well, Hans.” “Oh,
I’ll behave well. Good-bye, mother.” “Good-bye, Hans.”
Hans comes to Grethel. “Good day, Grethel.” “Good day, Hans. What
dost thou bring that is good?” “I bring nothing; I want to have something
given to me.” Grethel presents Hans with a knife. “Good-bye, Grethel.”
“Good-bye Hans.” Hans takes the knife, sticks it in his sleeve, and goes
home. “Good evening, mother.” “Good evening, Hans. Where hast thou
been?” “With Grethel.” “What didst thou take her?” “Took her nothing, she
gave me something.” “What did Grethel give thee?” “Gave me a knife.”
“Where is the knife, Hans?” “Stuck in my sleeve.” “That’s ill done, Hans,
thou shouldst have put the knife in thy pocket.” “Never mind, will do better
next time.” “Whither away, Hans?” “To Grethel, mother.” “Behave well,
Hans.” “Oh, I’ll behave well. Good-bye, mother.” “Good-bye, Hans.”
Hans comes to Grethel. “Good day, Grethel.” “Good day, Hans. What
good thing dost thou bring?” “I bring nothing, I want something given me.”
Grethel presents Hans with a young goat. “Good-bye, Grethel.” “Good-bye,
Hans.” Hans takes the goat, ties its legs, and puts it in his pocket. When he

gets home it is suffocated. “Good evening, mother.” “Good evening, Hans.
Where hast thou been?” “With Grethel.” “What didst thou take her?” “Took
nothing, she gave me something.” “What did Grethel give thee?” “She gave
me a goat.” “Where is the goat, Hans?” “Put it in my pocket.” “That was ill
done, Hans, thou shouldst have put a rope round the goat’s neck.” “Never
mind, will do better next time.”
“Whither away, Hans?” “To Grethel, mother.” “Behave well, Hans.” “Oh,
I’ll behave well. Good-bye, mother.” “Good-bye, Hans.” Hans comes to
Grethel. “Good day, Grethel.” “Good day, Hans. What good thing dost thou
bring?” “I bring nothing, I want something given me.” Grethel presents
Hans with a piece of bacon. “Good-bye, Grethel.” “Good-bye, Hans.”
Hans takes the bacon, ties it to a rope, and drags it away behind him. The
dogs come and devour the bacon. When he gets home, he has the rope in his
hand, and there is no longer anything hanging to it. “Good evening,
mother.” “Good evening, Hans.” “Where hast thou been?” “With Grethel.”
“What didst thou take her?” “I took her nothing, she gave me something.”
“What did Grethel give thee?” “Gave me a bit of bacon.” “Where is the
bacon, Hans?” “I tied it to a rope, brought it home, dogs took it.” “That was
ill done, Hans, thou shouldst have carried the bacon on thy head.” “Never
mind, will do better next time.” “Whither away, Hans?” “To Grethel,
mother.” “Behave well, Hans.” “I’ll behave well. Good-bye, mother.”
“Good-bye, Hans.”
Hans comes to Grethel. “Good day, Grethel.” “Good day, Hans.” “What
good thing dost thou bring?” “I bring nothing, but would have something
given.” Grethel presents Hans with a calf. “Good-bye, Grethel.” “Good-
bye, Hans.”
Hans takes the calf, puts it on his head, and the calf kicks his face. “Good
evening, mother.” “Good evening, Hans. Where hast thou been?” “With
Grethel.” “What didst thou take her?” “I took nothing, but had something
given me.” “What did Grethel give thee?” “A calf.” “Where hast thou the
calf, Hans?” “I set it on my head and it kicked my face.” “That was ill done,
Hans, thou shouldst have led the calf, and put it in the stall.” “Never mind,
will do better next time.”
“Whither away, Hans?” “To Grethel, mother.” “Behave well, Hans.” “I’ll
behave well. Good-bye, mother.” “Good-bye, Hans.”

Hans comes to Grethel. “Good day, Grethel.” “Good day, Hans. What
good thing dost thou bring?” “I bring nothing, but would have something
given.” Grethel says to Hans, “I will go with thee.”
Hans takes Grethel, ties her to a rope, leads her to the rack and binds her
fast. Then Hans goes to his mother. “Good evening, mother.” “Good
evening, Hans. Where hast thou been?” “With Grethel.” “What didst thou
take her?” “I took her nothing.” “What did Grethel give thee?” “She gave
me nothing, she came with me.” “Where hast thou left Grethel?” “I led her
by the rope, tied her to the rack, and scattered some grass for her.” “That
was ill done, Hans, thou shouldst have cast friendly eyes on her.” “Never
mind, will do better.”
Hans went into the stable, cut out all the calves’ and sheep’s eyes, and
threw them in Grethel’s face. Then Grethel became angry, tore herself loose
and ran away, and became the bride of Hans.

33 The Three Languages
An aged count once lived in Switzerland, who had an only son, but he
was stupid, and could learn nothing. Then said the father, “Hark thee, my
son, I can get nothing into thy head, let me try as I will. Thou must go from
hence, I will give thee into the care of a celebrated master, who shall see
what he can do with thee.” The youth was sent into a strange town, and
remained a whole year with the master. At the end of this time, he came
home again, and his father asked, “Now, my son, what hast thou learnt?”
“Father, I have learnt what the dogs say when they bark.” “Lord have mercy
on us!” cried the father; “is that all thou hast learnt? I will send thee into
another town, to another master.” The youth was taken thither, and stayed a
year with this master likewise. When he came back the father again asked,
“My son, what hast thou learnt?” He answered, “Father, I have learnt what
the birds say.” Then the father fell into a rage and said, “Oh, thou lost man,
thou hast spent the precious time and learnt nothing; art thou not ashamed
to appear before mine eyes? I will send thee to a third master, but if thou
learnest nothing this time also, I will no longer be thy father.” The youth
remained a whole year with the third master also, and when he came home
again, and his father inquired, “My son, what hast thou learnt?” he
answered, “Dear father, I have this year learnt what the frogs croak.” Then
the father fell into the most furious anger, sprang up, called his people
thither, and said, “This man is no longer my son, I drive him forth, and
command you to take him out into the forest, and kill him.” They took him
forth, but when they should have killed him, they could not do it for pity,
and let him go, and they cut the eyes and the tongue out of a deer that they
might carry them to the old man as a token.
The youth wandered on, and after some time came to a fortress where he
begged for a night’s lodging. “Yes,” said the lord of the castle, “if thou wilt
pass the night down there in the old tower, go thither; but I warn thee, it is
at the peril of thy life, for it is full of wild dogs, which bark and howl
without stopping, and at certain hours a man has to be given to them, whom
they at once devour.” The whole district was in sorrow and dismay because

of them, and yet no one could do anything to stop this. The youth, however,
was without fear, and said, “Just let me go down to the barking dogs, and
give me something that I can throw to them; they will do nothing to harm
me.” As he himself would have it so, they gave him some food for the wild
animals, and led him down to the tower. When he went inside, the dogs did
not bark at him, but wagged their tails quite amicably around him, ate what
he set before them, and did not hurt one hair of his head. Next morning, to
the astonishment of everyone, he came out again safe and unharmed, and
said to the lord of the castle, “The dogs have revealed to me, in their own
language, why they dwell there, and bring evil on the land. They are
bewitched, and are obliged to watch over a great treasure which is below in
the tower, and they can have no rest until it is taken away, and I have
likewise learnt, from their discourse, how that is to be done.” Then all who
heard this rejoiced, and the lord of the castle said he would adopt him as a
son if he accomplished it successfully. He went down again, and as he knew
what he had to do, he did it thoroughly, and brought a chest full of gold out
with him. The howling of the wild dogs was henceforth heard no more; they
had disappeared, and the country was freed from the trouble.
After some time he took it into his head that he would travel to Rome. On
the way he passed by a marsh, in which a number of frogs were sitting
croaking. He listened to them, and when he became aware of what they
were saying, he grew very thoughtful and sad. At last he arrived in Rome,
where the Pope had just died, and there was great difficulty as to whom
they should appoint as his successor. They at length agreed that the person
should be chosen as pope who should be distinguished by some divine and
miraculous token. And just as that was decided on, the young count entered
into the church, and suddenly two snow-white doves flew on his shoulders
and remained sitting there. The ecclesiastics recognized therein the token
from above, and asked him on the spot if he would be pope. He was
undecided, and knew not if he were worthy of this, but the doves counselled
him to do it, and at length he said yes. Then was he anointed and
consecrated, and thus was fulfilled what he had heard from the frogs on his
way, which had so affected him, that he was to be his Holiness the Pope.
Then he had to sing a mass, and did not know one word of it, but the two
doves sat continually on his shoulders, and said it all in his ear.

34 Clever Elsie
There was once a man who had a daughter who was called Clever Elsie.
And when she had grown up her father said, “We will get her married.”
“Yes,” said the mother; “if only any one would come who would have her.”
At length a man came from a distance and wooed her, who was called Hans;
but he stipulated that Clever Elsie should be really wise. “Oh,” said the
father, “she’s sharp enough;” and the mother said, “Oh, she can see the
wind coming up the street, and hear the flies coughing.” “Well,” said Hans,
“if she is not really wise, I won’t have her.” When they were sitting at
dinner and had eaten, the mother said, “Elsie, go into the cellar and fetch
some beer.” Then Clever Elsie took the pitcher from the wall, went into the
cellar, and tapped the lid briskly as she went, so that the time might not
appear long. When she was below she fetched herself a chair, and set it
before the barrel so that she had no need to stoop, and did not hurt her back
or do herself any unexpected injury. Then she placed the can before her, and
turned the tap, and while the beer was running she would not let her eyes be
idle, but looked up at the wall, and after much peering here and there, saw a
pick-axe exactly above her, which the masons had accidentally left there.
Then Clever Elsie began to weep, and said, “If I get Hans, and we have a
child, and he grows big, and we send him into the cellar here to draw beer,
then the pick-axe will fall on his head and kill him.” Then she sat and wept
and screamed with all the strength of her body, over the misfortune which
lay before her. Those upstairs waited for the drink, but Clever Elsie still did
not come. Then the woman said to the servant, “Just go down into the cellar
and see where Elsie is.” The maid went and found her sitting in front of the
barrel, screaming loudly. “Elsie, why weepest thou?” asked the maid. “Ah,”
she answered, “have I not reason to weep? If I get Hans, and we have a
child, and he grows big, and has to draw beer here, the pick-axe will
perhaps fall on his head, and kill him.” Then said the maid, “What a clever
Elsie we have!” and sat down beside her and began loudly to weep over the
misfortune. After a while, as the maid did not come back, those upstairs
were thirsty for the beer, the man said to the boy, “Just go down into the

cellar and see where Elsie and the girl are.” The boy went down, and there
sat Clever Elsie and the girl both weeping together. Then he asked, “Why
are ye weeping?” “Ah,” said Elsie, “have I not reason to weep? If I get
Hans, and we have a child, and he grows big, and has to draw beer here, the
pick-axe will fall on his head and kill him.” Then said the boy, “What a
clever Elsie we have!” and sat down by her, and likewise began to howl
loudly. Upstairs they waited for the boy, but as he still did not return, the
man said to the woman, “Just go down into the cellar and see where Elsie
is!” The woman went down, and found all three in the midst of their
lamentations, and inquired what was the cause; then Elsie told her also that
her future child was to be killed by the pick-axe, when it grew big and had
to draw beer, and the pick-axe fell down. Then said the mother likewise,
“What a clever Elsie we have!” and sat down and wept with them. The man
upstairs waited a short time, but as his wife did not come back and his thirst
grew ever greater, he said, “I must go into the cellar myself and see where
Elsie is.” But when he got into the cellar, and they were all sitting together
crying, and he heard the reason, and that Elsie’s child was the cause, and
that Elsie might perhaps bring one into the world some day, and that it
might be killed by the pick-axe, if it should happen to be sitting beneath it,
drawing beer just at the very time when it fell down, he cried, “Oh, what a
clever Elsie!” and sat down, and likewise wept with them. The bridegroom
stayed upstairs alone for a long time; then as no one would come back he
thought, “They must be waiting for me below; I too must go there and see
what they are about.” When he got down, five of them were sitting
screaming and lamenting quite piteously, each out-doing the other. “What
misfortune has happened then?” he asked. “Ah, dear Hans,” said Elsie, “if
we marry each other and have a child, and he is big, and we perhaps send
him here to draw something to drink, then the pick-axe which has been left
up there might dash his brains out if it were to fall down, so have we not
reason to weep?” “Come,” said Hans, “more understanding than that is not
needed for my household, as thou art such a clever Elsie, I will have thee,”
and he seized her hand, took her upstairs with him, and married her.
After Hans had had her some time, he said, “Wife, I am going out to
work and earn some money for us; go into the field and cut the corn that we
may have some bread.” “Yes, dear Hans, I will do that.” After Hans had
gone away, she cooked herself some good broth and took it into the field
with her. When she came to the field she said to herself, “What shall I do;

shall I shear first, or shall I eat first? Oh, I will eat first.” Then she emptied
her basin of broth, and when she was fully satisfied, she once more said,
“What shall I do? Shall I shear first, or shall I sleep first? I will sleep first.”
Then she lay down among the corn and fell asleep. Hans had been at home
for a long time, but Elsie did not come; then said he, “What a clever Elsie I
have; she is so industrious that she does not even come home to eat.” As,
however, she still stayed away, and it was evening, Hans went out to see
what she had cut, but nothing was cut, and she was lying among the corn
asleep. Then Hans hastened home and brought a fowler’s net with little
bells and hung it round about her, and she still went on sleeping. Then he
ran home, shut the house-door, and sat down in his chair and worked. At
length, when it was quite dark, Clever Elsie awoke and when she got up
there was a jingling all round about her, and the bells rang at each step
which she took. Then she was alarmed, and became uncertain whether she
really was Clever Elsie or not, and said, “Is it I, or is it not I?” But she knew
not what answer to make to this, and stood for a time in doubt; at length she
thought, “I will go home and ask if it be I, or if it be not I, they will be sure
to know.” She ran to the door of her own house, but it was shut; then she
knocked at the window and cried, “Hans, is Elsie within?” “Yes,” answered
Hans, “she is within.” Hereupon she was terrified, and said, “Ah, heavens!
Then it is not I,” and went to another door; but when the people heard the
jingling of the bells they would not open it, and she could get in nowhere.
Then she ran out of the village, and no one has seen her since.

35 The Tailor in Heaven
One very fine day it came to pass that the good God wished to enjoy
himself in the heavenly garden, and took all the apostles and saints with
him, so that no one stayed in heaven but Saint Peter. The Lord had
commanded him to let no one in during his absence, so Peter stood by the
door and kept watch. Before long some one knocked. Peter asked who was
there, and what he wanted? “I am a poor, honest tailor who prays for
admission,” replied a smooth voice. “Honest indeed,” said Peter, “like the
thief on the gallows! Thou hast been light-fingered and hast snipped folks’
clothes away. Thou wilt not get into heaven. The Lord hath forbidden me to
let any one in while he is out.” “Come, do be merciful,” cried the tailor.
“Little scraps which fall off the table of their own accord are not stolen, and
are not worth speaking about. Look, I am lame, and have blisters on my feet
with walking here, I cannot possibly turn back again. Only let me in, and I
will do all the rough work. I will carry the children, and wash their clothes,
and wash and clean the benches on which they have been playing, and
patch all their torn clothes.” Saint Peter let himself be moved by pity, and
opened the door of heaven just wide enough for the lame tailor to slip his
lean body in. He was forced to sit down in a corner behind the door, and
was to stay quietly and peaceably there, in order that the Lord, when he
returned, might not observe him and be angry. The tailor obeyed, but once
when Saint Peter went outside the door, he got up, and full of curiosity,
went round about into every corner of heaven, and inspected the
arrangement of every place. At length he came to a spot where many
beautiful and delightful chairs were standing, and in the midst was a seat all
of gold which was set with shining jewels, likewise it was much higher than
the other chairs, and a footstool of gold was before it. It was, however, the
seat on which the Lord sat when he was at home, and from which he could
see everything which happened on earth. The tailor stood still, and looked at
the seat for a long time, for it pleased him better than all else. At last he
could master his curiosity no longer, and climbed up and seated himself in
the chair. Then he saw everything which was happening on earth, and

observed an ugly old woman who was standing washing by the side of a
stream, secretly laying two veils on one side for herself. The sight of this
made the tailor so angry that he laid hold of the golden footstool, and threw
it down to earth through heaven, at the old thief. As, however, he could not
bring the stool back again, he slipped quietly out of the chair, seated himself
in his place behind the door, and behaved as if he had never stirred from the
spot.
When the Lord and master came back again with his heavenly
companions, he did not see the tailor behind the door, but when he seated
himself on his chair the footstool was missing. He asked Saint Peter what
had become of the stool, but he did not know. Then he asked if he had let
anyone come in. “I know of no one who has been here,” answered Peter,
“but a lame tailor, who is still sitting behind the door.” Then the Lord had
the tailor brought before him, and asked him if he had taken away the stool,
and where he had put it? “Oh, Lord,” answered the tailor joyously, “I threw
it in my anger down to earth at an old woman whom I saw stealing two
veils at the washing.” “Oh, thou knave,” said the Lord, “were I to judge as
thou judgest, how dost thou think thou couldst have escaped so long? I
should long ago have had no chairs, benches, seats, nay, not even an oven-
fork, but should have thrown everything down at the sinners. Henceforth
thou canst stay no longer in heaven, but must go outside the door again.
Then go where thou wilt. No one shall give punishment here, but I alone,
the Lord.”
Peter was obliged to take the tailor out of heaven again, and as he had
torn shoes, and feet covered with blisters, he took a stick in his hand, and
went to “Wait-a-bit,” where the good soldiers sit and make merry.

36 The Wishing-Table, the Gold-Ass, and the Cudgel
in the Sack
There was once upon a time a tailor who had three sons, and only one
goat. But as the goat supported the whole of them with her milk, she was
obliged to have good food, and to be taken every day to pasture. The sons,
therefore, did this, in turn. Once the eldest took her to the churchyard,
where the finest herbs were to be found, and let her eat and run about there.
At night when it was time to go home he asked, “Goat, hast thou had
enough?” The goat answered,
“I have eaten so much,
Not a leaf more I’ll touch, meh! meh!”

“Come home, then,” said the youth, and took hold of the cord round her
neck, led her into the stable and tied her up securely. “Well,” said the old
tailor, “has the goat had as much food as she ought?” “Oh,” answered the
son, “she has eaten so much, not a leaf more she’ll touch.” But the father
wished to satisfy himself, and went down to the stable, stroked the dear
animal and asked, “Goat, art thou satisfied?” The goat answered,
“Wherewithal should I be satisfied?
Among the graves I leapt about,
And found no food, so went without, meh! meh!”

“What do I hear?” cried the tailor, and ran upstairs and said to the youth,
“Hollo, thou liar: thou saidest the goat had had enough, and hast let her
hunger!” and in his anger he took the yard-measure from the wall, and
drove him out with blows.
Next day it was the turn of the second son, who looked out for a place in
the fence of the garden, where nothing but good herbs grew, and the goat
cleared them all off. At night when he wanted to go home, he asked, “Goat,
art thou satisfied?” The goat answered,
“I have eaten so much,
Not a leaf more I’ll touch, meh! meh!”

“Come home, then,” said the youth, and led her home, and tied her up in the
stable. “Well,” said the old tailor, “has the goat had as much food as she
ought?” “Oh,” answered the son, “she has eaten so much, not a leaf more
she’ll touch.” The tailor would not rely on this, but went down to the stable
and said, “Goat, hast thou had enough?” The goat answered,
“Wherewithal should I be satisfied?
Among the graves I leapt about,
And found no food, so went without, meh! meh!”

“The godless wretch!” cried the tailor, “to let such a good animal hunger,”
and he ran up and drove the youth out of doors with the yard-measure.
Now came the turn of the third son, who wanted to do the thing well, and
sought out some bushes with the finest leaves, and let the goat devour them.
In the evening when he wanted to go home, he asked, “Goat, hast thou had
enough?” The goat answered,
“I have eaten so much,
Not a leaf more I’ll touch, meh! meh!”

“Come home, then,” said the youth, and led her into the stable, and tied her
up. “Well,” said the old tailor, “has the goat had a proper amount of food?”
“She has eaten so much, not a leaf more she’ll touch.” The tailor did not
trust to that, but went down and asked, “Goat, hast thou had enough?” The
wicked beast answered,
“Wherewithal should I be satisfied?
Among the graves I leapt about,
And found no leaves, so went without, meh! meh!”

“Oh, the brood of liars!” cried the tailor, “each as wicked and forgetful of
his duty as the other! Ye shall no longer make a fool of me,” and quite
beside himself with anger, he ran upstairs and belabored the poor young
fellow so vigorously with the yard-measure that he sprang out of the house.
The old tailor was now alone with his goat. Next morning he went down
into the stable, caressed the goat and said, “Come, my dear little animal, I
will take thee to feed myself.” He took her by the rope and conducted her to
green hedges, and amongst milfoil, and whatever else goats like to eat.
“There thou mayest for once eat to thy heart’s content,” said he to her, and
let her browse till evening. Then he asked, “Goat, art thou satisfied?” She
replied,

“I have eaten so much,
Not a leaf more I’ll touch, meh! meh!”

“Come home, then,” said the tailor, and led her into the stable, and tied her
fast. When he was going away, he turned round again and said, “Well, art
thou satisfied for once?” But the goat did not behave the better to him, and
cried,
“Wherewithal should I be satisfied?
Among the graves I leapt about,
And found no leaves, so went without, meh! meh!”

When the tailor heard that, he was shocked, and saw clearly that he had
driven away his three sons without cause. “Wait, thou ungrateful creature,”
cried he, “it is not enough to drive thee forth, I will mark thee so that thou
wilt no more dare to show thyself amongst honest tailors.” In great haste he
ran upstairs, fetched his razor, lathered the goat’s head, and shaved her as
clean as the palm of his hand. And as the yard-measure would have been
too good for her, he brought the horsewhip, and gave her such cuts with it
that she ran away in violent haste.
When the tailor was thus left quite alone in his house he fell into great
grief, and would gladly have had his sons back again, but no one knew
whither they were gone. The eldest had apprenticed himself to a joiner, and
learnt industriously and indefatigably, and when the time came for him to
go travelling, his master presented him with a little table which had no
particular appearance, and was made of common wood, but it had one good
property; if anyone set it out, and said, “Little table, spread thyself,” the
good little table was at once covered with a clean little cloth, and a plate
was there, and a knife and fork beside it, and dishes with boiled meats and
roasted meats, as many as there was room for, and a great glass of red wine
shone so that it made the heart glad. The young journeyman thought, “With
this thou hast enough for thy whole life,” and went joyously about the
world and never troubled himself at all whether an inn was good or bad, or
if anything was to be found in it or not. When it suited him he did not enter
an inn at all, but either on the plain, in a wood, a meadow, or wherever he
fancied, he took his little table off his back, set it down before him, and
said, “Cover thyself,” and then everything appeared that his heart desired.
At length he took it into his head to go back to his father, whose anger
would now be appeased, and who would now willingly receive him with his

wishing-table. It came to pass that on his way home, he came one evening
to an inn which was filled with guests. They bade him welcome, and invited
him to sit and eat with them, for otherwise he would have difficulty in
getting anything. “No,” answered the joiner, “I will not take the few bites
out of your mouths; rather than that, you shall be my guests.” They laughed,
and thought he was jesting with them; he, however, placed his wooden table
in the middle of the room, and said, “Little table, cover thyself.” Instantly it
was covered with food, so good that the host could never have procured it,
and the smell of it ascended pleasantly to the nostrils of the guests. “Fall to,
dear friends,” said the joiner; and the guests when they saw that he meant it,
did not need to be asked twice, but drew near, pulled out their knives and
attacked it valiantly. And what surprised them the most was that when a
dish became empty, a full one instantly took its place of its own accord. The
innkeeper stood in one corner and watched the affair; he did not at all know
what to say, but thought, “Thou couldst easily find a use for such a cook as
that in thy kitchen.” The joiner and his comrades made merry until late into
the night; at length they lay down to sleep, and the young apprentice also
went to bed, and set his magic table against the wall. The host’s thoughts,
however, let him have no rest; it occurred to him that there was a little old
table in his lumber-room which looked just like the apprentice’s and he
brought it out quite softly, and exchanged it for the wishing-table. Next
morning, the joiner paid for his bed, took up his table, never thinking that
he had got a false one, and went his way. At mid-day he reached his father,
who received him with great joy. “Well, my dear son, what hast thou
learnt?” said he to him. “Father, I have become a joiner.”
“A good trade,” replied the old man; “but what hast thou brought back
with thee from thy apprenticeship?” “Father, the best thing which I have
brought back with me is this little table.” The tailor inspected it on all sides
and said, “Thou didst not make a masterpiece when thou mad’st that; it is a
bad old table.” “But it is a table which furnishes itself,” replied the son.
“When I set it out, and tell it to cover itself, the most beautiful dishes stand
on it, and a wine also, which gladdens the heart. Just invite all our relations
and friends, they shall refresh and enjoy themselves for once, for the table
will give them all they require.” When the company was assembled, he put
his table in the middle of the room and said, “Little table, cover thyself,”
but the little table did not bestir itself, and remained just as bare as any
other table which did not understand language. Then the poor apprentice

became aware that his table had been changed, and was ashamed at having
to stand there like a liar. The relations, however, mocked him, and were
forced to go home without having eaten or drunk. The father brought out his
patches again, and went on tailoring, but the son went to a master in the
craft.
The second son had gone to a miller and had apprenticed himself to him.
When his years were over, the master said, “As thou hast conducted thyself
so well, I give thee an ass of a peculiar kind, which neither draws a cart nor
carries a sack.” “To what use is he put, then?” asked the young apprentice.
“He lets gold drop from his mouth,” answered the miller. “If thou settest
him on a cloth and sayest ‘Bricklebrit,’ the good animal will drop gold
pieces for thee.” “That is a fine thing,” said the apprentice, and thanked the
master, and went out into the world. When he had need of gold, he had only
to say “Bricklebrit” to his ass, and it rained gold pieces, and he had nothing
to do but pick them off the ground. Wheresoever he went, the best of
everything was good enough for him, and the dearer the better, for he had
always a full purse. When he had looked about the world for some time, he
thought, “Thou must seek out thy father; if thou goest to him with the gold-
ass he will forget his anger, and receive thee well.” It came to pass that he
came to the same public-house in which his brother’s table had been
exchanged. He led his ass by the bridle, and the host was about to take the
animal from him and tie him up, but the young apprentice said, “Don’t
trouble yourself, I will take my grey horse into the stable, and tie him up
myself too, for I must know where he stands.” This struck the host as odd,
and he thought that a man who was forced to look after his ass himself,
could not have much to spend; but when the stranger put his hand in his
pocket and brought out two gold pieces, and said he was to provide
something good for him, the host opened his eyes wide, and ran and sought
out the best he could muster. After dinner the guest asked what he owed.
The host did not see why he should not double the reckoning, and said the
apprentice must give two more gold pieces. He felt in his pocket, but his
gold was just at an end. “Wait an instant, sir host,” said he, “I will go and
fetch some money;” but he took the table-cloth with him. The host could
not imagine what this could mean, and being curious, stole after him, and as
the guest bolted the stable-door, he peeped through a hole left by a knot in
the wood. The stranger spread out the cloth under the animal and cried,
“Bricklebrit,” and immediately the beast began to let gold pieces fall, so

that it fairly rained down money on the ground. “Eh, my word,” said the
host, “ducats are quickly coined there! A purse like that is not amiss.” The
guest paid his score, and went to bed, but in the night the host stole down
into the stable, led away the master of the mint, and tied up another ass in
his place. Early next morning the apprentice travelled away with his ass,
and thought that he had his gold-ass. At mid-day he reached his father, who
rejoiced to see him again, and gladly took him in. “What hast thou made of
thyself, my son?” asked the old man. “A miller,” dear father, he answered.
“What hast thou brought back with thee from thy travels?” “Nothing else
but an ass.” “There are asses enough here,” said the father, “I would rather
have had a good goat.” “Yes,” replied the son, “but it is no common ass, but
a gold-ass, when I say ‘Bricklebrit,’ the good beast opens its mouth and
drops a whole sheetful of gold pieces. Just summon all our relations hither,
and I will make them rich folks.” “That suits me well,” said the tailor, “for
then I shall have no need to torment myself any longer with the needle,”
and ran out himself and called the relations together. As soon as they were
assembled, the miller bade them make way, spread out his cloth, and
brought the ass into the room. “Now watch,” said he, and cried,
“Bricklebrit,” but no gold pieces fell, and it was clear that the animal knew
nothing of the art, for every ass does not attain such perfection. Then the
poor miller pulled a long face, saw that he was betrayed, and begged pardon
of the relatives, who went home as poor as they came. There was no help
for it, the old man had to betake him to his needle once more, and the youth
hired himself to a miller.
The third brother had apprenticed himself to a turner, and as that is
skilled labour, he was the longest in learning. His brothers, however, told
him in a letter how badly things had gone with them, and how the innkeeper
had cheated them of their beautiful wishing-gifts on the last evening before
they reached home. When the turner had served his time, and had to set out
on his travels, as he had conducted himself so well, his master presented
him with a sack and said, “There is a cudgel in it.” “I can put on the sack,”
said he, “and it may be of good service to me, but why should the cudgel be
in it? It only makes it heavy.” “I will tell thee why,” replied the master; “if
any one has done anything to injure thee, do but say, ‘Out of the sack,
Cudgel!’ and the cudgel will leap forth among the people, and play such a
dance on their backs that they will not be able to stir or move for a week,
and it will not leave off until thou sayest, ‘Into the sack, Cudgel!’” The

apprentice thanked him, and put the sack on his back, and when any one
came too near him, and wished to attack him, he said, “Out of the sack,
Cudgel!” and instantly the cudgel sprang out, and dusted the coat or jacket
of one after the other on their backs, and never stopped until it had stripped
it off them, and it was done so quickly, that before anyone was aware, it was
already his own turn. In the evening the young turner reached the inn where
his brothers had been cheated. He laid his sack on the table before him, and
began to talk of all the wonderful things which he had seen in the world.
“Yes,” said he, “people may easily find a table which will cover itself, a
gold-ass, and things of that kind—extremely good things which I by no
means despise—but these are nothing in comparison with the treasure
which I have won for myself, and am carrying about with me in my sack
there.” The inn-keeper pricked up his ears, “What in the world can that be?”
thought he; “the sack must be filled with nothing but jewels; I ought to get
them cheap too, for all good things go in threes.” When it was time for
sleep, the guest stretched himself on the bench, and laid his sack beneath
him for a pillow. When the inn-keeper thought his guest was lying in a
sound sleep, he went to him and pushed and pulled quite gently and
carefully at the sack to see if he could possibly draw it away and lay another
in its place. The turner had, however, been waiting for this for a long time,
and now just as the inn-keeper was about to give a hearty tug, he cried,
“Out of the sack, Cudgel!” Instantly the little cudgel came forth, and fell on
the inn-keeper and gave him a sound thrashing.
The host cried for mercy; but the louder he cried, so much more heavily
the cudgel beat the time on his back, until at length he fell to the ground
exhausted. Then the turner said, “If thou dost not give back the table which
covers itself, and the gold-ass, the dance shall begin afresh.” “Oh, no,” cried
the host, quite humbly, “I will gladly produce everything, only make the
accursed kobold creep back into the sack.” Then said the apprentice, “I will
let mercy take the place of justice, but beware of getting into mischief
again!” So he cried, “Into the sack, Cudgel!” and let him have rest.
Next morning the turner went home to his father with the wishing-table,
and the gold-ass. The tailor rejoiced when he saw him once more, and asked
him likewise what he had learned in foreign parts. “Dear father,” said he, “I
have become a turner.” “A skilled trade,” said the father. “What hast thou
brought back with thee from thy travels?”

“A precious thing, dear father,” replied the son, “a cudgel in the sack.”
“What!” cried the father, “a cudgel! That’s worth thy trouble, indeed!
From every tree thou can cut thyself one.” “But not one like this, dear
father. If I say, ‘Out of the sack, Cudgel!’ the cudgel springs out and leads
any one who means ill with me a weary dance, and never stops until he lies
on the ground and prays for fair weather. Look you, with this cudgel have I
got back the wishing-table and the gold-ass which the thievish inn-keeper
took away from my brothers. Now let them both be sent for, and invite all
our kinsmen. I will give them to eat and to drink, and will fill their pockets
with gold into the bargain.” The old tailor would not quite believe, but
nevertheless got the relatives together. Then the turner spread a cloth in the
room and led in the gold-ass, and said to his brother, “Now, dear brother,
speak to him.” The miller said, “Bricklebrit,” and instantly the gold pieces
fell down on the cloth like a thunder-shower, and the ass did not stop until
every one of them had so much that he could carry no more. (I can see in
thy face that thou also wouldst like to be there.)
Then the turner brought the little table, and said, “Now dear brother,
speak to it.” And scarcely had the carpenter said, “Table, cover thyself,”
than it was spread and amply covered with the most exquisite dishes. Then
such a meal took place as the good tailor had never yet known in his house,
and the whole party of kinsmen stayed together till far in the night, and
were all merry and glad. The tailor locked away needle and thread, yard-
measure and goose, in a press, and lived with his three sons in joy and
splendour. (What, however, has become of the goat who was to blame for
the tailor driving out his three sons? That I will tell thee. She was ashamed
that she had a bald head, and ran to a fox’s hole and crept into it. When the
fox came home, he was met by two great eyes shining out of the darkness,
and was terrified and ran away. A bear met him, and as the fox looked quite
disturbed, he said, “What is the matter with thee, brother Fox, why dost
thou look like that?” “Ah,” answered Redskin, “a fierce beast is in my cave
and stared at me with its fiery eyes.” “We will soon drive him out,” said the
bear, and went with him to the cave and looked in, but when he saw the
fiery eyes, fear seized on him likewise; he would have nothing to do with
the furious beast, and took to his heels. The bee met him, and as she saw
that he was ill at ease, she said, “Bear, thou art really pulling a very pitiful
face; what has become of all thy gaiety?” “It is all very well for thee to
talk,” replied the bear, “a furious beast with staring eyes is in Redskin’s

house, and we can’t drive him out.” The bee said, “Bear I pity thee, I am a
poor weak creature whom thou wouldst not turn aside to look at, but still, I
believe, I can help thee.” She flew into the fox’s cave, lighted on the goat’s
smoothly-shorn head, and stung her so violently, that she sprang up, crying
“Meh, meh,” and ran forth into the world as if mad, and to this hour no one
knows where she has gone.)

37 Thumbling
There was once a poor peasant who sat in the evening by the hearth and
poked the fire, and his wife sat and span. Then said he, “How sad it is that
we have no children! With us all is so quiet, and in other houses it is noisy
and lively.”
“Yes,” replied the wife, and sighed, “even if we had only one, and it were
quite small, and only as big as a thumb, I should be quite satisfied, and we
would still love it with all our hearts.” Now it so happened that the woman
fell ill, and after seven months gave birth to a child, that was perfect in all
its limbs, but no longer than a thumb. Then said they, “It is as we wished it
to be, and it shall be our dear child;” and because of its size, they called it
Thumbling. They did not let it want for food, but the child did not grow
taller, but remained as it had been at the first, nevertheless it looked sensibly
out of its eyes, and soon showed itself to be a wise and nimble creature, for
everything it did turned out well.
One day the peasant was getting ready to go into the forest to cut wood,
when he said as if to himself, “How I wish that there was any one who
would bring the cart to me!” “Oh father,” cried Thumbling, “I will soon
bring the cart, rely on that; it shall be in the forest at the appointed time.”
The man smiled and said, “How can that be done, thou art far too small to
lead the horse by the reins?” “That’s of no consequence, father, if my
mother will only harness it, I shall sit in the horse’s ear and call out to him
how he is to go.” “Well,” answered the man, “for once we will try it.”
When the time came, the mother harnessed the horse, and placed
Thumbling in its ear, and then the little creature cried, “Gee up, gee up!”
Then it went quite properly as if with its master, and the cart went the
right way into the forest. It so happened that just as he was turning a corner,
and the little one was crying, “Gee up,” two strange men came towards him.
“My word!” said one of them, “What is this? There is a cart coming, and a
driver is calling to the horse and still he is not to be seen!” “That can’t be
right,” said the other, “we will follow the cart and see where it stops.” The

cart, however, drove right into the forest, and exactly to the place where the
wood had been cut. When Thumbling saw his father, he cried to him, “Seest
thou, father, here I am with the cart; now take me down.” The father got
hold of the horse with his left hand and with the right took his little son out
of the ear. Thumbling sat down quite merrily on a straw, but when the two
strange men saw him, they did not know what to say for astonishment. Then
one of them took the other aside and said, “Hark, the little fellow would
make our fortune if we exhibited him in a large town, for money. We will
buy him.” They went to the peasant and said, “Sell us the little man. He
shall be well treated with us.” “No,” replied the father, “he is the apple of
my eye, and all the money in the world cannot buy him from me.”
Thumbling, however, when he heard of the bargain, had crept up the folds
of his father’s coat, placed himself on his shoulder, and whispered in his
ear, “Father do give me away, I will soon come back again.” Then the father
parted with him to the two men for a handsome bit of money. “Where wilt
thou sit?” they said to him. “Oh just set me on the rim of your hat, and then
I can walk backwards and forwards and look at the country, and still not fall
down.” They did as he wished, and when Thumbling had taken leave of his
father, they went away with him. They walked until it was dusk, and then
the little fellow said, “Do take me down, I want to come down.” The man
took his hat off, and put the little fellow on the ground by the wayside, and
he leapt and crept about a little between the sods, and then he suddenly
slipped into a mouse-hole which he had sought out. “Good evening,
gentlemen, just go home without me,” he cried to them, and mocked them.
They ran thither and stuck their sticks into the mouse-hole, but it was all
lost labour. Thumbling crept still farther in, and as it soon became quite
dark, they were forced to go home with their vexation and their empty
purses.
When Thumbling saw that they were gone, he crept back out of the
subterranean passage. “It is so dangerous to walk on the ground in the
dark,” said he; “how easily a neck or a leg is broken!” Fortunately he
knocked against an empty snail-shell. “Thank God!” said he. “In that I can
pass the night in safety,” and got into it. Not long afterwards, when he was
just going to sleep, he heard two men go by, and one of them was saying,
“How shall we contrive to get hold of the rich pastor’s silver and gold?” “I
could tell thee that,” cried Thumbling, interrupting them. “What was that?”
said one of the thieves in fright, “I heard some one speaking.” They stood

still listening, and Thumbling spoke again, and said, “Take me with you,
and I’ll help you.”
“But where art thou?” “Just look on the ground, and observe from
whence my voice comes,” he replied. There the thieves at length found him,
and lifted him up. “Thou little imp, how wilt thou help us?” they said. “A
great deal,” said he, “I will creep into the pastor’s room through the iron
bars, and will reach out to you whatever you want to have.” “Come then,”
they said, “and we will see what thou canst do.” When they got to the
pastor’s house, Thumbling crept into the room, but instantly cried out with
all his might, “Do you want to have everything that is here?” The thieves
were alarmed, and said, “But do speak softly, so as not to waken any one!”
Thumbling however, behaved as if he had not understood this, and cried
again, “What do you want? Do you want to have everything that is here?”
The cook, who slept in the next room, heard this and sat up in bed, and
listened. The thieves, however, had in their fright run some distance away,
but at last they took courage, and thought, “The little rascal wants to mock
us.” They came back and whispered to him, “Come, be serious, and reach
something out to us.” Then Thumbling again cried as loudly as he could, “I
really will give you everything, just put your hands in.” The maid who was
listening, heard this quite distinctly, and jumped out of bed and rushed to
the door. The thieves took flight, and ran as if the Wild Huntsman were
behind them, but as the maid could not see anything, she went to strike a
light. When she came to the place with it, Thumbling, unperceived, betook
himself to the granary, and the maid, after she had examined every corner
and found nothing, lay down in her bed again, and believed that, after all,
she had only been dreaming with open eyes and ears.
Thumbling had climbed up among the hay and found a beautiful place to
sleep in; there he intended to rest until day, and then go home again to his
parents. But he had other things to go through. Truly, there is much
affliction and misery in this world! When day dawned, the maid arose from
her bed to feed the cows. Her first walk was into the barn, where she laid
hold of an armful of hay, and precisely that very one in which poor
Thumbling was lying asleep. He, however, was sleeping so soundly that he
was aware of nothing, and did not awake until he was in the mouth of the
cow, who had picked him up with the hay. “Ah, heavens!” cried he, “how
have I got into the fulling mill?” but he soon discovered where he was.
Then it was necessary to be careful not to let himself go between the teeth

and be dismembered, but he was nevertheless forced to slip down into the
stomach with the hay. “In this little room the windows are forgotten,” said
he, “and no sun shines in, neither will a candle be brought.” His quarters
were especially unpleasing to him, and the worst was, more and more hay
was always coming in by the door, and the space grew less and less. Then at
length in his anguish, he cried as loud as he could, “Bring me no more
fodder, bring me no more fodder.” The maid was just milking the cow, and
when she heard some one speaking, and saw no one, and perceived that it
was the same voice that she had heard in the night, she was so terrified that
she slipped off her stool, and spilt the milk. She ran in great haste to her
master, and said, “Oh heavens, pastor, the cow has been speaking!” “Thou
art mad,” replied the pastor; but he went himself to the byre to see what was
there. Hardly, however had he set his foot inside when Thumbling again
cried, “Bring me no more fodder, bring me no more fodder.” Then the
pastor himself was alarmed, and thought that an evil spirit had gone into the
cow, and ordered her to be killed. She was killed, but the stomach, in which
Thumbling was, was thrown on the midden. Thumbling had great difficulty
in working his way; however, he succeeded so far as to get some room, but
just as he was going to thrust his head out, a new misfortune occurred. A
hungry wolf ran thither, and swallowed the whole stomach at one gulp.
Thumbling did not lose courage. “Perhaps,” thought he, “the wolf will
listen to what I have got to say,” and he called to him from out of his
stomach, “Dear wolf, I know of a magnificent feast for you.”
“Where is it to be had?” said the wolf.
“In such and such a house; thou must creep into it through the kitchen-
sink, and wilt find cakes, and bacon, and sausages, and as much of them as
thou canst eat,” and he described to him exactly his father’s house. The
wolf did not require to be told this twice, squeezed himself in at night
through the sink, and ate to his heart’s content in the larder. When he had
eaten his fill, he wanted to go out again, but he had become so big that he
could not go out by the same way. Thumbling had reckoned on this, and
now began to make a violent noise in the wolf’s body, and raged and
screamed as loudly as he could. “Wilt thou be quiet,” said the wolf, “thou
wilt waken up the people!” “Eh, what,” replied the little fellow, “thou hast
eaten thy fill, and I will make merry likewise,” and began once more to
scream with all his strength. At last his father and mother were aroused by
it, and ran to the room and looked in through the opening in the door. When

they saw that a wolf was inside, they ran away, and the husband fetched his
axe, and the wife the scythe. “Stay behind,” said the man, when they
entered the room. “When I have given him a blow, if he is not killed by it,
thou must cut him down and hew his body to pieces.” Then Thumbling
heard his parents, voices and cried, “Dear father, I am here; I am in the
wolf’s body.” Said the father, full of joy, “Thank God, our dear child has
found us again,” and bade the woman take away her scythe, that Thumbling
might not be hurt with it. After that he raised his arm, and struck the wolf
such a blow on his head that he fell down dead, and then they got knives
and scissors and cut his body open and drew the little fellow forth. “Ah,”
said the father, “what sorrow we have gone through for thy sake.” “Yes
father, I have gone about the world a great deal. Thank heaven, I breathe
fresh air again!” “Where hast thou been, then?” “Ah, father, I have been in a
mouse’s hole, in a cow’s stomach, and then in a wolf’s; now I will stay with
you.” “And we will not sell thee again, no, not for all the riches in the
world,” said his parents, and they embraced and kissed their dear
Thumbling. They gave him to eat and to drink, and had some new clothes
made for him, for his own had been spoiled on his journey.

38 The Wedding of Mrs. Fox
FIRST STORY
There was once on a time an old fox with nine tails, who believed that his
wife was not faithful to him, and wished to try her. He stretched himself out
under the bench, did not move a limb, and behaved as if he were stone
dead. Mrs. Fox went up to her room, shut herself in, and her maid, Miss
Cat, sat by the fire, and did the cooking. When it became known that the old
fox was dead, wooers presented themselves. The maid heard some one
standing at the house-door, knocking. She went and opened it, and it was a
young fox, who said,
“What may you be about, Miss Cat?
Do you sleep or do you wake?”

She answered,
“I am not sleeping, I am waking,
Wouldst thou know what I am making?
I am boiling warm beer with butter so nice,
Will the gentleman enter and drink some likewise?”

“No, thank you, miss,” said the fox, “what is Mrs. Fox doing?” The maid
replied,
“She sits all alone,
And makes her moan,
Weeping her little eyes quite red,
Because old Mr. Fox is dead.”

“Do just tell her, miss, that a young fox is here, who would like to woo
her.” “Certainly, young sir.”
The cat goes up the stairs trip, trap,
The door she knocks at tap, tap, tap,
“Mistress Fox, are you inside?”
“Oh yes, my little cat,” she cried.
“A wooer he stands at the door out there.”
“Tell me what he is like, my dear?”

“But has he nine as beautiful tails as the late Mr. Fox?” “Oh, no,”
answered the cat, “he has only one.”
“Then I will not have him.” Miss Cat went downstairs and sent the wooer
away. Soon afterwards there was another knock, and another fox was at the
door who wished to woo Mrs. Fox. He had two tails, but he did not fare
better than the first. After this still more came, each with one tail more than
the other, but they were all turned away, until at last one came who had nine
tails, like old Mr. Fox. When the widow heard that, she said joyfully to the
cat,
“Now open the gates and doors all wide,
And carry old Mr. Fox outside.”

But just as the wedding was going to be solemnized, old Mr. Fox stirred
under the bench, and cudgelled all the rabble, and drove them and Mrs. Fox
out of the house.

SECOND STORY
When old Mr. Fox was dead, the wolf came as a wooer, and knocked at
the door, and the cat who was servant to Mrs. Fox, opened it for him. The
wolf greeted her, and said,
“Good day, Mrs. Cat of Kehrewit,
“How comes it that alone you sit?
What are you making good?”

The cat replied,
“In milk I’m breaking bread so sweet,
Will the gentleman please come in and eat?”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Cat,” answered the wolf. “Is Mrs. Fox not at
home?”
The cat said,
“She sits upstairs in her room,
Bewailing her sorrowful doom,
Bewailing her trouble so sore,
For old Mr. Fox is no more.”

The wolf answered,

“If she’s in want of a husband now,
Then will it please her to step below?”
The cat runs quickly up the stair,
And lets her tail fly here and there,
Until she comes to the parlour door.
With her five gold rings at the door she knocks,
“Are you within, good Mistress Fox?
If you’re in want of a husband now,
Then will it please you to step below?

Mrs. Fox asked, “Has the gentleman red stockings on’ and has he a
pointed mouth?” “No,” answered the cat. “Then he won’t do for me.”
When the wolf was gone, came a dog, a stag, a hare, a bear, a lion, and all
the beasts of the forest, one after the other. But one of the good points
which old Mr. Fox had possessed, was always lacking, and the cat had
continually to send the wooers away. At length came a young fox. Then
Mrs. Fox said, “Has the gentleman red stockings on, and has he a little
pointed mouth?” “Yes,” said the cat, “he has.” “Then let him come
upstairs,” said Mrs. Fox, and ordered the servant to prepare the wedding-
feast.
“Sweep me the room as clean as you can,
Up with the window, fling out my old man!
For many a fine fat mouse he brought,
Yet of his wife he never thought,
But ate up every one he caught.”

Then the wedding was solemnized with young Mr. Fox, and there was
much rejoicing and dancing; and if they have not left off, they are dancing
still.

39 The Elves
FIRST STORY
A shoemaker, by no fault of his own, had become so poor that at last he
had nothing left but leather for one pair of shoes. So in the evening, he cut
out the shoes which he wished to begin to make the next morning, and as he
had a good conscience, he lay down quietly in his bed, commended himself
to God, and fell asleep. In the morning, after he had said his prayers, and
was just going to sit down to work, the two shoes stood quite finished on
his table. He was astounded, and knew not what to say to it. He took the
shoes in his hands to observe them closer, and they were so neatly made
that there was not one bad stitch in them, just as if they were intended as a
masterpiece. Soon after, a buyer came in, and as the shoes pleased him so
well, he paid more for them than was customary, and, with the money, the
shoemaker was able to purchase leather for two pairs of shoes. He cut them
out at night, and next morning was about to set to work with fresh courage;
but he had no need to do so, for, when he got up, they were already made,
and buyers also were not wanting, who gave him money enough to buy
leather for four pairs of shoes. The following morning, too, he found the
four pairs made; and so it went on constantly, what he cut out in the evening
was finished by the morning, so that he soon had his honest independence
again, and at last became a wealthy man. Now it befell that one evening not
long before Christmas, when the man had been cutting out, he said to his
wife, before going to bed, “What think you if we were to stay up to-night to
see who it is that lends us this helping hand?” The woman liked the idea,
and lighted a candle, and then they hid themselves in a corner of the room,
behind some clothes which were hanging up there, and watched. When it
was midnight, two pretty little naked men came, sat down by the
shoemaker’s table, took all the work which was cut out before them and
began to stitch, and sew, and hammer so skilfully and so quickly with their
little fingers that the shoemaker could not turn away his eyes for

astonishment. They did not stop until all was done, and stood finished on
the table, and they ran quickly away.
Next morning the woman said, “The little men have made us rich, and we
really must show that we are grateful for it. They run about so, and have
nothing on, and must be cold. I’ll tell thee what I’ll do: I will make them
little shirts, and coats, and vests, and trousers, and knit both of them a pair
of stockings, and do thou, too, make them two little pairs of shoes.” The
man said, “I shall be very glad to do it;” and one night, when everything
was ready, they laid their presents all together on the table instead of the
cut-out work, and then concealed themselves to see how the little men
would behave. At midnight they came bounding in, and wanted to get to
work at once, but as they did not find any leather cut out, but only the pretty
little articles of clothing, they were at first astonished, and then they showed
intense delight. They dressed themselves with the greatest rapidity, putting
the pretty clothes on, and singing,
“Now we are boys so fine to see,
Why should we longer cobblers be?”

Then they danced and skipped and leapt over chairs and benches. At last
they danced out of doors. From that time forth they came no more, but as
long as the shoemaker lived all went well with him, and all his undertakings
prospered.

SECOND STORY
There was once a poor servant-girl, who was industrious and cleanly, and
swept the house every day, and emptied her sweepings on the great heap in
front of the door. One morning when she was just going back to her work,
she found a letter on this heap, and as she could not read, she put her broom
in the corner, and took the letter to her master and mistress, and behold it
was an invitation from the elves, who asked the girl to hold a child for them
at its christening. The girl did not know what to do, but at length, after
much persuasion, and as they told her that it was not right to refuse an
invitation of this kind, she consented. Then three elves came and conducted
her to a hollow mountain, where the little folks lived. Everything there was
small, but more elegant and beautiful than can be described. The baby’s
mother lay in a bed of black ebony ornamented with pearls, the coverlids
were embroidered with gold, the cradle was of ivory, the bath of gold. The

girl stood as godmother, and then wanted to go home again, but the little
elves urgently entreated her to stay three days with them. So she stayed, and
passed the time in pleasure and gaiety, and the little folks did all they could
to make her happy. At last she set out on her way home. Then first they
filled her pockets quite full of money, and after that they led her out of the
mountain again. When she got home, she wanted to begin her work, and
took the broom, which was still standing in the corner, in her hand and
began to sweep. Then some strangers came out of the house, who asked her
who she was, and what business she had there? And she had not, as she
thought, been three days with the little men in the mountains, but seven
years, and in the meantime her former masters had died.
THIRD STORY
A certain mother’s child had been taken away out of its cradle by the
elves, and a changeling with a large head and staring eyes, which would do
nothing but eat and drink, laid in its place. In her trouble she went to her
neighbour, and asked her advice. The neighbour said that she was to carry
the changeling into the kitchen, set it down on the hearth, light a fire, and
boil some water in two egg-shells, which would make the changeling laugh,
and if he laughed, all would be over with him. The woman did everything
that her neighbour bade her. When she put the egg-shells with water on the
fire, the imp said, “I am as old now as the Wester forest, but never yet have
I seen any one boil anything in an egg-shell!” And he began to laugh at it.
Whilst he was laughing, suddenly came a host of little elves, who brought
the right child, set it down on the hearth, and took the changeling away with
them.

40 The Robber Bridegroom
There was once on a time a miller, who had a beautiful daughter, and as
she was grown up, he wished that she was provided for, and well married.
He thought, “If any good suitor comes and asks for her, I will give her to
him.” Not long afterwards, a suitor came, who appeared to be very rich, and
as the miller had no fault to find with him, he promised his daughter to him.
The maiden, however, did not like him quite so much as a girl should like
the man to whom she is engaged, and had no confidence in him. Whenever
she saw, or thought of him, she felt a secret horror. Once he said to her,
“Thou art my betrothed, and yet thou hast never once paid me a visit.” The
maiden replied, “I know not where thy house is.” Then said the bridegroom,
“My house is out there in the dark forest.” She tried to excuse herself and
said she could not find the way there. The bridegroom said, “Next Sunday
thou must come out there to me; I have already invited the guests, and I will
strew ashes in order that thou mayst find thy way through the forest.” When
Sunday came, and the maiden had to set out on her way, she became very
uneasy, she herself knew not exactly why, and to mark her way she filled
both her pockets full of peas and lentils. Ashes were strewn at the entrance
of the forest, and these she followed, but at every step she threw a couple of
peas on the ground. She walked almost the whole day until she reached the
middle of the forest, where it was the darkest, and there stood a solitary
house, which she did not like, for it looked so dark and dismal. She went
inside it, but no one was within, and the most absolute stillness reigned.
Suddenly a voice cried,
“Turn back, turn back, young maiden dear,
’Tis a murderer’s house you enter here.”

The maiden looked up, and saw that the voice came from a bird, which
was hanging in a cage on the wall. Again it cried,
“Turn back, turn back, young maiden dear,
’Tis a murderer’s house you enter here.”

Then the young maiden went on farther from one room to another, and
walked through the whole house, but it was entirely empty and not one
human being was to be found. At last she came to the the cellar, and there
sat an extremely aged woman, whose head shook constantly. “Can you not
tell me,” said the maiden, “if my betrothed lives here?”
“Alas, poor child,” replied the old woman, “whither hast thou come?
Thou art in a murderer’s den. Thou thinkest thou art a bride soon to be
married, but thou wilt keep thy wedding with death. Look, I have been
forced to put a great kettle on there, with water in it, and when they have
thee in their power, they will cut thee to pieces without mercy, will cook
thee, and eat thee, for they are eaters of human flesh. If I do not have
compassion on thee, and save thee, thou art lost.”
Thereupon the old woman led her behind a great hogshead where she
could not be seen. “Be as still as a mouse,” said she, “do not make a sound,
or move, or all will be over with thee. At night, when the robbers are asleep,
we will escape; I have long waited for an opportunity.” Hardly was this
done, than the godless crew came home. They dragged with them another
young girl. They were drunk, and paid no heed to her screams and
lamentations. They gave her wine to drink, three glasses full, one glass of
white wine, one glass of red, and a glass of yellow, and with this her heart
burst in twain. Thereupon they tore off her delicate raiment, laid her on a
table, cut her beautiful body in pieces and strewed salt thereon. The poor
bride behind the cask trembled and shook, for she saw right well what fate
the robbers had destined for her. One of them noticed a gold ring on the
little finger of the murdered girl, and as it would not come off at once, he
took an axe and cut the finger off, but it sprang up in the air, away over the
cask and fell straight into the bride’s bosom. The robber took a candle and
wanted to look for it, but could not find it. Then another of them said, “Hast
thou looked behind the great hogshead?” But the old woman cried, “Come
and get something to eat, and leave off looking till the morning, the finger
won’t run away from you.”
Then the robbers said, “The old woman is right,” and gave up their
search, and sat down to eat, and the old woman poured a sleeping-draught
in their wine, so that they soon lay down in the cellar, and slept and snored.
When the bride heard that, she came out from behind the hogshead, and had
to step over the sleepers, for they lay in rows on the ground, and great was

her terror lest she should waken one of them. But God helped her, and she
got safely over. The old woman went up with her, opened the doors, and
they hurried out of the murderers’ den with all the speed in their power. The
wind had blown away the strewn ashes, but the peas and lentils had
sprouted and grown up, and showed them the way in the moonlight. They
walked the whole night, until in the morning they arrived at the mill, and
then the maiden told her father everything exactly as it had happened.
When the day came when the wedding was to be celebrated, the
bridegroom appeared, and the Miller had invited all his relations and
friends. As they sat at table, each was bidden to relate something. The bride
sat still, and said nothing. Then said the bridegroom to the bride, “Come,
my darling, dost thou know nothing? Relate something to us like the rest.”
She replied, “Then I will relate a dream. I was walking alone through a
wood, and at last I came to a house, in which no living soul was, but on the
wall there was a bird in a cage which cried,
“Turn back, turn back, young maiden dear,
’Tis a murderer’s house you enter here.”

And this it cried once more. ‘My darling, I only dreamt this. Then I went
through all the rooms, and they were all empty, and there was something so
horrible about them! At last I went down into the cellar, and there sat a very
very old woman, whose head shook; I asked her, ‘Does my bridegroom live
in this house? She answered, ‘Alas poor child, thou hast got into a
murderer’s den, thy bridegroom does live here, but he will hew thee in
pieces, and kill thee, and then he will cook thee, and eat thee.’ My darling, I
only dreamt this. But the old woman hid me behind a great hogshead, and,
scarcely was I hidden, when the robbers came home, dragging a maiden
with them, to whom they gave three kinds of wine to drink, white, red, and
yellow, with which her heart broke in twain. My darling, I only dreamt this.
Thereupon they pulled off her pretty clothes, and hewed her fair body in
pieces on a table, and sprinkled them with salt. My darling, I only dreamt
this. And one of the robbers saw that there was still a ring on her little
finger, and as it was hard to draw off, he took an axe and cut it off, but the
finger sprang up in the air, and sprang behind the great hogshead, and fell in
my bosom. And there is the finger with the ring!” And with these words she
drew it forth, and showed it to those present.

The robber, who had during this story become as pale as ashes, leapt up
and wanted to escape, but the guests held him fast, and delivered him over
to justice. Then he and his whole troop were executed for their infamous
deeds.

41 Herr Korbes
There were once a cock and a hen who wanted to take a journey together.
So the cock built a beautiful carriage, which had four red wheels, and
harnessed four mice to it. The hen seated herself in it with the cock, and
they drove away together. Not long afterwards they met a cat who said,
“Where are you going?” The cock replied, “We are going to the house of
Herr Korbes.” “Take me with you,” said the cat. The cock answered, “Most
willingly, get up behind, lest you fall off in front. Take great care not to
dirty my little red wheels. And you little wheels, roll on, and you little mice
pipe out, as we go forth on our way to the house of Herr Korbes.”
After this came a millstone, then an egg, then a duck, then a pin, and at
last a needle, who all seated themselves in the carriage, and drove with
them. When, however, they reached the house of Herr Korbes, Herr Korbes
was not there. The mice drew the carriage into the barn, the hen flew with
the cock upon a perch. The cat sat down by the hearth, the duck on the well-
pole. The egg rolled itself into a towel, the pin stuck itself into the chair-
cushion, the needle jumped on to the bed in the middle of the pillow, and
the millstone laid itself over the door. Then Herr Korbes came home, went
to the hearth, and was about to light the fire, when the cat threw a quantity
of ashes in his face. He ran into the kitchen in a great hurry to wash it off,
and the duck splashed some water in his face. He wanted to dry it with the
towel, but the egg rolled up against him, broke, and glued up his eyes. He
wanted to rest, and sat down in the chair, and then the pin pricked him. He
fell in a passion, and threw himself on his bed, but as soon as he laid his
head on the pillow, the needle pricked him, so that he screamed aloud, and
was just going to run out into the wide world in his rage, but when he came
to the house-door, the millstone leapt down and struck him dead. Herr
Korbes must have been a very wicked man!

42 The Godfather
A poor man had so many children that he had already asked every one in
the world to be godfather, and when still another child was born, no one
else was left whom he could invite. He knew not what to do, and, in his
perplexity, he lay down and fell asleep. Then he dreamt that he was to go
outside the gate, and ask the first person who met him to be godfather.
When he awoke, he determined to obey his dream, and went outside the
gate, and asked the first person who came up to him to be godfather. The
stranger presented him with a little glass of water, and said, “This is a
wonderful water, with it thou canst heal the sick, only thou must see where
Death is standing. If he is standing by the patient’s head, give the patient
some of the water and he will be healed, but if Death is standing by his feet,
all trouble will be in vain, for the sick man must die.” From this time forth,
the man could always say whether a patient could be saved or not, and
became famous for his skill, and earned a great deal of money. Once he was
called in to the child of the King, and when he entered, he saw death
standing by the child’s head and cured it with the water, and he did the same
a second time, but the third time Death was standing by its feet, and then he
knew the child was forced to die.
Once the man thought he would visit the godfather, and tell him how he
had succeeded with the water. But when he entered the house, it was such a
strange establishment! On the first flight of stairs, the broom and shovel
were disputing, and knocking each other about violently. He asked them,
“Where does the godfather live?” The broom replied, “One flight of stairs
higher up.” When he came to the second flight, he saw a heap of dead
fingers lying. He asked, “Where does the godfather live?” One of the
fingers replied, “One flight of stairs higher.” On the third flight lay a heap
of dead heads, which again directed him to the flight beyond. On the fourth
flight, he saw fishes on the fire, which frizzled in the pans and baked
themselves. They, too, said, “One flight of stairs higher.” And when he had
ascended the fifth, he came to the door of a room and peeped through the
keyhole, and there he saw the godfather who had a pair of long horns. When

he opened the door and went in, the godfather got into bed in a great hurry
and covered himself up. Then said the man, “Sir godfather, what a strange
household you have! When I came to your first flight of stairs, the shovel
and broom were quarreling, and beating each other violently.”
“How stupid you are!” said the godfather. “That was the boy and the
maid talking to each other.” “But on the second flight I saw dead fingers
lying.” “Oh, how silly you are! Those were some roots of scorzonera.” “On
the third flight lay a heap of dead men’s heads.” “Foolish man, those were
cabbages.” “On the fourth flight, I saw fishes in a pan, which were hissing
and baking themselves.” When he had said that, the fishes came and served
themselves up. “And when I got to the fifth flight, I peeped through the
keyhole of a door, and there, godfather, I saw you, and you had long, long
horns.” “Oh, that is a lie!” The man became alarmed, and ran out, and if he
had not, who knows what the godfather would have done to him.

43 Frau Trude
There was once a little girl who was obstinate and inquisitive, and when
her parents told her to do anything, she did not obey them, so how could she
fare well? One day she said to her parents, “I have heard so much of Frau
Trude, I will go to her some day. People say that everything about her does
look so strange, and that there are such odd things in her house, that I have
become quite curious!” Her parents absolutely forbade her, and said, “Frau
Trude is a bad woman, who does wicked things, and if thou goest to her;
thou art no longer our child.” But the maiden did not let herself be turned
aside by her parent’s prohibition, and still went to Frau Trude. And when
she got to her, Frau Trude said, “Why art thou so pale?” “Ah,” she replied,
and her whole body trembled, “I have been so terrified at what I have seen.”
“What hast thou seen?” “I saw a black man on your steps.” “That was a
collier.” “Then I saw a green man.” “That was a huntsman.” “After that I
saw a blood-red man.” “That was a butcher.” “Ah, Frau Trude, I was
terrified; I looked through the window and saw not you, but, as I verily
believe, the devil himself with a head of fire.” “Oho!” said she, “then thou
hast seen the witch in her proper costume. I have been waiting for thee, and
wanting thee a long time already; thou shalt give me some light.” Then she
changed the girl into a block of wood, and threw it into the fire. And when
it was in full blaze she sat down close to it, and warmed herself by it, and
said, “That shines bright for once in a way.”

44 Godfather Death
A poor man had twelve children and was forced to work night and day to
give them even bread. When therefore the thirteenth came into the world, he
knew not what to do in his trouble, but ran out into the great highway, and
resolved to ask the first person whom he met to be godfather. The first to
meet him was the good God who already knew what filled his heart, and
said to him, “Poor man, I pity thee. I will hold thy child at its christening,
and will take charge of it and make it happy on earth.” The man said, “Who
art thou?” “I am God.” “Then I do not desire to have thee for a godfather,”
said the man; “thou givest to the rich, and leavest the poor to hunger.” Thus
spoke the man, for he did not know how wisely God apportions riches and
poverty. He turned therefore away from the Lord, and went farther. Then
the Devil came to him and said, “What seekest thou? If thou wilt take me as
a godfather for thy child, I will give him gold in plenty and all the joys of
the world as well.” The man asked, “Who art thou?” “I am the Devil.”
“Then I do not desire to have thee for godfather,” said the man; “thou
deceivest men and leadest them astray.” He went onwards, and then came
Death striding up to him with withered legs, and said, “Take me as
godfather.” The man asked, “Who art thou?” “I am Death, and I make all
equal.” Then said the man, “Thou art the right one, thou takest the rich as
well as the poor, without distinction; thou shalt be godfather.” Death
answered, “I will make thy child rich and famous, for he who has me for a
friend can lack nothing.” The man said, “Next Sunday is the christening; be
there at the right time.” Death appeared as he had promised, and stood
godfather quite in the usual way.
When the boy had grown up, his godfather one day appeared and bade
him go with him. He led him forth into a forest, and showed him a herb
which grew there, and said, “Now shalt thou receive thy godfather’s
present. I make thee a celebrated physician. When thou art called to a
patient, I will always appear to thee. If I stand by the head of the sick man,
thou mayst say with confidence that thou wilt make him well again, and if
thou givest him of this herb he will recover; but if I stand by the patient’s

feet, he is mine, and thou must say that all remedies are in vain, and that no
physician in the world could save him. But beware of using the herb against
my will, or it might fare ill with thee.”
It was not long before the youth was the most famous physician in the
whole world. “He had only to look at the patient and he knew his condition
at once, and if he would recover, or must needs die.” So they said of him,
and from far and wide people came to him, sent for him when they had any
one ill, and gave him so much money that he soon became a rich man. Now
it so befell that the King became ill, and the physician was summoned, and
was to say if recovery were possible. But when he came to the bed, Death
was standing by the feet of the sick man, and the herb did not grow which
could save him. “If I could but cheat Death for once,” thought the
physician, “he is sure to take it ill if I do, but, as I am his godson, he will
shut one eye; I will risk it.” He therefore took up the sick man, and laid him
the other way, so that now Death was standing by his head. Then he gave
the King some of the herb, and he recovered and grew healthy again. But
Death came to the physician, looking very black and angry, threatened him
with his finger, and said, “Thou hast overreached me; this time I will pardon
it, as thou art my godson; but if thou venturest it again, it will cost thee thy
neck, for I will take thee thyself away with me.”
Soon afterwards the King’s daughter fell into a severe illness. She was
his only child, and he wept day and night, so that he began to lose the sight
of his eyes, and he caused it to be made known that whosoever rescued her
from death should be her husband and inherit the crown. When the
physician came to the sick girl’s bed, he saw Death by her feet. He ought to
have remembered the warning given by his godfather, but he was so
infatuated by the great beauty of the King’s daughter, and the happiness of
becoming her husband, that he flung all thought to the winds. He did not
see that Death was casting angry glances on him, that he was raising his
hand in the air, and threatening him with his withered fist. He raised up the
sick girl, and placed her head where her feet had lain. Then he gave her
some of the herb, and instantly her cheeks flushed red, and life stirred
afresh in her.
When Death saw that for a second time he was defrauded of his own
property, he walked up to the physician with long strides, and said, “All is
over with thee, and now the lot falls on thee,” and seized him so firmly with

his ice-cold hand, that he could not resist, and led him into a cave below the
earth. There he saw how thousands and thousands of candles were burning
in countless rows, some large, others half-sized, others small. Every instant
some were extinguished, and others again burnt up, so that the flames
seemed to leap hither and thither in perpetual change. “See,” said Death,
“these are the lights of men’s lives. The large ones belong to children, the
half-sized ones to married people in their prime, the little ones belong to old
people; but children and young folks likewise have often only a tiny
candle.” “Show me the light of my life,” said the physician, and he thought
that it would be still very tall. Death pointed to a little end which was just
threatening to go out, and said, “Behold, it is there.” “Ah, dear godfather,”
said the horrified physician, “light a new one for me, do it for love of me,
that I may enjoy my life, be King, and the husband of the King’s beautiful
daughter.” “I cannot,” answered Death, “one must go out before a new one
is lighted.” “Then place the old one on a new one, that will go on burning at
once when the old one has come to an end,” pleaded the physician. Death
behaved as if he were going to fulfill his wish, and took hold of a tall new
candle; but as he desired to revenge himself, he purposely made a mistake
in fixing it, and the little piece fell down and was extinguished.
Immediately the physician fell on the ground, and now he himself was in
the hands of Death.

45 Thumbling as Journeyman
A certain tailor had a son, who happened to be small, and no bigger than
a Thumb, and on this account he was always called Thumbling. He had,
however, some courage in him, and said to his father, “Father, I must and
will go out into the world.” “That’s right, my son,” said the old man, and
took a long darning-needle and made a knob of sealing-wax on it at the
candle, “and there is a sword for thee to take with thee on the way.” Then
the little tailor wanted to have one more meal with them, and hopped into
the kitchen to see what his lady mother had cooked for the last time. It was,
however, just dished up, and the dish stood on the hearth. Then he said,
“Mother, what is there to eat to-day?” “See for thyself,” said his mother. So
Thumbling jumped on to the hearth, and peeped into the dish, but as he
stretched his neck in too far the steam from the food caught hold of him,
and carried him up the chimney. He rode about in the air on the steam for a
while, until at length he sank down to the ground again. Now the little tailor
was outside in the wide world, and he travelled about, and went to a master
in his craft, but the food was not good enough for him. “Mistress, if you
give us no better food,” said Thumbling, “I will go away, and early to-
morrow morning I will write with chalk on the door of your house, ‘Too
many potatoes, too little meat! Farewell, Mr. Potato-King.’” “What wouldst
thou have forsooth, grasshopper?” said the mistress, and grew angry, and
seized a dishcloth, and was just going to strike him; but my little tailor crept
nimbly under a thimble, peeped out from beneath it, and put his tongue out
at the mistress. She took up the thimble, and wanted to get hold of him, but
little Thumbling hopped into the cloth, and while the mistress was opening
it out and looking for him, he got into a crevice in the table. “Ho, ho, lady
mistress,” cried he, and thrust his head out, and when she began to strike
him he leapt down into the drawer. At last, however, she caught him and
drove him out of the house.
The little tailor journeyed on and came to a great forest, and there he fell
in with a band of robbers who had a design to steal the King’s treasure.
When they saw the little tailor, they thought, “A little fellow like that can

creep through a key-hole and serve as picklock to us.” “Hollo,” cried one of
them, “thou giant Goliath, wilt thou go to the treasure-chamber with us?
Thou canst slip thyself in and throw out the money.” Thumbling reflected a
while, and at length he said, “yes,” and went with them to the treasure-
chamber. Then he looked at the doors above and below, to see if there was
any crack in them. It was not long before he espied one which was broad
enough to let him in. He was therefore about to get in at once, but one of the
two sentries who stood before the door, observed him, and said to the other,
“What an ugly spider is creeping there; I will kill it.” “Let the poor creature
alone,” said the other; “it has done thee no harm.” Then Thumbling got
safely through the crevice into the treasure-chamber, opened the window
beneath which the robbers were standing, and threw out to them one thaler
after another. When the little tailor was in the full swing of his work, he
heard the King coming to inspect his treasure-chamber, and crept hastily
into a hiding-place. The King noticed that several solid thalers were
missing, but could not conceive who could have stolen them, for locks and
bolts were in good condition, and all seemed well guarded. Then he went
away again, and said to the sentries, “Be on the watch, some one is after the
money.” When therefore Thumbling recommenced his labours, they heard
the money moving, and a sound of klink, klink, klink. They ran swiftly in to
seize the thief, but the little tailor, who heard them coming, was still swifter,
and leapt into a corner and covered himself with a thaler, so that nothing
could be seen of him, and at the same time he mocked the sentries and
cried, “Here am I!” The sentries ran thither, but as they got there, he had
already hopped into another corner under a thaler, and was crying, “Ho, ho,
here am I!” The watchmen sprang there in haste, but Thumbling had long
ago got into a third corner, and was crying, “Ho, ho, here am I!” And thus
he made fools of them, and drove them so long round about the treasure-
chamber that they were weary and went away. Then by degrees he threw all
the thalers out, dispatching the last with all his might, then hopped nimbly
upon it, and flew down with it through the window. The robbers paid him
great compliments. “Thou art a valiant hero,” said they; “wilt thou be our
captain?”
Thumbling, however, declined, and said he wanted to see the world first.
They now divided the booty, but the little tailor only asked for a kreuzer
because he could not carry more.

Then he once more buckled on his sword, bade the robbers goodbye, and
took to the road. First, he went to work with some masters, but he had no
liking for that, and at last he hired himself as man-servant in an inn. The
maids, however, could not endure him, for he saw all they did secretly,
without their seeing him, and he told their master and mistress what they
had taken off the plates, and carried away out of the cellar, for themselves.
Then said they, “Wait, and we will pay thee off!” and arranged with each
other to play him a trick. Soon afterwards when one of the maids was
mowing in the garden, and saw Thumbling jumping about and creeping up
and down the plants, she mowed him up quickly with the grass, tied all in a
great cloth, and secretly threw it to the cows. Now amongst them there was
a great black one, who swallowed him down without hurting him. Down
below, however, it pleased him ill, for it was quite dark, neither was any
candle burning. When the cow was being milked he cried,
“Strip, strap, strull,
Will the pail soon be full?”

But the noise of the milking prevented his being understood. After this
the master of the house came into the cow-byre and said, “That cow shall be
killed to-morrow.” Then Thumbling was so alarmed that he cried out in a
clear voice, “Let me out first, for I am shut up inside her.” The master heard
that quite well, but did not know from whence the voice came. “Where art
thou?” asked he. “In the black one,” answered Thumbling, but the master
did not understand what that meant, and went out.
Next morning the cow was killed. Happily Thumbling did not meet with
one blow at the cutting up and chopping; he got among the sausage-meat.
And when the butcher came in and began his work, he cried out with all his
might, “Don’t chop too deep, don’t chop too deep, I am amongst it.” No one
heard this because of the noise of the chopping-knife. Now poor Thumbling
was in trouble, but trouble sharpens the wits, and he sprang out so adroitly
between the blows that none of them touched him, and he escaped with a
whole skin. But still he could not get away, there was nothing for it but to
let himself be thrust into a black-pudding with the bits of bacon. His
quarters there were rather confined, and besides that he was hung up in the
chimney to be smoked, and there time did hang terribly heavy on his hands.
At length in winter he was taken down again, as the black-pudding had to
be set before a guest. When the hostess was cutting it in slices, he took care

not to stretch out his head too far lest a bit of it should be cut off; at last he
saw his opportunity, cleared a passage for himself, and jumped out.
The little tailor, however, would not stay any longer in a house where he
fared so ill, so at once set out on his journey again. But his liberty did not
last long. In the open country he met with a fox who snapped him up in a fit
of absence. “Hollo, Mr. Fox,” cried the little tailor, “it is I who am sticking
in your throat, set me at liberty again.” “Thou art right,” answered the fox.
“Thou art next to nothing for me, but if thou wilt promise me the fowls in
thy father’s yard I will let thee go.” “With all my heart,” replied Thumbling.
“Thou shalt have all the cocks and hens, that I promise thee.” Then the fox
let him go again, and himself carried him home. When the father once more
saw his dear son, he willingly gave the fox all the fowls which he had. “For
this I likewise bring thee a handsome bit of money,” said Thumbling, and
gave his father the kreuzer which he earned on his travels.
“But why did the fox get the poor chickens to eat?” “Oh, you goose, your
father would surely love his child far more than the fowls in the yard!”

46 Fitcher’s Bird
There was once a wizard who used to take the form of a poor man, and
went to houses and begged, and caught pretty girls. No one knew whither
he carried them, for they were never seen more. One day he appeared
before the door of a man who had three pretty daughters; he looked like a
poor weak beggar, and carried a basket on his back, as if he meant to collect
charitable gifts in it. He begged for a little food, and when the eldest
daughter came out and was just reaching him a piece of bread, he did but
touch her, and she was forced to jump into his basket. Thereupon he hurried
away with long strides, and carried her away into a dark forest to his house,
which stood in the midst of it. Everything in the house was magnificent; he
gave her whatsoever she could possibly desire, and said, “My darling, thou
wilt certainly be happy with me, for thou hast everything thy heart can wish
for.” This lasted a few days, and then he said, “I must journey forth, and
leave thee alone for a short time; there are the keys of the house; thou mayst
go everywhere and look at everything except into one room, which this
little key here opens, and there I forbid thee to go on pain of death.” He
likewise gave her an egg and said, “Preserve the egg carefully for me, and
carry it continually about with thee, for a great misfortune would arise from
the loss of it.”
She took the keys and the egg, and promised to obey him in everything.
When he was gone, she went all round the house from the bottom to the top,
and examined everything. The rooms shone with silver and gold, and she
thought she had never seen such great splendour. At length she came to the
forbidden door; she wished to pass it by, but curiosity let her have no rest.
She examined the key, it looked just like any other; she put it in the keyhole
and turned it a little, and the door sprang open. But what did she see when
she went in? A great bloody basin stood in the middle of the room, and
therein lay human beings, dead and hewn to pieces, and hard by was a
block of wood, and a gleaming axe lay upon it. She was so terribly alarmed
that the egg which she held in her hand fell into the basin. She got it out and

washed the blood off, but in vain, it appeared again in a moment. She
washed and scrubbed, but she could not get it out.
It was not long before the man came back from his journey, and the first
things which he asked for were the key and the egg. She gave them to him,
but she trembled as she did so, and he saw at once by the red spots that she
had been in the bloody chamber. “Since thou hast gone into the room
against my will,” said he, “thou shalt go back into it against thine own. Thy
life is ended.” He threw her down, dragged her thither by her hair, cut her
head off on the block, and hewed her in pieces so that her blood ran on the
ground. Then he threw her into the basin with the rest.
“Now I will fetch myself the second,” said the wizard, and again he went
to the house in the shape of a poor man, and begged. Then the second
daughter brought him a piece of bread; he caught her like the first, by
simply touching her, and carried her away. She did not fare better than her
sister. She allowed herself to be led away by her curiosity, opened the door
of the bloody chamber, looked in, and had to atone for it with her life on the
wizard’s return. Then he went and brought the third sister, but she was
clever and crafty. When he had given her the keys and the egg, and had left
her, she first put the egg away with great care, and then she examined the
house, and at last went into the forbidden room. Alas, what did she behold!
Both her sisters lay there in the basin, cruelly murdered, and cut in pieces.
But she began to gather their limbs together and put them in order, head,
body, arms and legs. And when nothing further was wanting the limbs
began to move and unite themselves together, and both the maidens opened
their eyes and were once more alive. Then they rejoiced and kissed and
caressed each other.
On his arrival, the man at once demanded the keys and the egg, and as he
could perceive no trace of any blood on it, he said, “Thou hast stood the
test, thou shalt be my bride.” He now had no longer any power over her,
and was forced to do whatsoever she desired. “Oh, very well,” said she,
“thou shalt first take a basketful of gold to my father and mother, and carry
it thyself on thy back; in the meantime I will prepare for the wedding.”
Then she ran to her sisters, whom she had hidden in a little chamber, and
said, “The moment has come when I can save you. The wretch shall himself
carry you home again, but as soon as you are at home send help to me.” She
put both of them in a basket and covered them quite over with gold, so that

nothing of them was to be seen, then she called in the wizard and said to
him, “Now carry the basket away, but I shall look through my little window
and watch to see if thou stoppest on the way to stand or to rest.”
The wizard raised the basket on his back and went away with it, but it
weighed him down so heavily that the perspiration streamed from his face.
Then he sat down and wanted to rest awhile, but immediately one of the
girls in the basket cried, “I am looking through my little window, and I see
that thou art resting. Wilt thou go on at once?” He thought it was his bride
who was calling that to him; and got up on his legs again. Once more he
was going to sit down, but instantly she cried, “I am looking through my
little window, and I see that thou art resting. Wilt thou go on directly?” And
whenever he stood still, she cried this, and then he was forced to go
onwards, until at last, groaning and out of breath, he took the basket with
the gold and the two maidens into their parents’ house. At home, however,
the bride prepared the marriage-feast, and sent invitations to the friends of
the wizard. Then she took a skull with grinning teeth, put some ornaments
on it and a wreath of flowers, carried it upstairs to the garret-window, and
let it look out from thence. When all was ready, she got into a barrel of
honey, and then cut the feather-bed open and rolled herself in it, until she
looked like a wondrous bird, and no one could recognize her. Then she went
out of the house, and on her way she met some of the wedding-guests, who
asked,
“O, Fitcher’s bird, how com’st thou here?”
“I come from Fitcher’s house quite near.”
“And what may the young bride be doing?”
“From cellar to garret she’s swept all clean,
And now from the window she’s peeping, I ween.”

At last she met the bridegroom, who was coming slowly back. He, like
the others, asked,
“O, Fitcher’s bird, how com’st thou here?”
“I come from Fitcher’s house quite near.”
“And what may the young bride be doing?
“From cellar to garret she’s swept all clean,
And now from the window she’s peeping, I ween.”

The bridegroom looked up, saw the decked-out skull, thought it was his
bride, and nodded to her, greeting her kindly. But when he and his guests
had all gone into the house, the brothers and kinsmen of the bride, who had

been sent to rescue her, arrived. They locked all the doors of the house, that
no one might escape, set fire to it, and the wizard and all his crew had to
burn.

47 The Juniper-Tree
It is now long ago, quite two thousand years, since there was a rich man
who had a beautiful and pious wife, and they loved each other dearly. They
had, however, no children, though they wished for them very much, and the
woman prayed for them day and night, but still they had none. Now there
was a court-yard in front of their house in which was a juniper-tree, and one
day in winter the woman was standing beneath it, paring herself an apple,
and while she was paring herself the apple she cut her finger, and the blood
fell on the snow. “Ah,” said the woman, and sighed right heavily, and
looked at the blood before her, and was most unhappy, “ah, if I had but a
child as red as blood and as white as snow!” And while she thus spake, she
became quite happy in her mind, and felt just as if that were going to
happen. Then she went into the house and a month went by and the snow
was gone, and two months, and then everything was green, and three
months, and then all the flowers came out of the earth, and four months, and
then all the trees in the wood grew thicker, and the green branches were all
closely entwined, and the birds sang until the wood resounded and the
blossoms fell from the trees, then the fifth month passed away and she
stood under the juniper-tree, which smelt so sweetly that her heart leapt, and
she fell on her knees and was beside herself with joy, and when the sixth
month was over the fruit was large and fine, and then she was quite still,
and the seventh month she snatched at the juniper-berries and ate them
greedily, then she grew sick and sorrowful, then the eighth month passed,
and she called her husband to her, and wept and said, “If I die then bury me
beneath the juniper-tree.” Then she was quite comforted and happy until the
next month was over, and then she had a child as white as snow and as red
as blood, and when she beheld it she was so delighted that she died.
Then her husband buried her beneath the juniper-tree, and he began to
weep sore; after some time he was more at ease, and though he still wept he
could bear it, and after some time longer he took another wife.
By the second wife he had a daughter, but the first wife’s child was a
little son, and he was as red as blood and as white as snow. When the

woman looked at her daughter she loved her very much, but then she
looked at the little boy and it seemed to cut her to the heart, for the thought
came into her mind that he would always stand in her way, and she was for
ever thinking how she could get all the fortune for her daughter, and the
Evil One filled her mind with this till she was quite wroth with the little
boy, and slapped him here and cuffed him there, until the unhappy child
was in continual terror, for when he came out of school he had no peace in
any place.
One day the woman had gone upstairs to her room, and her little daughter
went up too, and said, “Mother, give me an apple.” “Yes, my child,” said
the woman, and gave her a fine apple out of the chest, but the chest had a
great heavy lid with a great sharp iron lock. “Mother,” said the little
daughter, “is brother not to have one too?” This made the woman angry, but
she said, “Yes, when he comes out of school.” And when she saw from the
window that he was coming, it was just as if the Devil entered into her, and
she snatched at the apple and took it away again from her daughter, and
said, “Thou shalt not have one before thy brother.” Then she threw the
apple into the chest, and shut it. Then the little boy came in at the door, and
the Devil made her say to him kindly, “My son, wilt thou have an apple?”
and she looked wickedly at him. “Mother,” said the little boy, “how
dreadful you look! Yes, give me an apple.” Then it seemed to her as if she
were forced to say to him, “Come with me,” and she opened the lid of the
chest and said, “Take out an apple for thyself,” and while the little boy was
stooping inside, the Devil prompted her, and crash! she shut the lid down,
and his head flew off and fell among the red apples. Then she was
overwhelmed with terror, and thought, “If I could but make them think that
it was not done by me!” So she went upstairs to her room to her chest of
drawers, and took a white handkerchief out of the top drawer, and set the
head on the neck again, and folded the handkerchief so that nothing could
be seen, and she set him on a chair in front of the door, and put the apple in
his hand.
After this Marlinchen came into the kitchen to her mother, who was
standing by the fire with a pan of hot water before her which she was
constantly stirring round. “Mother,” said Marlinchen, “brother is sitting at
the door, and he looks quite white and has an apple in his hand. I asked him
to give me the apple, but he did not answer me, and I was quite frightened.”
“Go back to him,” said her mother, “and if he will not answer thee, give

him a box on the ear.” So Marlinchen went to him and said, “Brother, give
me the apple.” But he was silent, and she gave him a box on the ear, on
which his head fell down. Marlinchen was terrified, and began crying and
screaming, and ran to her mother, and said, “Alas, mother, I have knocked
my brother’s head off!” and she wept and wept and could not be comforted.
“Marlinchen,” said the mother, “what hast thou done? but be quiet and let
no one know it; it cannot be helped now, we will make him into black-
puddings.” Then the mother took the little boy and chopped him in pieces,
put him into the pan and made him into black puddings; but Marlinchen
stood by weeping and weeping, and all her tears fell into the pan and there
was no need of any salt.
Then the father came home, and sat down to dinner and said, “But where
is my son?” And the mother served up a great dish of black-puddings, and
Marlinchen wept and could not leave off. Then the father again said, “But
where is my son?” “Ah,” said the mother, “he has gone across the country
to his mother’s great uncle; he will stay there awhile.” “And what is he
going to do there? He did not even say good-bye to me.”
“Oh, he wanted to go, and asked me if he might stay six weeks, he is well
taken care of there.” “Ah,” said the man, “I feel so unhappy lest all should
not be right. He ought to have said good-bye to me.” With that he began to
eat and said, “Marlinchen, why art thou crying? Thy brother will certainly
come back.” Then he said, “Ah, wife, how delicious this food is, give me
some more.” And the more he ate the more he wanted to have, and he said,
“Give me some more, you shall have none of it. It seems to me as if it were
all mine.” And he ate and ate and threw all the bones under the table, until
he had finished the whole. But Marlinchen went away to her chest of
drawers, and took her best silk handkerchief out of the bottom drawer, and
got all the bones from beneath the table, and tied them up in her silk
handkerchief, and carried them outside the door, weeping tears of blood.
Then the juniper-tree began to stir itself, and the branches parted asunder,
and moved together again, just as if some one was rejoicing and clapping
his hands. At the same time a mist seemed to arise from the tree, and in the
centre of this mist it burned like a fire, and a beautiful bird flew out of the
fire singing magnificently, and he flew high up in the air, and when he was
gone, the juniper-tree was just as it had been before, and the handkerchief
with the bones was no longer there. Marlinchen, however, was as gay and

happy as if her brother were still alive. And she went merrily into the house,
and sat down to dinner and ate.
But the bird flew away and lighted on a goldsmith’s house, and began to
sing,
“My mother she killed me,
My father he ate me,
My sister, little Marlinchen,
Gathered together all my bones,
Tied them in a silken handkerchief,
Laid them beneath the juniper-tree,
Kywitt, kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!”

The goldsmith was sitting in his workshop making a gold chain, when he
heard the bird which was sitting singing on his roof, and very beautiful the
song seemed to him. He stood up, but as he crossed the threshold he lost
one of his slippers. But he went away right up the middle of the street with
one shoe on and one sock; he had his apron on, and in one hand he had the
gold chain and in the other the pincers, and the sun was shining brightly on
the street. Then he went right on and stood still, and said to the bird, “Bird,”
said he then, “how beautifully thou canst sing! Sing me that piece again.”
“No,” said the bird, “I’ll not sing it twice for nothing! Give me the golden
chain, and then I will sing it again for thee.” “There,” said the goldsmith,
“there is the golden chain for thee, now sing me that song again.” Then the
bird came and took the golden chain in his right claw, and went and sat in
front of the goldsmith, and sang,
“My mother she killed me,
My father he ate me,
My sister, little Marlinchen,
Gathered together all my bones,
Tied them in a silken handkerchief,
Laid them beneath the juniper-tree,
Kywitt, kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!”

Then the bird flew away to a shoemaker, and lighted on his roof and
sang,
“My mother she killed me,
My father he ate me,
My sister, little Marlinchen,
Gathered together all my bones,
Tied them in a silken handkerchief,

Laid them beneath the juniper-tree,
Kywitt, kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!”

The shoemaker heard that and ran out of doors in his shirt sleeves, and
looked up at his roof, and was forced to hold his hand before his eyes lest
the sun should blind him. “Bird,” said he, “how beautifully thou canst
sing!” Then he called in at his door, “Wife, just come outside, there is a
bird, look at that bird, he just can sing well.” Then he called his daughter
and children, and apprentices, boys and girls, and they all came up the street
and looked at the bird and saw how beautiful he was, and what fine red and
green feathers he had, and how like real gold his neck was, and how the
eyes in his head shone like stars. “Bird,” said the shoemaker, “now sing me
that song again.” “Nay,” said the bird, “I do not sing twice for nothing; thou
must give me something.” “Wife,” said the man, “go to the garret, upon the
top shelf there stands a pair of red shoes, bring them down.” Then the wife
went and brought the shoes. “There, bird,” said the man, “now sing me that
piece again.” Then the bird came and took the shoes in his left claw, and
flew back on the roof, and sang,
“My mother she killed me,
My father he ate me,
My sister, little Marlinchen,
Gathered together all my bones,
Tied them in a silken handkerchief,
Laid them beneath the juniper-tree,
Kywitt, kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!”

And when he had sung the whole he flew away. In his right claw he had
the chain and the shoes in his left, and he flew far away to a mill, and the
mill went, “klipp klapp, klipp klapp, klipp klapp,” and in the mill sat twenty
miller’s men hewing a stone, and cutting, hick hack, hick hack, hick hack,
and the mill went klipp klapp, klipp klapp, klipp klapp. Then the bird went
and sat on a lime-tree which stood in front of the mill, and sang,
“My mother she killed me,”

Then one of them stopped working,
“My father he ate me.”

Then two more stopped working and listened to that,
“My sister, little Marlinchen,”

Then four more stopped,
“Gathered together all my bones,
Tied them in a silken handkerchief,”

Now eight only were hewing,
“Laid them beneath”

Now only five,
“The juniper-tree,”

And now only one,
“Kywitt, kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!”

Then the last stopped also, and heard the last words. “Bird,” said he,
“how beautifully thou singest! Let me, too, hear that. Sing that once more
for me.”
“Nay,” said the bird, “I will not sing twice for nothing. Give me the
millstone, and then I will sing it again.”
“Yes,” said he, “if it belonged to me only, thou shouldst have it.”
“Yes,” said the others, “if he sings again he shall have it.” Then the bird
came down, and the twenty millers all set to work with a beam and raised
the stone up. And the bird stuck his neck through the hole, and put the stone
on as if it were a collar, and flew on to the tree again, and sang,
“My mother she killed me,
My father he ate me,
My sister, little Marlinchen,
Gathered together all my bones,
Tied them in a silken handkerchief,
Laid them beneath the juniper-tree,
Kywitt, kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!”

And when he had done singing, he spread his wings, and in his right claw
he had the chain, and in his left the shoes, and round his neck the millstone,
and he flew far away to his father’s house.
In the room sat the father, the mother, and Marlinchen at dinner, and the
father said, “How light-hearted I feel, how happy I am!” “Nay,” said the
mother, “I feel so uneasy, just as if a heavy storm were coming.”
Marlinchen, however, sat weeping and weeping, and then came the bird

flying, and as it seated itself on the roof the father said, “Ah, I feel so truly
happy, and the sun is shining so beautifully outside, I feel just as if I were
about to see some old friend again.” “Nay,” said the woman, “I feel so
anxious, my teeth chatter, and I seem to have fire in my veins.” And she
tore her stays open, but Marlinchen sat in a corner crying, and held her plate
before her eyes and cried till it was quite wet. Then the bird sat on the
juniper tree, and sang,
“My mother she killed me,”

Then the mother stopped her ears, and shut her eyes, and would not see
or hear, but there was a roaring in her ears like the most violent storm, and
her eyes burnt and flashed like lightning,
“My father he ate me,”

“Ah, mother,” says the man, “that is a beautiful bird! He sings so
splendidly, and the sun shines so warm, and there is a smell just like
cinnamon.”
“My sister, little Marlinchen,”

Then Marlinchen laid her head on her knees and wept without ceasing,
but the man said, “I am going out, I must see the bird quite close.” “Oh,
don’t go,” said the woman, “I feel as if the whole house were shaking and
on fire.” But the man went out and looked at the bird:
“Gathered together all my bones,
Tied them in a silken handkerchief,
Laid them beneath the juniper tree,
Kywitt, kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!”

On this the bird let the golden chain fall, and it fell exactly round the
man’s neck, and so exactly round it that it fitted beautifully. Then he went in
and said, “Just look what a fine bird that is, and what a handsome gold
chain he has given me, and how pretty he is!” But the woman was terrified,
and fell down on the floor in the room, and her cap fell off her head. Then
sang the bird once more,
“My mother she killed me.”

“Would that I were a thousand feet beneath the earth so as not to hear
that!”

“My father he ate me,”

Then the woman fell down again as if dead.
“My sister, little Marlinchen,”

“Ah,” said Marlinchen, “I too will go out and see if the bird will give me
anything,” and she went out.
“Gathered together all my bones,
Tied them in a silken handkerchief,”

Then he threw down the shoes to her.
“Laid them beneath the juniper-tree,
Kywitt, kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!”

Then she was light-hearted and joyous, and she put on the new red shoes,
and danced and leaped into the house. “Ah,” said she, “I was so sad when I
went out and now I am so light-hearted; that is a splendid bird, he has given
me a pair of red shoes!” “Well,” said the woman, and sprang to her feet and
her hair stood up like flames of fire, “I feel as if the world were coming to
an end! I, too, will go out and see if my heart feels lighter.” And as she went
out at the door, crash! the bird threw down the millstone on her head, and
she was entirely crushed by it. The father and Marlinchen heard what had
happened and went out, and smoke, flames, and fire were rising from the
place, and when that was over, there stood the little brother, and he took his
father and Marlinchen by the hand, and all three were right glad, and they
went into the house to dinner, and ate.

48 Old Sultan
A farmer once had a faithful dog called Sultan, who had grown old, and
lost all his teeth, so that he could no longer hold anything fast. One day the
farmer was standing with his wife before the house-door, and said, “To-
morrow I intend to shoot Old Sultan, he is no longer of any use.”
His wife, who felt pity for the faithful beast, answered, “He has served us
so long, and been so faithful, that we might well give him his keep.”
“Eh! what?” said the man. “You are not very sharp. He has not a tooth
left in his mouth, and not a thief is afraid of him; now he may be off. If he
has served us, he has had good feeding for it.”
The poor dog, who was lying stretched out in the sun not far off, had
heard everything, and was sorry that the morrow was to be his last day. He
had a good friend, the wolf, and he crept out in the evening into the forest to
him, and complained of the fate that awaited him. “Hark ye, gossip,” said
the wolf, “be of good cheer, I will help you out of your trouble. I have
thought of something. To-morrow, early in the morning, your master is
going with his wife to make hay, and they will take their little child with
them, for no one will be left behind in the house. They are wont, during
work-time, to lay the child under the hedge in the shade; you lay yourself
there too, just as if you wished to guard it. Then I will come out of the
wood, and carry off the child. You must rush swiftly after me, as if you
would seize it again from me. I will let it fall, and you will take it back to its
parents, who will think that you have saved it, and will be far too grateful to
do you any harm; on the contrary, you will be in high favor, and they will
never let you want for anything again.”
The plan pleased the dog, and it was carried out just as it was arranged.
The father screamed when he saw the Wolf running across the field with his
child, but when Old Sultan brought it back, then he was full of joy, and
stroked him and said, “Not a hair of yours shall be hurt, you shall eat my
bread free as long as you live.” And to his wife he said, “Go home at once

and make Old Sultan some bread-sop that he will not have to bite, and bring
the pillow out of my bed, I will give him that to lie upon.”
Henceforth Old Sultan was as well off as he could wish to be.
Soon afterwards the wolf visited him, and was pleased that everything
had succeeded so well. “But, gossip,” said he, “you will just wink an eye if
when I have a chance, I carry off one of your master’s fat sheep.” “Do not
reckon upon that,” answered the dog; “I will remain true to my master; I
cannot agree to that.” The wolf, who thought that this could not be spoken
in earnest, came creeping about in the night and was going to take away the
sheep. But the farmer, to whom the faithful Sultan had told the wolf’s plan,
caught him and dressed his hide soundly with the flail. The wolf had to
pack off, but he cried out to the dog, “Wait a bit, you scoundrel, you shall
pay for this.”
The next morning the wolf sent the boar to challenge the dog to come out
into the forest so that they might settle the affair. Old Sultan could find no
one to stand by him but a cat with only three legs, and as they went out
together the poor cat limped along, and at the same time stretched out her
tail into the air with pain.
The wolf and his friend were already on the spot appointed, but when
they saw their enemy coming they thought that he was bringing a sabre with
him, for they mistook the outstretched tail of the cat for one. And when the
poor beast hopped on its three legs, they could only think every time that it
was picking up a stone to throw at them. So they were both afraid; the wild
boar crept into the under-wood and the wolf jumped up a tree.
The dog and the cat, when they came up, wondered that there was no one
to be seen. The wild boar, however, had not been able to hide himself
altogether; and one of his ears was still to be seen. Whilst the cat was
looking carefully about, the boar moved his ear; the cat, who thought it was
a mouse moving there, jumped upon it and bit it hard. The boar made a
fearful noise and ran away, crying out, “The guilty one is up in the tree.”
The dog and cat looked up and saw the wolf, who was ashamed of having
shown himself so timid, and made friends with the dog.

49 The Six Swans
Once upon a time, a certain King was hunting in a great forest, and he
chased a wild beast so eagerly that none of his attendants could follow him.
When evening drew near he stopped and looked around him, and then he
saw that he had lost his way. He sought a way out, but could find none.
Then he perceived an aged woman with a head which nodded perpetually,
who came towards him, but she was a witch. “Good woman,” said he to her,
“Can you not show me the way through the forest?” “Oh, yes, Lord King,”
she answered, “that I certainly can, but on one condition, and if you do not
fulfil that, you will never get out of the forest, and will die of hunger in it.”
“What kind of condition is it?” asked the King.
“I have a daughter,” said the old woman, “who is as beautiful as any one
in the world, and well deserves to be your consort, and if you will make her
your Queen, I will show you the way out of the forest.” In the anguish of
his heart the King consented, and the old woman led him to her little hut,
where her daughter was sitting by the fire. She received the King as if she
had been expecting him, and he saw that she was very beautiful, but still
she did not please him, and he could not look at her without secret horror.
After he had taken the maiden up on his horse, the old woman showed him
the way, and the King reached his royal palace again, where the wedding
was celebrated.
The King had already been married once, and had by his first wife, seven
children, six boys and a girl, whom he loved better than anything else in the
world. As he now feared that the step-mother might not treat them well, and
even do them some injury, he took them to a lonely castle which stood in
the midst of a forest. It lay so concealed, and the way was so difficult to
find that he himself would not have found it, if a wise woman had not given
him a ball of yarn with wonderful properties. When he threw it down before
him, it unrolled itself and showed him his path. The King, however, went so
frequently away to his dear children that the Queen observed his absence;
she was curious and wanted to know what he did when he was quite alone

in the forest. She gave a great deal of money to his servants, and they
betrayed the secret to her, and told her likewise of the ball which alone
could point out the way. And now she knew no rest until she had learnt
where the King kept the ball of yarn, and then she made little shirts of white
silk, and as she had learnt the art of witchcraft from her mother, she sewed a
charm inside them. And once when the King had ridden forth to hunt, she
took the little shirts and went into the forest, and the ball showed her the
way. The children, who saw from a distance that some one was
approaching, thought that their dear father was coming to them, and full of
joy, ran to meet him. Then she threw one of the little shirts over each of
them, and no sooner had the shirts touched their bodies than they were
changed into swans, and flew away over the forest. The Queen went home
quite delighted, and thought she had got rid of her step-children, but the girl
had not run out with her brothers, and the Queen knew nothing about her.
Next day the King went to visit his children, but he found no one but the
little girl. “Where are thy brothers?” asked the King. “Alas, dear father,”
she answered, “they have gone away and left me alone!” and she told him
that she had seen from her little window how her brothers had flown away
over the forest in the shape of swans, and she showed him the feathers,
which they had let fall in the courtyard, and which she had picked up. The
King mourned, but he did not think that the Queen had done this wicked
deed, and as he feared that the girl would also be stolen away from him, he
wanted to take her away with him. But she was afraid of her step-mother,
and entreated the King to let her stay just this one night more in the forest
castle.
The poor girl thought, “I can no longer stay here. I will go and seek my
brothers.” And when night came, she ran away, and went straight into the
forest. She walked the whole night long, and next day also without
stopping, until she could go no farther for weariness. Then she saw a forest-
hut, and went into it, and found a room with six little beds, but she did not
venture to get into one of them, but crept under one, and lay down on the
hard ground, intending to pass the night there. Just before sunset, however,
she heard a rustling, and saw six swans come flying in at the window. They
alighted on the ground and blew at each other, and blew all the feathers off,
and their swan’s skins stripped off like a shirt. Then the maiden looked at
them and recognized her brothers, was glad and crept forth from beneath
the bed. The brothers were not less delighted to see their little sister, but

their joy was of short duration. “Here canst thou not abide,” they said to her.
“This is a shelter for robbers, if they come home and find thee, they will kill
thee.” “But can you not protect me?” asked the little sister. “No,” they
replied, “only for one quarter of an hour each evening can we lay aside our
swan’s skins and have during that time our human form; after that, we are
once more turned into swans.” The little sister wept and said, “Can you not
be set free?” “Alas, no,” they answered, “the conditions are too hard! For
six years thou mayst neither speak nor laugh, and in that time thou must
sew together six little shirts of starwort for us. And if one single word falls
from thy lips, all thy work will be lost.” And when the brothers had said
this, the quarter of an hour was over, and they flew out of the window again
as swans.
The maiden, however, firmly resolved to deliver her brothers, even if it
should cost her her life. She left the hut, went into the midst of the forest,
seated herself on a tree, and there passed the night. Next morning she went
out and gathered starwort and began to sew. She could not speak to any one,
and she had no inclination to laugh; she sat there and looked at nothing but
her work. When she had already spent a long time there it came to pass that
the King of the country was hunting in the forest, and his huntsmen came to
the tree on which the maiden was sitting. They called to her and said, “Who
art thou?” But she made no answer. “Come down to us,” said they. “We will
not do thee any harm.” She only shook her head. As they pressed her further
with questions she threw her golden necklace down to them, and thought to
content them thus. They, however, did not cease, and then she threw her
girdle down to them, and as this also was to no purpose, her garters, and by
degrees everything that she had on that she could do without until she had
nothing left but her shift. The huntsmen, however, did not let themselves be
turned aside by that, but climbed the tree and fetched the maiden down and
led her before the King. The King asked, “Who art thou? What art thou
doing on the tree?” But she did not answer. He put the question in every
language that he knew, but she remained as mute as a fish. As she was so
beautiful, the King’s heart was touched, and he was smitten with a great
love for her. He put his mantle on her, took her before him on his horse, and
carried her to his castle. Then he caused her to be dressed in rich garments,
and she shone in her beauty like bright daylight, but no word could be
drawn from her. He placed her by his side at table, and her modest bearing
and courtesy pleased him so much that he said, “She is the one whom I

wish to marry, and no other woman in the world.” And after some days he
united himself to her.
The King, however, had a wicked mother who was dissatisfied with this
marriage and spoke ill of the young Queen. “Who knows,” said she, “from
whence the creature who can’t speak, comes? She is not worthy of a king!”
After a year had passed, when the Queen brought her first child into the
world, the old woman took it away from her, and smeared her mouth with
blood as she slept. Then she went to the King and accused the Queen of
being a man-eater. The King would not believe it, and would not suffer any
one to do her any injury. She, however, sat continually sewing at the shirts,
and cared for nothing else. The next time, when she again bore a beautiful
boy, the false step-mother used the same treachery, but the King could not
bring himself to give credit to her words. He said, “She is too pious and
good to do anything of that kind; if she were not dumb, and could defend
herself, her innocence would come to light.” But when the old woman stole
away the newly-born child for the third time, and accused the Queen, who
did not utter one word of defence, the King could do no otherwise than
deliver her over to justice, and she was sentenced to suffer death by fire.
When the day came for the sentence to be executed, it was the last day of
the six years during which she was not to speak or laugh, and she had
delivered her dear brothers from the power of the enchantment. The six
shirts were ready, only the left sleeve of the sixth was wanting. When,
therefore, she was led to the stake, she laid the shirts on her arm, and when
she stood on high and the fire was just going to be lighted, she looked
around and six swans came flying through the air towards her. Then she saw
that her deliverance was near, and her heart leapt with joy. The swans swept
towards her and sank down so that she could throw the shirts over them,
and as they were touched by them, their swan’s skins fell off, and her
brothers stood in their own bodily form before her, and were vigorous and
handsome. The youngest only lacked his left arm, and had in the place of it
a swan’s wing on his shoulder. They embraced and kissed each other, and
the Queen went to the King, who was greatly moved, and she began to
speak and said, “Dearest husband, now I may speak and declare to thee that
I am innocent, and falsely accused.” And she told him of the treachery of
the old woman who had taken away her three children and hidden them.
Then to the great joy of the King they were brought thither, and as a
punishment, the wicked step-mother was bound to the stake, and burnt to

ashes. But the King and the Queen with their six brothers lived many years
in happiness and peace.

50 Briar-Rose
A long time ago there were a King and Queen who said every day, “Ah,
if only we had a child!” but they never had one. But it happened that once
when the Queen was bathing, a frog crept out of the water on to the land,
and said to her, “Your wish shall be fulfilled; before a year has gone by, you
shall have a daughter.”
What the frog had said came true, and the Queen had a little girl who was
so pretty that the King could not contain himself for joy, and ordered a great
feast. He invited not only his kindred, friends and acquaintance, but also the
Wise Women, in order that they might be kind and well-disposed towards
the child. There were thirteen of them in his kingdom, but, as he had only
twelve golden plates for them to eat out of, one of them had to be left at
home.
The feast was held with all manner of splendour and when it came to an
end the Wise Women bestowed their magic gifts upon the baby: one gave
virtue, another beauty, a third riches, and so on with everything in the world
that one can wish for.
When eleven of them had made their promises, suddenly the thirteenth
came in. She wished to avenge herself for not having been invited, and
without greeting, or even looking at any one, she cried with a loud voice,
“The King’s daughter shall in her fifteenth year prick herself with a spindle,
and fall down dead.” And, without saying a word more, she turned round
and left the room.
They were all shocked; but the twelfth, whose good wish still remained
unspoken, came forward, and as she could not undo the evil sentence, but
only soften it, she said, “It shall not be death, but a deep sleep of a hundred
years, into which the princess shall fall.”
The King, who would fain keep his dear child from the misfortune, gave
orders that every spindle in the whole kingdom should be burnt. Meanwhile
the gifts of the Wise Women were plenteously fulfilled on the young girl,

for she was so beautiful, modest, good-natured, and wise, that everyone
who saw her was bound to love her.
It happened that on the very day when she was fifteen years old, the King
and Queen were not at home, and the maiden was left in the palace quite
alone. So she went round into all sorts of places, looked into rooms and
bed-chambers just as she liked, and at last came to an old tower. She
climbed up the narrow winding-staircase, and reached a little door. A rusty
key was in the lock, and when she turned it the door sprang open, and there
in a little room sat an old woman with a spindle, busily spinning her flax.
“Good day, old dame,” said the King’s daughter; “what are you doing
there?” “I am spinning,” said the old woman, and nodded her head. “What
sort of thing is that, that rattles round so merrily?” said the girl, and she
took the spindle and wanted to spin too. But scarcely had she touched the
spindle when the magic decree was fulfilled, and she pricked her finger
with it.
And, in the very moment when she felt the prick, she fell down upon the
bed that stood there, and lay in a deep sleep. And this sleep extended over
the whole palace; the King and Queen who had just come home, and had
entered the great hall, began to go to sleep, and the whole of the court with
them. The horses, too, went to sleep in the stable, the dogs in the yard, the
pigeons upon the roof, the flies on the wall; even the fire that was flaming
on the hearth became quiet and slept, the roast meat left off frizzling, and
the cook, who was just going to pull the hair of the scullery boy, because he
had forgotten something, let him go, and went to sleep. And the wind fell,
and on the trees before the castle not a leaf moved again.
But round about the castle there began to grow a hedge of thorns, which
every year became higher, and at last grew close up round the castle and all
over it, so that there was nothing of it to be seen, not even the flag upon the
roof. But the story of the beautiful sleeping “Briar-rose,” for so the princess
was named, went about the country, so that from time to time kings’ sons
came and tried to get through the thorny hedge into the castle.
But they found it impossible, for the thorns held fast together, as if they
had hands, and the youths were caught in them, could not get loose again,
and died a miserable death.
After long, long years a King’s son came again to that country, and heard
an old man talking about the thorn-hedge, and that a castle was said to stand

behind it in which a wonderfully beautiful princess, named Briar-rose, had
been asleep for a hundred years; and that the King and Queen and the whole
court were asleep likewise. He had heard, too, from his grandfather, that
many kings’ sons had already come, and had tried to get through the thorny
hedge, but they had remained sticking fast in it, and had died a pitiful death.
Then the youth said, “I am not afraid, I will go and see the beautiful Briar-
rose.” The good old man might dissuade him as he would, he did not listen
to his words.
But by this time the hundred years had just passed, and the day had come
when Briar-rose was to awake again. When the King’s son came near to the
thorn-hedge, it was nothing but large and beautiful flowers, which parted
from each other of their own accord, and let him pass unhurt, then they
closed again behind him like a hedge. In the castle-yard he saw the horses
and the spotted hounds lying asleep; on the roof sat the pigeons with their
heads under their wings. And when he entered the house, the flies were
asleep upon the wall, the cook in the kitchen was still holding out his hand
to seize the boy, and the maid was sitting by the black hen which she was
going to pluck.
He went on farther, and in the great hall he saw the whole of the court
lying asleep, and up by the throne lay the King and Queen.
Then he went on still farther, and all was so quiet that a breath could be
heard, and at last he came to the tower, and opened the door into the little
room where Briar-rose was sleeping. There she lay, so beautiful that he
could not turn his eyes away; and he stooped down and gave her a kiss. But
as soon as he kissed her, Briar-rose opened her eyes and awoke, and looked
at him quite sweetly.
Then they went down together, and the King awoke, and the Queen, and
the whole court, and looked at each other in great astonishment. And the
horses in the court-yard stood up and shook themselves; the hounds jumped
up and wagged their tails; the pigeons upon the roof pulled out their heads
from under their wings, looked round, and flew into the open country; the
flies on the wall crept again; the fire in the kitchen burned up and flickered
and cooked the meat; the joint began to turn and frizzle again, and the cook
gave the boy such a box on the ear that he screamed, and the maid plucked
the fowl ready for the spit.

And then the marriage of the King’s son with Briar-rose was celebrated
with all splendour, and they lived contented to the end of their days.

51 Fundevogel (Bird-foundling)
There was once a forester who went into the forest to hunt, and as he
entered it he heard a sound of screaming as if a little child were there. He
followed the sound, and at last came to a high tree, and at the top of this a
little child was sitting, for the mother had fallen asleep under the tree with
the child, and a bird of prey had seen it in her arms, had flown down,
snatched it away, and set it on the high tree.
The forester climbed up, brought the child down, and thought to himself,
“Thou wilt take him home with thee, and bring him up with thy Lina.” He
took it home, therefore, and the two children grew up together. The one,
however, which he had found on a tree was called Fundevogel, because a
bird had carried it away. Fundevogel and Lina loved each other so dearly
that when they did not see each other they were sad.
The forester, however, had an old cook, who one evening took two pails
and began to fetch water, and did not go once only, but many times, out to
the spring. Lina saw this and said, “Hark you, old Sanna, why are you
fetching so much water?” “If thou wilt never repeat it to anyone, I will tell
thee why.” So Lina said, no, she would never repeat it to anyone, and then
the cook said, “Early to-morrow morning, when the forester is out hunting,
I will heat the water, and when it is boiling in the kettle, I will throw in
Fundevogel, and will boil him in it.”
Betimes next morning the forester got up and went out hunting, and when
he was gone the children were still in bed. Then Lina said to Fundevogel,
“If thou wilt never leave me, I too will never leave thee.” Fundevogel said,
“Neither now, nor ever will I leave thee.” Then said Lina, “Then I will tell
thee. Last night, old Sanna carried so many buckets of water into the house
that I asked her why she was doing that, and she said that if I would
promise not to tell any one she would tell me, and I said I would be sure not
to tell any one, and she said that early to-morrow morning when father was
out hunting, she would set the kettle full of water, throw thee into it and boil
thee; but we will get up quickly, dress ourselves, and go away together.”

The two children therefore got up, dressed themselves quickly, and went
away. When the water in the kettle was boiling, the cook went into the bed-
room to fetch Fundevogel and throw him into it. But when she came in, and
went to the beds, both the children were gone. Then she was terribly
alarmed, and she said to herself, “What shall I say now when the forester
comes home and sees that the children are gone? They must be followed
instantly to get them back again.”
Then the cook sent three servants after them, who were to run and
overtake the children. The children, however, were sitting outside the forest,
and when they saw from afar the three servants running, Lina said to
Fundevogel, “Never leave me, and I will never leave thee.” Fundevogel
said, “Neither now, nor ever.” Then said Lina, “Do thou become a rose-tree,
and I the rose upon it.” When the three servants came to the forest, nothing
was there but a rose-tree and one rose on it, but the children were nowhere.
Then said they, “There is nothing to be done here,” and they went home and
told the cook that they had seen nothing in the forest but a little rose-bush
with one rose on it. Then the old cook scolded and said, “You simpletons,
you should have cut the rose-bush in two, and have broken off the rose and
brought it home with you; go, and do it once.” They had therefore to go out
and look for the second time. The children, however, saw them coming
from a distance. Then Lina said, “Fundevogel, never leave me, and I will
never leave thee.” Fundevogel said, “Neither now, nor ever.” Said Lina,
“Then do thou become a church, and I’ll be the chandelier in it.” So when
the three servants came, nothing was there but a church, with a chandelier
in it. They said therefore to each other, “What can we do here, let us go
home.” When they got home, the cook asked if they had not found them; so
they said no, they had found nothing but a church, and that there was a
chandelier in it. And the cook scolded them and said, “You fools! why did
you not pull the church to pieces, and bring the chandelier home with you?”
And now the old cook herself got on her legs, and went with the three
servants in pursuit of the children. The children, however, saw from afar
that the three servants were coming, and the cook waddling after them.
Then said Lina, “Fundevogel, never leave me, and I will never leave thee.”
Then said Fundevogel, “Neither now, nor ever.” Said Lina, “Be a fishpond,
and I will be the duck upon it.” The cook, however, came up to them, and
when she saw the pond she lay down by it, and was about to drink it up. But
the duck swam quickly to her, seized her head in its beak and drew her into

the water, and there the old witch had to drown. Then the children went
home together, and were heartily delighted, and if they are not dead, they
are living still.

52 King Thrushbeard
A King had a daughter who was beautiful beyond all measure, but so
proud and haughty withal that no suitor was good enough for her. She sent
away one after the other, and ridiculed them as well.
Once the King made a great feast and invited thereto, from far and near,
all the young men likely to marry. They were all marshalled in a row
according to their rank and standing; first came the kings, then the grand-
dukes, then the princes, the earls, the barons, and the gentry. Then the
King’s daughter was led through the ranks, but to every one she had some
objection to make; one was too fat, “The wine-cask,” she said. Another was
too tall, “Long and thin has little in.” The third was too short, “Short and
thick is never quick.” The fourth was too pale, “As pale as death.” The fifth
too red, “A fighting-cock.” The sixth was not straight enough, “A green log
dried behind the stove.”
So she had something to say against every one, but she made herself
especially merry over a good king who stood quite high up in the row, and
whose chin had grown a little crooked. “Well,” she cried and laughed, “he
has a chin like a thrush’s beak!” and from that time he got the name of King
Thrushbeard.
But the old King, when he saw that his daugher did nothing but mock the
people, and despised all the suitors who were gathered there, was very
angry, and swore that she should have for her husband the very first beggar
that came to his doors.
A few days afterwards a fiddler came and sang beneath the windows,
trying to earn a small alms. When the King heard him he said, “Let him
come up.” So the fiddler came in, in his dirty, ragged clothes, and sang
before the King and his daughter, and when he had ended he asked for a
trifling gift. The King said, “Your song has pleased me so well that I will
give you my daughter there, to wife.”
The King’s daughter shuddered, but the King said, “I have taken an oath
to give you to the very first beggar-man, and I will keep it.” All she could

say was in vain; the priest was brought, and she had to let herself be
wedded to the fiddler on the spot. When that was done the King said, “Now
it is not proper for you, a beggar-woman, to stay any longer in my palace,
you may just go away with your husband.”
The beggar-man led her out by the hand, and she was obliged to walk
away on foot with him. When they came to a large forest she asked, “To
whom does that beautiful forest belong?” “It belongs to King Thrushbeard;
if you had taken him, it would have been yours.” “Ah, unhappy girl that I
am, if I had but taken King Thrushbeard!”
Afterwards they came to a meadow, and she asked again, “To whom does
this beautiful green meadow belong?” “It belongs to King Thrushbeard; if
you had taken him, it would have been yours.” “Ah, unhappy girl that I am,
if I had but taken King Thrushbeard!”
Then they came to a large town, and she asked again, “To whom does
this fine large town belong?” “It belongs to King Thrushbeard; if you had
taken him, it would have been yours.” “Ah, unhappy girl that I am, if I had
but taken King Thrushbeard!”
“It does not please me,” said the fiddler, “to hear you always wishing for
another husband; am I not good enough for you?” At last they came to a
very little hut, and she said, “Oh goodness! what a small house; to whom
does this miserable, mean hovel belong?” The fiddler answered, “That is
my house and yours, where we shall live together.”
She had to stoop in order to go in at the low door. “Where are the
servants?” said the King’s daughter. “What servants?” answered the beggar-
man; “you must yourself do what you wish to have done. Just make a fire at
once, and set on water to cook my supper, I am quite tired.” But the King’s
daughter knew nothing about lighting fires or cooking, and the beggar-man
had to lend a hand himself to get anything fairly done. When they had
finished their scanty meal they went to bed; but he forced her to get up quite
early in the morning in order to look after the house.
For a few days they lived in this way as well as might be, and came to the
end of all their provisions. Then the man said, “Wife, we cannot go on any
longer eating and drinking here and earning nothing. You weave baskets.”
He went out, cut some willows, and brought them home. Then she began to
weave, but the tough willows wounded her delicate hands.

“I see that this will not do,” said the man; “you had better spin, perhaps
you can do that better.” She sat down and tried to spin, but the hard thread
soon cut her soft fingers so that the blood ran down. “See,” said the man,
“you are fit for no sort of work; I have made a bad bargain with you. Now I
will try to make a business with pots and earthenware; you must sit in the
market-place and sell the ware.” “Alas,” thought she, “if any of the people
from my father’s kingdom come to the market and see me sitting there,
selling, how they will mock me?” But it was of no use, she had to yield
unless she chose to die of hunger.
For the first time she succeeded well, for the people were glad to buy the
woman’s wares because she was good-looking, and they paid her what she
asked; many even gave her the money and left the pots with her as well. So
they lived on what she had earned as long as it lasted, then the husband
bought a lot of new crockery. With this she sat down at the corner of the
market-place, and set it out round about her ready for sale. But suddenly
there came a drunken hussar galloping along, and he rode right amongst the
pots so that they were all broken into a thousand bits. She began to weep,
and did now know what to do for fear. “Alas! what will happen to me?”
cried she; “what will my husband say to this?”
She ran home and told him of the misfortune. “Who would seat herself at
a corner of the market-place with crockery?” said the man; “leave off
crying, I see very well that you cannot do any ordinary work, so I have been
to our King’s palace and have asked whether they cannot find a place for a
kitchen-maid, and they have promised me to take you; in that way you will
get your food for nothing.”
The King’s daughter was now a kitchen-maid, and had to be at the cook’s
beck and call, and do the dirtiest work. In both her pockets she fastened a
little jar, in which she took home her share of the leavings, and upon this
they lived.
It happened that the wedding of the King’s eldest son was to be
celebrated, so the poor woman went up and placed herself by the door of
the hall to look on. When all the candles were lit, and people, each more
beautiful than the other, entered, and all was full of pomp and splendour,
she thought of her lot with a sad heart, and cursed the pride and haughtiness
which had humbled her and brought her to so great poverty.

The smell of the delicious dishes which were being taken in and out
reached her, and now and then the servants threw her a few morsels of
them: these she put in her jars to take home.
All at once the King’s son entered, clothed in velvet and silk, with gold
chains about his neck. And when he saw the beautiful woman standing by
the door he seized her by the hand, and would have danced with her; but
she refused and shrank with fear, for she saw that it was King Thrushbeard,
her suitor whom she had driven away with scorn. Her struggles were of no
avail, he drew her into the hall; but the string by which her pockets were
hung broke, the pots fell down, the soup ran out, and the scraps were
scattered all about. And when the people saw it, there arose general laughter
and derision, and she was so ashamed that she would rather have been a
thousand fathoms below the ground. She sprang to the door and would have
run away, but on the stairs a man caught her and brought her back; and
when she looked at him it was King Thrushbeard again. He said to her
kindly, “Do not be afraid, I and the fiddler who has been living with you in
that wretched hovel are one. For love of you I disguised myself so; and I
also was the hussar who rode through your crockery. This was all done to
humble your proud spirit, and to punish you for the insolence with which
you mocked me.”
Then she wept bitterly and said, “I have done great wrong, and am not
worthy to be your wife.” But he said, “Be comforted, the evil days are past;
now we will celebrate our wedding.” Then the maids-in-waiting came and
put on her the most splendid clothing, and her father and his whole court
came and wished her happiness in her marriage with King Thrushbeard, and
the joy now began in earnest. I wish you and I had been there too.

53 Little Snow-white
Once upon a time in the middle of winter, when the flakes of snow were
falling like feathers from the sky, a queen sat at a window sewing, and the
frame of the window was made of black ebony. And whilst she was sewing
and looking out of the window at the snow, she pricked her finger with the
needle, and three drops of blood fell upon the snow. And the red looked
pretty upon the white snow, and she thought to herself, “Would that I had a
child as white as snow, as red as blood, and as black as the wood of the
window-frame.”
Soon after that she had a little daughter, who was as white as snow, and
as red as blood, and her hair was as black as ebony; and she was therefore
called Little Snow-white. And when the child was born, the Queen died.
After a year had passed the King took to himself another wife. She was a
beautiful woman, but proud and haughty, and she could not bear that
anyone else should surpass her in beauty. She had a wonderful looking-
glass, and when she stood in front of it and looked at herself in it, and said
—
“Looking-glass, Looking-glass, on the wall,
Who in this land is the fairest of all?”

the looking-glass answered—
“Thou, O Queen, art the fairest of all!”

Then she was satisfied, for she knew that the looking-glass spoke the
truth.
But Snow-white was growing up, and grew more and more beautiful; and
when she was seven years old she was as beautiful as the day, and more
beautiful than the Queen herself. And once when the Queen asked her
looking-glass—
“Looking-glass, Looking-glass, on the wall,
Who in this land is the fairest of all?”

it answered—
“Thou art fairer than all who are here, Lady Queen.”
But more beautiful still is Snow-white, as I ween.”

Then the Queen was shocked, and turned yellow and green with envy.
From that hour, whenever she looked at Snow-white, her heart heaved in
her breast, she hated the girl so much.
And envy and pride grew higher and higher in her heart like a weed, so
that she had no peace day or night. She called a huntsman, and said, “Take
the child away into the forest; I will no longer have her in my sight. Kill
her, and bring me back her heart as a token.” The huntsman obeyed, and
took her away; but when he had drawn his knife, and was about to pierce
Snow-white’s innocent heart, she began to weep, and said, “Ah dear
huntsman, leave me my life! I will run away into the wild forest, and never
come home again.”
And as she was so beautiful the huntsman had pity on her and said, “Run
away, then, you poor child.” “The wild beasts will soon have devoured
you,” thought he, and yet it seemed as if a stone had been rolled from his
heart since it was no longer needful for him to kill her. And as a young boar
just then came running by he stabbed it, and cut out its heart and took it to
the Queen as proof that the child was dead. The cook had to salt this, and
the wicked Queen ate it, and thought she had eaten the heart of Snow-white.
But now the poor child was all alone in the great forest, and so terrified
that she looked at every leaf of every tree, and did not know what to do.
Then she began to run, and ran over sharp stones and through thorns, and
the wild beasts ran past her, but did her no harm.
She ran as long as her feet would go until it was almost evening; then she
saw a little cottage and went into it to rest herself. Everything in the cottage
was small, but neater and cleaner than can be told. There was a table on
which was a white cover, and seven little plates, and on each plate a little
spoon; moreover, there were seven little knives and forks, and seven little
mugs. Against the wall stood seven little beds side by side, and covered
with snow-white counterpanes.
Little Snow-white was so hungry and thirsty that she ate some vegetables
and bread from each plate and drank a drop of wine out of each mug, for
she did not wish to take all from one only. Then, as she was so tired, she

laid herself down on one of the little beds, but none of them suited her; one
was too long, another too short, but at last she found that the seventh one
was right, and so she remained in it, said a prayer and went to sleep.
When it was quite dark the owners of the cottage came back; they were
seven dwarfs who dug and delved in the mountains for ore. They lit their
seven candles, and as it was now light within the cottage they saw that
someone had been there, for everything was not in the same order in which
they had left it.
The first said, “Who has been sitting on my chair?”
The second, “Who has been eating off my plate?”
The third, “Who has been taking some of my bread?”
The fourth, “Who has been eating my vegetables?”
The fifth, “Who has been using my fork?”
The sixth, “Who has been cutting with my knife?”
The seventh, “Who has been drinking out of my mug?”
Then the first looked round and saw that there was a little hole on his
bed, and he said, “Who has been getting into my bed?” The others came up
and each called out, “Somebody has been lying in my bed too.” But the
seventh when he looked at his bed saw little Snow-white, who was lying
asleep therein. And he called the others, who came running up, and they
cried out with astonishment, and brought their seven little candles and let
the light fall on little Snow-white. “Oh, heavens! oh, heavens!” cried they,
“what a lovely child!” and they were so glad that they did not wake her up,
but let her sleep on in the bed. And the seventh dwarf slept with his
companions, one hour with each, and so got through the night.
When it was morning little Snow-white awoke, and was frightened when
she saw the seven dwarfs. But they were friendly and asked her what her
name was. “My name is Snow-white,” she answered. “How have you come
to our house?” said the dwarfs. Then she told them that her step-mother had
wished to have her killed, but that the huntsman had spared her life, and
that she had run for the whole day, until at last she had found their dwelling.
The dwarfs said, “If you will take care of our house, cook, make the beds,
wash, sew, and knit, and if you will keep everything neat and clean, you can
stay with us and you shall want for nothing.” “Yes,” said Snow-white, “with
all my heart,” and she stayed with them. She kept the house in order for

them; in the mornings they went to the mountains and looked for copper
and gold, in the evenings they came back, and then their supper had to be
ready. The girl was alone the whole day, so the good dwarfs warned her and
said, “Beware of your step-mother, she will soon know that you are here; be
sure to let no one come in.”
But the Queen, believing that she had eaten Snow-white’s heart, could
not but think that she was again the first and most beautiful of all; and she
went to her looking-glass and said—
“Looking-glass, Looking-glass, on the wall,
Who in this land is the fairest of all?”

and the glass answered—
“Oh, Queen, thou art fairest of all I see,
But over the hills, where the seven dwarfs dwell,
Snow-white is still alive and well,
And none is so fair as she.”

Then she was astounded, for she knew that the looking-glass never spoke
falsely, and she knew that the huntsman had betrayed her, and that little
Snow-white was still alive.
And so she thought and thought again how she might kill her, for so long
as she was not the fairest in the whole land, envy let her have no rest. And
when she had at last thought of something to do, she painted her face, and
dressed herself like an old peddler-woman, and no one could have known
her. In this disguise she went over the seven mountains to the seven dwarfs,
and knocked at the door and cried, “Pretty things to sell, very cheap, very
cheap.” Little Snow-white looked out of the window and called out, “Good-
day my good woman, what have you to sell?” “Good things, pretty things,”
she answered; “stay-laces of all colours,” and she pulled out one which was
woven of bright-coloured silk. “I may let the worthy old woman in,”
thought Snow-white, and she unbolted the door and bought the pretty laces.
“Child,” said the old woman, “what a fright you look; come, I will lace you
properly for once.” Snow-white had no suspicion, but stood before her, and
let herself be laced with the new laces. But the old woman laced so quickly
and so tightly that Snow-white lost her breath and fell down as if dead.
“Now I am the most beautiful,” said the Queen to herself, and ran away.

Not long afterwards, in the evening, the seven dwarfs came home, but
how shocked they were when they saw their dear little Snow-white lying on
the ground, and that she neither stirred nor moved, and seemed to be dead.
They lifted her up, and, as they saw that she was laced too tightly, they cut
the laces; then she began to breathe a little, and after a while came to life
again. When the dwarfs heard what had happened they said, “The old
peddler-woman was no one else than the wicked Queen; take care and let
no one come in when we are not with you.”
But the wicked woman when she had reached home went in front of the
glass and asked—
“Looking-glass, Looking-glass, on the wall,
Who in this land is the fairest of all?”

and it answered as before—
“Oh, Queen, thou art fairest of all I see,
But over the hills, where the seven dwarfs dwell,
Snow-white is still alive and well,
And none is so fair as she.”

When she heard that, all her blood rushed to her heart with fear, for she
saw plainly that little Snow-white was again alive. “But now,” she said, “I
will think of something that shall put an end to you,” and by the help of
witchcraft, which she understood, she made a poisonous comb. Then she
disguised herself and took the shape of another old woman. So she went
over the seven mountains to the seven dwarfs, knocked at the door, and
cried, “Good things to sell, cheap, cheap!” Little Snow-white looked out
and said, “Go away; I cannot let any one come in.” “I suppose you can
look,” said the old woman, and pulled the poisonous comb out and held it
up. It pleased the girl so well that she let herself be beguiled, and opened
the door. When they had made a bargain the old woman said, “Now I will
comb you properly for once.” Poor little Snow-white had no suspicion, and
let the old woman do as she pleased, but hardly had she put the comb in her
hair than the poison in it took effect, and the girl fell down senseless. “You
paragon of beauty,” said the wicked woman, “you are done for now,” and
she went away.
But fortunately it was almost evening, when the seven dwarfs came
home. When they saw Snow-white lying as if dead upon the ground they at
once suspected the step-mother, and they looked and found the poisoned

comb. Scarcely had they taken it out when Snow-white came to herself, and
told them what had happened. Then they warned her once more to be upon
her guard and to open the door to no one.
The Queen, at home, went in front of the glass and said—
“Looking-glass, Looking-glass, on the wall,
Who in this land is the fairest of all?”

then it answered as before—
“Oh, Queen, thou art fairest of all I see,
But over the hills, where the seven dwarfs dwell,
Snow-white is still alive and well,
And none is so fair as she.”

When she heard the glass speak thus she trembled and shook with rage.
“Snow-white shall die,” she cried, “even if it costs me my life!”
Thereupon she went into a quite secret, lonely room, where no one ever
came, and there she made a very poisonous apple. Outside it looked pretty,
white with a red cheek, so that everyone who saw it longed for it; but
whoever ate a piece of it must surely die.
When the apple was ready she painted her face, and dressed herself up as
a country-woman, and so she went over the seven mountains to the seven
dwarfs. She knocked at the door. Snow-white put her head out of the
window and said, “I cannot let any one in; the seven dwarfs have forbidden
me.” “It is all the same to me,” answered the woman, “I shall soon get rid of
my apples. There, I will give you one.”
“No,” said Snow-white, “I dare not take anything.” “Are you afraid of
poison?” said the old woman; “look, I will cut the apple in two pieces; you
eat the red cheek, and I will eat the white.” The apple was so cunningly
made that only the red cheek was poisoned. Snow-white longed for the fine
apple, and when she saw that the woman ate part of it she could resist no
longer, and stretched out her hand and took the poisonous half. But hardly
had she a bit of it in her mouth than she fell down dead. Then the Queen
looked at her with a dreadful look, and laughed aloud and said, “White as
snow, red as blood, black as ebony-wood! this time the dwarfs cannot wake
you up again.”
And when she asked of the Looking-glass at home—

“Looking-glass, Looking-glass, on the wall,
Who in this land is the fairest of all?”

it answered at last—
“Oh, Queen, in this land thou art fairest of all.”

Then her envious heart had rest, so far as an envious heart can have rest.
The dwarfs, when they came home in the evening, found Snow-white
lying upon the ground; she breathed no longer and was dead. They lifted her
up, looked to see whether they could find anything poisonous, unlaced her,
combed her hair, washed her with water and wine, but it was all of no use;
the poor child was dead, and remained dead. They laid her upon a bier, and
all seven of them sat round it and wept for her, and wept three days long.
Then they were going to bury her, but she still looked as if she were
living, and still had her pretty red cheeks. They said, “We could not bury
her in the dark ground,” and they had a transparent coffin of glass made, so
that she could be seen from all sides, and they laid her in it, and wrote her
name upon it in golden letters, and that she was a king’s daughter. Then
they put the coffin out upon the mountain, and one of them always stayed
by it and watched it. And birds came too, and wept for Snow-white; first an
owl, then a raven, and last a dove.
And now Snow-white lay a long, long time in the coffin, and she did not
change, but looked as if she were asleep; for she was as white as snow, as
red as blood, and her hair was as black as ebony.
It happened, however, that a king’s son came into the forest, and went to
the dwarfs’ house to spend the night. He saw the coffin on the mountain,
and the beautiful Snow-white within it, and read what was written upon it in
golden letters. Then he said to the dwarfs, “Let me have the coffin, I will
give you whatever you want for it.” But the dwarfs answered, “We will not
part with it for all the gold in the world.” Then he said, “Let me have it as a
gift, for I cannot live without seeing Snow-white. I will honour and prize
her as my dearest possession.” As he spoke in this way the good dwarfs
took pity upon him, and gave him the coffin.
And now the King’s son had it carried away by his servants on their
shoulders. And it happened that they stumbled over a tree-stump, and with
the shock the poisonous piece of apple which Snow-white had bitten off
came out of her throat. And before long she opened her eyes, lifted up the

lid of the coffin, sat up, and was once more alive. “Oh, heavens, where am
I?” she cried. The King’s son, full of joy, said, “You are with me,” and told
her what had happened, and said, “I love you more than everything in the
world; come with me to my father’s palace, you shall be my wife.”
And Snow-white was willing, and went with him, and their wedding was
held with great show and splendour. But Snow-white’s wicked step-mother
was also bidden to the feast. When she had arrayed herself in beautiful
clothes she went before the Looking-glass, and said—
“Looking-glass, Looking-glass, on the wall,
Who in this land is the fairest of all?”

the glass answered—
“Oh, Queen, of all here the fairest art thou,
But the young Queen is fairer by far as I trow.”

Then the wicked woman uttered a curse, and was so wretched, so utterly
wretched, that she knew not what to do. At first she would not go to the
wedding at all, but she had no peace, and must go to see the young Queen.
And when she went in she knew Snow-white; and she stood still with rage
and fear, and could not stir. But iron slippers had already been put upon the
fire, and they were brought in with tongs, and set before her. Then she was
forced to put on the red-hot shoes, and dance until she dropped down dead.

54 The Knapsack, the Hat, and the Horn
There were once three brothers who had fallen deeper and deeper into
poverty, and at last their need was so great that they had to endure hunger,
and had nothing to eat or drink. Then said they, “We cannot go on thus, we
had better go into the world and seek our fortune.” They therefore set out,
and had already walked over many a long road and many a blade of grass,
but had not yet met with good luck. One day they arrived in a great forest,
and in the midst of it was a hill, and when they came nearer they saw that
the hill was all silver. Then spoke the eldest, “Now I have found the good
luck I wished for, and I desire nothing more.” He took as much of the silver
as he could possibly carry, and then turned back and went home again. But
the two others said, “We want something more from good luck than mere
silver,” and did not touch it, but went onwards. After they had walked for
two days longer without stopping, they came to a hill which was all gold.
The second brother stopped, took thought with himself, and was undecided.
“What shall I do?” said he; “shall I take for myself so much of this gold,
that I have sufficient for all the rest of my life, or shall I go farther?” At
length he made a decision, and putting as much into his pockets as would
go in, said farewell to his brother, and went home. But the third said,
“Silver and gold do not move me, I will not renounce my chance of fortune,
perhaps something better still will be given me.” He journeyed onwards,
and when he had walked for three days, he got into a forest which was still
larger than the one before, and never would come to an end, and as he
found nothing to eat or to drink, he was all but exhausted. Then he climbed
up a high tree to find out if up there he could see the end of the forest, but
so far as his eye could pierce he saw nothing but the tops of trees. Then he
began to descend the tree again, but hunger tormented him, and he thought
to himself, “If I could but eat my fill once more!” When he got down he
saw with astonishment a table beneath the tree richly spread with food, the
steam of which rose up to meet him. “This time,” said he, “my wish has
been fulfilled at the right moment.” And without inquiring who had brought
the food, or who had cooked it, he approached the table, and ate with

enjoyment until he had appeased his hunger. When he was done, he
thought, “It would after all be a pity if the pretty little table-cloth were to be
spoilt in the forest here,” and folded it up tidily and put it in his pocket.
Then he went onwards, and in the evening, when hunger once more made
itself felt, he wanted to make a trial of his little cloth, and spread it out and
said, “I wish thee to be covered with good cheer again,” and scarcely had
the wish crossed his lips than as many dishes with the most exquisite food
on them stood on the table as there was room for. “Now I perceive,” said
he, “in what kitchen my cooking is done. Thou shalt be dearer to me than
the mountains of silver and gold.” For he saw plainly that it was a wishing-
cloth. The cloth, however, was still not enough to enable him to sit down
quietly at home; he preferred to wander about the world and pursue his
fortune farther.
One night he met, in a lonely wood, a dusty, black charcoal-burner, who
was burning charcoal there, and had some potatoes by the fire, on which he
was going to make a meal. “Good evening, blackbird!” said the youth.
“How dost thou get on in thy solitude?”
“One day is like another,” replied the charcoal-burner, “and every night
potatoes! Hast thou a mind to have some, and wilt thou be my guest?”
“Many thanks,” replied the traveler, “I won’t rob thee of thy supper; thou
didst not reckon on a visitor, but if thou wilt put up with what I have, thou
shalt have an invitation.”
“Who is to prepare it for thee?” said the charcoal-burner. “I see that thou
hast nothing with thee, and there is no one within a two hours’ walk who
could give thee anything.” “And yet there shall be a meal,” answered the
youth, “and better than any thou hast ever tasted.” Thereupon he brought his
cloth out of his knapsack, spread it on the ground, and said, “Little cloth,
cover thyself,” and instantly boiled meat and baked meat stood there, and as
hot as if it had just come out of the kitchen. The charcoal-burner stared, but
did not require much pressing; he fell to, and thrust larger and larger
mouthfuls into his black mouth. When they had eaten everything, the
charcoal-burner smiled contentedly, and said, “Hark thee, thy table-cloth
has my approval; it would be a fine thing for me in this forest, where no one
ever cooks me anything good. I will propose an exchange to thee; there in
the corner hangs a soldier’s knapsack, which is certainly old and shabby,

but in it lie concealed wonderful powers; but, as I no longer use it, I will
give it to thee for the table-cloth.”
“I must first know what these wonderful powers are,” answered the
youth.
“That will I tell thee,” replied the charcoal-burner; “every time thou
tappest it with thy hand, a corporal comes with six men armed from head to
foot, and they do whatsoever thou commandest them.” “So far as I am
concerned,” said the youth, “if nothing else can be done, we will
exchange,” and he gave the charcoal-burner the cloth, took the knapsack
from the hook, put it on, and bade farewell. When he had walked a while,
he wished to make a trial of the magical powers of his knapsack and tapped
it. Immediately the seven warriors stepped up to him, and the corporal said,
“What does my lord and ruler wish for?”
“March with all speed to the charcoal-burner, and demand my wishing-
cloth back.” They faced to the left, and it was not long before they brought
what he required, and had taken it from the charcoal-burner without asking
many questions. The young man bade them retire, went onwards, and hoped
fortune would shine yet more brightly on him. By sunset he came to another
charcoal-burner, who was making his supper ready by the fire. “If thou wilt
eat some potatoes with salt, but with no dripping, come and sit down with
me,” said the sooty fellow.
“No, he replied, this time thou shalt be my guest,” and he spread out his
cloth, which was instantly covered with the most beautiful dishes. They ate
and drank together, and enjoyed themselves heartily. After the meal was
over, the charcoal-burner said, “Up there on that shelf lies a little old worn-
out hat which has strange properties: when any one puts it on, and turns it
round on his head, the cannons go off as if twelve were fired all together,
and they shoot down everything so that no one can withstand them. The hat
is of no use to me, and I will willingly give it for thy table-cloth.”
“That suits me very well,” he answered, took the hat, put it on, and left
his table-cloth behind him. Hardly, however, had he walked away than he
tapped on his knapsack, and his soldiers had to fetch the cloth back again.
“One thing comes on the top of another,” thought he, “and I feel as if my
luck had not yet come to an end.” Neither had his thoughts deceived him.
After he had walked on for the whole of one day, he came to a third
charcoal-burner, who like the previous ones, invited him to potatoes without

dripping. But he let him also dine with him from his wishing-cloth, and the
charcoal-burner liked it so well, that at last he offered him a horn for it,
which had very different properties from those of the hat. When any one
blew it all the walls and fortifications fell down, and all towns and villages
became ruins. He certainly gave the charcoal-burner the cloth for it, but he
afterwards sent his soldiers to demand it back again, so that at length he had
the knapsack, hat and horn, all three. “Now,” said he, “I am a made man,
and it is time for me to go home and see how my brothers are getting on.”
When he reached home, his brothers had built themselves a handsome
house with their silver and gold, and were living in clover. He went to see
them, but as he came in a ragged coat, with his shabby hat on his head, and
his old knapsack on his back, they would not acknowledge him as their
brother. They mocked and said, “Thou givest out that thou art our brother
who despised silver and gold, and craved for something still better for
himself. He will come in his carriage in full splendour like a mighty king,
not like a beggar,” and they drove him out of doors. Then he fell into a rage,
and tapped his knapsack until a hundred and fifty men stood before him
armed from head to foot. He commanded them to surround his brothers’
house, and two of them were to take hazel-sticks with them, and beat the
two insolent men until they knew who he was. A violent disturbance arose,
people ran together, and wanted to lend the two some help in their need, but
against the soldiers they could do nothing. News of this at length came to
the King, who was very angry, and ordered a captain to march out with his
troop, and drive this disturber of the peace out of the town; but the man
with the knapsack soon got a greater body of men together, who repulsed
the captain and his men, so that they were forced to retire with bloody
noses. The King said, “This vagabond is not brought to order yet,” and next
day sent a still larger troop against him, but they could do even less. The
youth set still more men against them, and in order to be done the sooner,
he turned his hat twice round on his head, and heavy guns began to play,
and the king’s men were beaten and put to flight. “And now,” said he, “I
will not make peace until the King gives me his daughter to wife, and I
govern the whole kingdom in his name.” He caused this to be announced to
the King, and the latter said to his daughter, “Necessity is a hard nut to
crack, what remains to me but to do what he desires? If I want peace and to
keep the crown on my head, I must give thee away.”

So the wedding was celebrated, but the King’s daughter was vexed that
her husband should be a common man, who wore a shabby hat, and put on
an old knapsack. She wished much to get rid of him, and night and day
studied how she could accomplished this. Then she thought to herself, “Is it
possible that his wonderful powers lie in the knapsack?” and she
dissembled and caressed him, and when his heart was softened, she said, “If
thou wouldst but lay aside that ugly knapsack, it makes disfigures thee so,
that I can’t help being ashamed of thee.” “Dear child,” said he, “this
knapsack is my greatest treasure; as long as I have it, there is no power on
earth that I am afraid of.” And he revealed to her the wonderful virtue with
which it was endowed. Then she threw herself in his arms as if she were
going to kiss him, but dexterously took the knapsack off his shoulders, and
ran away with it. As soon as she was alone she tapped it, and commanded
the warriors to seize their former master, and take him out of the royal
palace. They obeyed, and the false wife sent still more men after him, who
were to drive him quite out of the country. Then he would have been ruined
if he had not had the little hat. But his hands were scarcely at liberty before
he turned it twice. Immediately the cannon began to thunder, and struck
down everything, and the King’s daughter herself was forced to come and
beg for mercy. As she entreated in such moving terms, and promised
amendment, he allowed himself to be persuaded and granted her peace. She
behaved in a friendly manner to him, and acted as if she loved him very
much, and after some time managed so to befool him, that he confided to
her that even if someone got the knapsack into his power, he could do
nothing against him so long as the old hat was still his. When she knew the
secret, she waited until he was asleep, and then she took the hat away from
him, and had it thrown out into the street. But the horn still remained to
him, and in great anger he blew it with all his strength. Instantly all walls,
fortifications, towns, and villages, toppled down, and crushed the King and
his daughter to death. And had he not put down the horn and had blown just
a little longer, everything would have been in ruins, and not one stone
would have been left standing on another. Then no one opposed him any
longer, and he made himself King of the whole country.

55 Rumpelstiltskin
Once there was a miller who was poor, but who had a beautiful daughter.
Now it happened that he had to go and speak to the King, and in order to
make himself appear important he said to him, “I have a daughter who can
spin straw into gold.” The King said to the miller, “That is an art which
pleases me well; if your daughter is as clever as you say, bring her to-
morrow to my palace, and I will try what she can do.”
And when the girl was brought to him he took her into a room which was
quite full of straw, gave her a spinning-wheel and a reel, and said, “Now set
to work, and if by to-morrow morning early you have not spun this straw
into gold during the night, you must die.” Thereupon he himself locked up
the room, and left her in it alone. So there sat the poor miller’s daughter,
and for the life of her could not tell what to do; she had no idea how straw
could be spun into gold, and she grew more and more miserable, until at
last she began to weep.
But all at once the door opened, and in came a little man, and said,
“Good evening, Mistress Miller; why are you crying so?” “Alas!” answered
the girl, “I have to spin straw into gold, and I do not know how to do it.”
“What will you give me,” said the manikin, “if I do it for you?” “My
necklace,” said the girl. The little man took the necklace, seated himself in
front of the wheel, and “whirr, whirr, whirr,” three turns, and the reel was
full; then he put another on, and whirr, whirr, whirr, three times round, and
the second was full too. And so it went on until the morning, when all the
straw was spun, and all the reels were full of gold. By daybreak the King
was already there, and when he saw the gold he was astonished and
delighted, but his heart became only more greedy. He had the miller’s
daughter taken into another room full of straw, which was much larger, and
commanded her to spin that also in one night if she valued her life. The girl
knew not how to help herself, and was crying, when the door again opened,
and the little man appeared, and said, “What will you give me if I spin that
straw into gold for you?” “The ring on my finger,” answered the girl. The

little man took the ring, again began to turn the wheel, and by morning had
spun all the straw into glittering gold.
The King rejoiced beyond measure at the sight, but still he had not gold
enough; and he had the miller’s daughter taken into a still larger room full
of straw, and said, “You must spin this, too, in the course of this night; but if
you succeed, you shall be my wife.” “Even if she be a miller’s daughter,”
thought he, “I could not find a richer wife in the whole world.”
When the girl was alone the manikin came again for the third time, and
said, “What will you give me if I spin the straw for you this time also?” “I
have nothing left that I could give,” answered the girl. “Then promise me, if
you should become Queen, your first child.” “Who knows whether that will
ever happen?” thought the miller’s daughter; and, not knowing how else to
help herself in this strait, she promised the manikin what he wanted, and for
that he once more span the straw into gold.
And when the King came in the morning, and found all as he had wished,
he took her in marriage, and the pretty miller’s daughter became a Queen.
A year after, she had a beautiful child, and she never gave a thought to
the manikin. But suddenly he came into her room, and said, “Now give me
what you promised.” The Queen was horror-struck, and offered the manikin
all the riches of the kingdom if he would leave her the child. But the
manikin said, “No, something that is living is dearer to me than all the
treasures in the world.” Then the Queen began to weep and cry, so that the
manikin pitied her. “I will give you three days’ time,” said he, “if by that
time you find out my name, then shall you keep your child.”
So the Queen thought the whole night of all the names that she had ever
heard, and she sent a messenger over the country to inquire, far and wide,
for any other names that there might be. When the manikin came the next
day, she began with Caspar, Melchior, Balthazar, and said all the names she
knew, one after another; but to every one the little man said, “That is not my
name.” On the second day she had inquiries made in the neighborhood as to
the names of the people there, and she repeated to the manikin the most
uncommon and curious. “Perhaps your name is Shortribs, or Sheepshanks,
or Laceleg?” but he always answered, “That is not my name.”
On the third day the messenger came back again, and said, “I have not
been able to find a single new name, but as I came to a high mountain at the
end of the forest, where the fox and the hare bid each other good night,

there I saw a little house, and before the house a fire was burning, and
round about the fire quite a ridiculous little man was jumping: he hopped
upon one leg, and shouted—
“To-day I bake, to-morrow brew,
The next I’ll have the young Queen’s child.
Ha! glad am I that no one knew
That Rumpelstiltskin I am styled.”

You may think how glad the Queen was when she heard the name! And
when soon afterwards the little man came in, and asked, “Now, Mistress
Queen, what is my name?” at first she said, “Is your name Conrad?” “No.”
“Is your name Harry?” “No.”
“Perhaps your name is Rumpelstiltskin?”
“The devil has told you that! the devil has told you that!” cried the little
man, and in his anger he plunged his right foot so deep into the earth that
his whole leg went in; and then in rage he pulled at his left leg so hard with
both hands that he tore himself in two.

56 Sweetheart Roland
There was once on a time a woman who was a real witch and had two
daughters, one ugly and wicked, and this one she loved because she was her
own daughter, and one beautiful and good, and this one she hated, because
she was her step-daughter. The step-daughter once had a pretty apron,
which the other fancied so much that she became envious, and told her
mother that she must and would have that apron. “Be quiet, my child,” said
the old woman, “and thou shalt have it. Thy step-sister has long deserved
death, to-night when she is asleep I will come and cut her head off. Only be
careful that thou art at the far-side of the bed, and push her well to the
front.” It would have been all over with the poor girl if she had not just then
been standing in a corner, and heard everything. All day long she dared not
go out of doors, and when bed-time had come, the witch’s daughter got into
bed first, so as to lie at the far side, but when she was asleep, the other
pushed her gently to the front, and took for herself the place at the back,
close by the wall. In the night, the old woman came creeping in, she held an
axe in her right hand, and felt with her left to see if anyone was lying at the
outside, and then she grasped the axe with both hands, and cut her own
child’s head off.
When she had gone away, the girl got up and went to her sweetheart, who
was called Roland, and knocked at his door. When he came out, she said to
him, “Hear me, dearest Roland, we must fly in all haste; my step-mother
wanted to kill me, but has struck her own child. When daylight comes, and
she sees what she has done, we shall be lost.” “But,” said Roland, “I
counsel thee first to take away her magic wand, or we cannot escape if she
pursues us.” The maiden fetched the magic wand, and she took the dead
girl’s head and dropped three drops of blood on the ground, one in front of
the bed, one in the kitchen, and one on the stairs. Then she hurried away
with her lover. When the old witch got up next morning, she called her
daughter, and wanted to give her the apron, but she did not come. Then the
witch cried, “Where art thou?” “Here, on the stairs, I am sweeping,”
answered the first drop of blood. The old woman went out, but saw no one

on the stairs, and cried again, “Where art thou?” “Here in the kitchen, I am
warming myself,” cried the second drop of blood. She went into the
kitchen, but found no one. Then she cried again, “Where art thou?” “Ah,
here in the bed, I am sleeping.” cried the third drop of blood. She went into
the room to the bed. What did she see there? Her own child, whose head she
had cut off, bathed in her blood. The witch fell into a passion, sprang to the
window, and as she could look forth quite far into the world, she perceived
her step-daughter hurrying away with her sweetheart Roland. “That shall
not serve you,” cried she, “even if you have got a long way off, you shall
still not escape me.” She put on her many league boots, in which went an
hour’s walk at every step, and it was not long before she overtook them.
The girl, however, when she saw the old woman striding towards her,
changed, with her magic wand, her sweetheart Roland into a lake, and
herself into a duck swimming in the middle of it. The witch placed herself
on the shore, threw bread-crumbs in, and gave herself every possible
trouble to entice the duck; but the duck did not let herself be enticed, and
the old woman had to go home at night as she had come. On this the girl
and her sweetheart Roland resumed their natural shapes again, and they
walked on the whole night until daybreak. Then the maiden changed herself
into a beautiful flower which stood in the midst of a briar hedge, and her
sweetheart Roland into a fiddler. It was not long before the witch came
striding up towards them, and said to the musician, “Dear musician, may I
pluck that beautiful flower for myself?” “Oh, yes,” he replied, “I will play
to you while you do it.” As she was hastily creeping into the hedge and was
just going to pluck the flower, for she well knew who the flower was, he
began to play, and whether she would or not, she was forced to dance, for it
was a magical dance. The quicker he played, the more violent springs was
she forced to make, and the thorns tore her clothes from her body, and
pricked her and wounded her till she bled, and as he did not stop, she had to
dance till she lay dead on the ground.
When they were delivered, Roland said, “Now I will go to my father and
arrange for the wedding.” “Then in the meantime I will stay here and wait
for thee,” said the girl, “and that no one may recognize me, I will change
myself into a red stone land-mark.” Then Roland went away, and the girl
stood like a red land-mark in the field and waited for her beloved. But when
Roland got home, he fell into the snares of another, who prevailed on him
so far that he forgot the maiden. The poor girl remained there a long time,

but at length, as he did not return at all, she was sad, and changed herself
into a flower, and thought, “Some one will surely come this way, and
trample me down.”
It befell, however, that a shepherd kept his sheep in the field, and saw the
flower, and as it was so pretty, plucked it, took it with him, and laid it away
in his chest. From that time forth, strange things happened in the shepherd’s
house. When he arose in the morning, all the work was already done, the
room was swept, the table and benches cleaned, the fire on the hearth was
lighted, and the water was fetched, and at noon, when he came home, the
table was laid, and a good dinner served. He could not conceive how this
came to pass, for he never saw a human being in his house, and no one
could have concealed himself in it. He was certainly pleased with this good
attendance, but still at last he was so afraid that he went to a wise woman
and asked for her advice. The wise woman said, “There is some
enchantment behind it, listen very early some morning if anything is
moving in the room, and if thou seest anything, let it be what it may, throw
a white cloth over it, and then the magic will be stopped.”
The shepherd did as she bade him, and next morning just as day dawned,
he saw the chest open, and the flower come out. Swiftly he sprang towards
it, and threw a white cloth over it. Instantly the transformation came to an
end, and a beautiful girl stood before him, who owned to him that she had
been the flower, and that up to this time she had attended to his
housekeeping. She told him her story, and as she pleased him he asked her
if she would marry him, but she answered, “No,” for she wanted to remain
faithful to her sweetheart Roland, although he had deserted her, but she
promised not to go away, but to keep house for the shepherd for the future.
And now the time drew near when Roland’s wedding was to be
celebrated, and then, according to an old custom in the country, it was
announced that all the girls were to be present at it, and sing in honour of
the bridal pair. When the faithful maiden heard of this, she grew so sad that
she thought her heart would break, and she would not go thither, but the
other girls came and took her. When it came to her turn to sing, she stepped
back, until at last she was the only one left, and then she could not refuse.
But when she began her song, and it reached Roland’s ears, he sprang up
and cried, “I know the voice, that is the true bride, I will have no other!”
Everything he had forgotten, and which had vanished from his mind, had

suddenly come home again to his heart. Then the faithful maiden held her
wedding with her sweetheart Roland, and grief came to an end and joy
began.

57 The Golden Bird
In the olden time there was a king, who had behind his palace a beautiful
pleasure-garden in which there was a tree that bore golden apples. When the
apples were getting ripe they were counted, but on the very next morning
one was missing. This was told to the King, and he ordered that a watch
should be kept every night beneath the tree.
The King had three sons, the eldest of whom he sent, as soon as night
came on, into the garden; but when midnight came he could not keep
himself from sleeping, and next morning again an apple was gone.
The following night the second son had to keep watch, it fared no better
with him; as soon as twelve o’clock had struck he fell asleep, and in the
morning an apple was gone.
Now it came to the turn of the third son to watch; and he was quite ready,
but the King had not much trust in him, and thought that he would be of less
use even than his brothers; but at last he let him go. The youth lay down
beneath the tree, but kept awake, and did not let sleep master him. When it
struck twelve, something rustled through the air, and in the moonlight he
saw a bird coming whose feathers were all shining with gold. The bird
alighted on the tree, and had just plucked off an apple, when the youth shot
an arrow at him. The bird flew off, but the arrow had struck his plumage,
and one of his golden feathers fell down. The youth picked it up, and the
next morning took it to the King and told him what he had seen in the night.
The King called his council together, and everyone declared that a feather
like this was worth more than the whole kingdom. “If the feather is so
precious,” declared the King, “one alone will not do for me; I must and will
have the whole bird!”
The eldest son set out; he trusted to his cleverness, and thought that he
would easily find the Golden Bird. When he had gone some distance he saw
a Fox sitting at the edge of a wood, so he cocked his gun and took aim at
him. The Fox cried, “Do not shoot me! and in return I will give you some
good counsel. You are on the way to the Golden Bird; and this evening you

will come to a village in which stand two inns opposite to one another. One
of them is lighted up brightly, and all goes on merrily within, but do not go
into it; go rather into the other, even though it seems a bad one.” “How can
such a silly beast give wise advice?” thought the King’s son, and he pulled
the trigger. But he missed the Fox, who stretched out his tail and ran
quickly into the wood.
So he pursued his way, and by evening came to the village where the two
inns were; in one they were singing and dancing; the other had a poor,
miserable look. “I should be a fool, indeed,” he thought, “if I were to go
into the shabby tavern, and pass by the good one.” So he went into the
cheerful one, lived there in riot and revel, and forgot the bird and his father,
and all good counsels.
When some time had passed, and the eldest son for month after month
did not come back home, the second set out, wishing to find the Golden
Bird. The Fox met him as he had met the eldest, and gave him the good
advice of which he took no heed. He came to the two inns, and his brother
was standing at the window of the one from which came the music, and
called out to him. He could not resist, but went inside and lived only for
pleasure.
Again some time passed, and then the King’s youngest son wanted to set
off and try his luck, but his father would not allow it. “It is of no use,” said
he, “he will find the Golden Bird still less than his brothers, and if a mishap
were to befall him he knows not how to help himself; he is a little wanting
at the best.” But at last, as he had no peace, he let him go.
Again the Fox was sitting outside the wood, and begged for his life, and
offered his good advice. The youth was good-natured, and said, “Be easy,
little Fox, I will do you no harm.” “You shall not repent it,” answered the
Fox; “and that you may get on more quickly, get up behind on my tail.” And
scarcely had he seated himself when the Fox began to run, and away he
went over stock and stone till his hair whistled in the wind. When they
came to the village the youth got off; he followed the good advice, and
without looking round turned into the little inn, where he spent the night
quietly.
The next morning, as soon as he got into the open country, there sat the
Fox already, and said, “I will tell you further what you have to do. Go on
quite straight, and at last you will come to a castle, in front of which a

whole regiment of soldiers is lying, but do not trouble yourself about them,
for they will all be asleep and snoring. Go through the midst of them
straight into the castle, and go through all the rooms, till at last you will
come to a chamber where a Golden Bird is hanging in a wooden cage.
Close by, there stands an empty gold cage for show, but beware of taking
the bird out of the common cage and putting it into the fine one, or it may
go badly with you.” With these words the Fox again stretched out his tail,
and the King’s son seated himself upon it, and away he went over stock and
stone till his hair whistled in the wind.
When he came to the castle he found everything as the Fox had said. The
King’s son went into the chamber where the Golden Bird was shut up in a
wooden cage, whilst a golden one stood hard by; and the three golden
apples lay about the room. “But,” thought he, “it would be absurd if I were
to leave the beautiful bird in the common and ugly cage,” so he opened the
door, laid hold of it, and put it into the golden cage. But at the same
moment the bird uttered a shrill cry. The soldiers awoke, rushed in, and took
him off to prison. The next morning he was taken before a court of justice,
and as he confessed everything, was sentenced to death.
The King, however, said that he would grant him his life on one
condition namely, if he brought him the Golden Horse which ran faster than
the wind; and in that case he should receive, over and above, as a reward,
the Golden Bird.
The King’s son set off, but he sighed and was sorrowful, for how was he
to find the Golden Horse? But all at once he saw his old friend the Fox
sitting on the road. “Look you,” said the Fox, “this has happened because
you did not give heed to me. However, be of good courage. I will give you
my help, and tell you how to get to the Golden Horse. You must go straight
on, and you will come to a castle, where in the stable stands the horse. The
grooms will be lying in front of the stable; but they will be asleep and
snoring, and you can quietly lead out the Golden Horse. But of one thing
you must take heed; put on him the common saddle of wood and leather,
and not the golden one, which hangs close by, else it will go ill with you.”
Then the Fox stretched out his tail, the King’s son seated himself upon it,
and away he went over stock and stone until his hair whistled in the wind.
Everything happened just as the Fox had said; the prince came to the
stable in which the Golden Horse was standing, but just as he was going to

put the common saddle upon him, he thought, “It will be a shame to such a
beautiful beast, if I do not give him the good saddle which belongs to him
by right.” But scarcely had the golden saddle touched the horse than he
began to neigh loudly. The grooms awoke, seized the youth, and threw him
into prison. The next morning he was sentenced by the court to death; but
the King promised to grant him his life, and the Golden Horse as well, if he
could bring back the beautiful princess from the Golden Castle.
With a heavy heart the youth set out; yet luckily for him he soon found
the trusty Fox. “I ought only to leave you to your ill-luck,” said the Fox,
“but I pity you, and will help you once more out of your trouble. This road
takes you straight to the Golden Castle, you will reach it by eventide; and at
night when everything is quiet the beautiful princess goes to the bathing-
house to bathe. When she enters it, run up to her and give her a kiss, then
she will follow you, and you can take her away with you; only do not allow
her to take leave of her parents first, or it will go ill with you.”
Then the Fox stretched out his tail, the King’s son seated himself upon it,
and away the Fox went, over stock and stone, till his hair whistled in the
wind.
When he reached the Golden Castle it was just as the Fox had said. He
waited until midnight, when everything lay in deep sleep, and the beautiful
princess was going to the bathing-house. Then he sprang out and gave her a
kiss. She said that she would like to go with him, but she asked him
pitifully, and with tears, to allow her first to take leave of her parents. At
first he withstood her prayer, but when she wept more and more, and fell at
his feet, he at last gave in. But no sooner had the maiden reached the
bedside of her father than he and all the rest in the castle awoke, and the
youth was laid hold of and put into prison.
The next morning the King said to him, “Your life is forfeited, and you
can only find mercy if you take away the hill which stands in front of my
windows, and prevents my seeing beyond it; and you must finish it all
within eight days. If you do that you shall have my daughter as your
reward.”
The King’s son began, and dug and shovelled without leaving off, but
when after seven days he saw how little he had done, and how all his work
was as good as nothing, he fell into great sorrow and gave up all hope. But
on the evening of the seventh day the Fox appeared and said, “You do not

deserve that I should take any trouble about you; but just go away and lie
down to sleep, and I will do the work for you.”
The next morning when he awoke and looked out of the window the hill
had gone. The youth ran, full of joy, to the King, and told him that the task
was fulfilled, and whether he liked it or not, the King had to hold to his
word and give him his daughter.
So the two set forth together, and it was not long before the trusty Fox
came up with them. “You have certainly got what is best,” said he, “but the
Golden Horse also belongs to the maiden of the Golden Castle.” “How shall
I get it?” asked the youth. “That I will tell you,” answered the Fox; “first
take the beautiful maiden to the King who sent you to the Golden Castle.
There will be unheard-of rejoicing; they will gladly give you the Golden
Horse, and will bring it out to you. Mount it as soon as possible, and offer
your hand to all in farewell; last of all to the beautiful maiden. And as soon
as you have taken her hand swing her up on to the horse, and gallop away,
and no one will be able to bring you back, for the horse runs faster than the
wind.”
All was carried out successfully, and the King’s son carried off the
beautiful princess on the Golden Horse.
The Fox did not remain behind, and he said to the youth, “Now I will
help you to get the Golden Bird. When you come near to the castle where
the Golden Bird is to be found, let the maiden get down, and I will take her
into my care. Then ride with the Golden Horse into the castle-yard; there
will be great rejoicing at the sight, and they will bring out the Golden Bird
for you. As soon as you have the cage in your hand gallop back to us, and
take the maiden away again.”
When the plan had succeeded, and the King’s son was about to ride home
with his treasures, the Fox said, “Now you shall reward me for my help.”
“What do you require for it?” asked the youth. “When you get into the
wood yonder, shoot me dead, and chop off my head and feet.”
“That would be fine gratitude,” said the King’s son. “I cannot possibly do
that for you.”
The Fox said, “If you will not do it I must leave you, but before I go
away I will give you a piece of good advice. Be careful about two things.
Buy no gallows’-flesh, and do not sit at the edge of any well.” And then he
ran into the wood.

The youth thought, “That is a wonderful beast, he has strange whims;
who is going to buy gallows’-flesh? and the desire to sit at the edge of a
well it has never yet seized me.”
He rode on with the beautiful maiden, and his road took him again
through the village in which his two brothers had remained. There was a
great stir and noise, and, when he asked what was going on, he was told that
two men were going to be hanged. As he came nearer to the place he saw
that they were his brothers, who had been playing all kinds of wicked
pranks, and had squandered all their wealth. He inquired whether they could
not be set free. “If you will pay for them,” answered the people; “but why
should you waste your money on wicked men, and buy them free.” He did
not think twice about it, but paid for them, and when they were set free they
all went on their way together.
They came to the wood where the Fox had first met them, as it was cool
and pleasant within it, the two brothers said, “Let us rest a little by the well,
and eat and drink.” He agreed, and whilst they were talking he forgot
himself, and sat down upon the edge of the well without thinking of any
evil. But the two brothers threw him backwards into the well, took the
maiden, the Horse, and the Bird, and went home to their father. “Here we
bring you not only the Golden Bird,” said they; “we have won the Golden
Horse also, and the maiden from the Golden Castle.” Then was there great
joy; but the Horse would not eat, the Bird would not sing, and the maiden
sat and wept.
But the youngest brother was not dead. By good fortune the well was dry,
and he fell upon soft moss without being hurt, but he could not get out
again. Even in this strait the faithful Fox did not leave him: it came and
leapt down to him, and upbraided him for having forgotten its advice. “But
yet I cannot give it up so,” he said; “I will help you up again into daylight.”
He bade him grasp his tail and keep tight hold of it; and then he pulled him
up.
“You are not out of all danger yet,” said the Fox. “Your brothers were not
sure of your death, and have surrounded the wood with watchers, who are
to kill you if you let yourself be seen.” But a poor man was sitting upon the
road, with whom the youth changed clothes, and in this way he got to the
King’s palace.

No one knew him, but the Bird began to sing, the Horse began to eat, and
the beautiful maiden left off weeping. The King, astonished, asked, “What
does this mean?” Then the maiden said, “I do not know, but I have been so
sorrowful and now I am so happy! I feel as if my true bridegroom had
come.” She told him all that had happened, although the other brothers had
threatened her with death if she were to betray anything.
The King commanded that all people who were in his castle should be
brought before him; and amongst them came the youth in his ragged
clothes; but the maiden knew him at once and fell upon his neck. The
wicked brothers were seized and put to death, but he was married to the
beautiful maiden and declared heir to the King.
But how did it fare with the poor Fox? Long afterwards the King’s son
was once again walking in the wood, when the Fox met him and said, “You
have everything now that you can wish for, but there is never an end to my
misery, and yet it is in your power to free me,” and again he asked him with
tears to shoot him dead and chop off his head and feet. So he did it, and
scarcely was it done when the Fox was changed into a man, and was no
other than the brother of the beautiful princess, who at last was freed from
the magic charm which had been laid upon him. And now nothing more
was wanting to their happiness as long as they lived.

58 The Dog and the Sparrow
A sheep-dog had not a good master, but, on the contrary, one who let him
suffer hunger. As he could stay no longer with him, he went quite sadly
away. On the road he met a sparrow who said, “Brother dog, why art thou
so sad?” The dog replied, “I am hungry, and have nothing to eat.” Then said
the sparrow, “Dear brother, come into the town with me, and I will satisfy
thy hunger.” So they went into the town together, and when they came in
front of a butcher’s shop the sparrow said to the dog, “Stay there, and I will
pick a bit of meat down for thee,” and he alighted on the stall, looked about
him to see that no one was observing him, and pecked and pulled and tore
so long at a piece which lay on the edge, that it slipped down. Then the dog
seized it, ran into a corner, and devoured it. The sparrow said, “Now come
with me to another shop, and then I will get thee one more piece that thou
mayst be satisfied.” When the dog had devoured the second piece as well,
the sparrow asked, “Brother dog, hast thou now had enough?” “Yes, I have
had meat enough,” he answered, “but I have had no bread yet.” Said the
sparrow, “Thou shalt have that also, come with me.” Then he took him to a
baker’s shop, and pecked at a couple of little buns till they rolled down, and
as the dog wanted still more, he led him to another stall, and again got bread
for him. When that was consumed, the sparrow said, “Brother dog, hast
thou now had enough?” “Yes,” he replied, “now we will walk awhile
outside the town.” Then they both went out on to the highway. It was,
however, warm weather, and when they had walked a little way the dog
said, “I am tired, and would like to sleep.” “Well, do sleep,” answered the
sparrow, “and in the meantime I will seat myself on a branch.” So the dog
lay down on the road, and fell fast asleep. Whilst he lay sleeping there, a
waggoner came driving by, who had a cart with three horses, laden with two
barrels of wine. The sparrow, however, saw that he was not going to turn
aside, but was staying in the wheel track in which the dog was lying, so it
cried, “Waggoner, don’t do it, or I will make thee poor.” The waggoner,
however, growled to himself, “Thou wilt not make me poor,” and cracked
his whip and drove the cart over the dog, and the wheels killed him. Then

the sparrow cried, “Thou hast run over my brother dog and killed him, it
shall cost thee thy cart and horses.” “Cart and horses indeed!” said the
waggoner. “What harm canst thou do me?” and drove onwards. Then the
sparrow crept under the cover of the cart, and pecked so long at the same
bung-hole that he got the bung out, and then all the wine ran out without the
driver noticing it. But once when he was looking behind him he saw that the
cart was dripping, and looked at the barrels and saw that one of them was
empty. “Unfortunate fellow that I am,” cried he. “Not unfortunate enough
yet,” said the sparrow, and flew on to the head of one of the horses and
pecked his eyes out. When the driver saw that, he drew out his axe and
wanted to hit the sparrow, but the sparrow flew into the air, and he hit his
horse on the head, and it fell down dead. “Oh, what an unfortunate man I
am,” cried he. “Not unfortunate enough yet,” said the sparrow, and when
the driver drove on with the two horses, the sparrow again crept under the
cover, and pecked the bung out of the second cask, so all the wine was spilt.
When the driver became aware of it, he again cried, “Oh, what an
unfortunate man I am,” but the sparrow replied, “Not unfortunate enough
yet,” and seated himself on the head of the second horse, and pecked his
eyes out. The driver ran up to it and raised his axe to strike, but the sparrow
flew into the air and the blow struck the horse, which fell. “Oh, what an
unfortunate man I am.” “Not unfortunate enough yet,” said the sparrow, and
lighted on the third horse’s head, and pecked out his eyes. The driver, in his
rage, struck at the sparrow without looking round, and did not hit him but
killed his third horse likewise. “Oh, what an unfortunate man I am,” cried
he. “Not unfortunate enough yet,” answered the sparrow. “Now will I make
thee unfortunate in thy home,” and flew away.
The driver had to leave the waggon standing, and full of anger and
vexation went home. “Ah,” said he to his wife, “what misfortunes I have
had! My wine has run out, and the horses are all three dead!” “Alas,
husband,” she answered, “what a malicious bird has come into the house! It
has gathered together every bird there is in the world, and they have fallen
on our corn up there, and are devouring it.” Then he went upstairs, and
thousands and thousands of birds were sitting in the loft and had eaten up
all the corn, and the sparrow was sitting in the midst of them. Then the
driver cried, “Oh, what an unfortunate man I am?”
“Not unfortunate enough yet!” answered the sparrow; “waggoner, it shall
cost thee thy life as well,” and flew out.

Then the waggoner had lost all his property, and he went downstairs into
the room, sat down behind the stove and was quite furious and bitter. But
the sparrow sat outside in front of the window, and cried, “Waggoner, it
shall cost thee thy life.” Then the waggoner snatched the axe and threw it at
the sparrow, but it only broke the window, and did not hit the bird. The
sparrow now hopped in, placed itself on the stove and cried, “Waggoner, it
shall cost thee thy life.” The latter, quite mad and blind with rage, smote the
stove in twain, and as the sparrow flew from one place to another so it fared
with all his household furniture, looking-glass, benches, table, and at last
the walls of his house, and yet he could not hit the bird. At length, however,
he caught it with his hand. Then his wife said, “Shall I kill it?” “No,” cried
he, “that would be too merciful. It shall die much more cruelly,” and he
took it and swallowed it whole. The sparrow, however, began to flutter
about in his body, and fluttered up again into the man’s mouth; then it
stretched out its head, and cried, “Waggoner, it shall still cost thee thy life.”
The driver gave the axe to his wife, and said, “Wife, kill the bird in my
mouth for me.” The woman struck, but missed her blow, and hit the
waggoner right on his head, so that he fell dead. But the sparrow flew up
and away.

59 Frederick and Catherine
There was once on a time a man who was called Frederick and a woman
called Catherine, who had married each other and lived together as young
married folks. One day Frederick said, “I will now go and plough,
Catherine; when I come back, there must be some roast meat on the table
for hunger, and a fresh draught for thirst.” “Just go, Frederick,” answered
Kate, “just go, I will have all ready for you.” Therefore when dinner-time
drew near she got a sausage out of the chimney, put it in the frying-pan, put
some butter to it, and set it on the fire. The sausage began to fry and to hiss,
Catherine stood beside it and held the handle of the pan, and had her own
thoughts as she was doing it. Then it occurred to her, “While the sausage is
getting done thou couldst go into the cellar and draw beer.” So she set the
frying-pan safely on the fire, took a can, and went down into the cellar to
draw beer. The beer ran into the can and Kate watched it, and then she
thought, “Oh, dear! The dog upstairs is not fastened up, it might get the
sausage out of the pan. Well thought of.” And in a trice she was up the
cellar-steps again, but the Spitz had the sausage in its mouth already, and
trailed it away on the ground. But Catherine, who was not idle, set out after
it, and chased it a long way into the field; the dog, however, was swifter
than Catherine and did not let the sausage journey easily, but skipped over
the furrows with it. “What’s gone is gone!” said Kate, and turned round,
and as she had run till she was weary, she walked quietly and comfortably,
and cooled herself. During this time the beer was still running out of the
cask, for Kate had not turned the tap. And when the can was full and there
was no other place for it, it ran into the cellar and did not stop until the
whole cask was empty. As soon as Kate was on the steps she saw the
mischance. “Good gracious!” she cried. “What shall I do now to stop
Frederick knowing it!” She thought for a while, and at last she remembered
that up in the garret was still standing a sack of the finest wheat flour from
the last fair, and she would fetch that down and strew it over the beer.
“Yes,” said she, “he who saves a thing when he ought, has it afterwards
when he needs it,” and she climbed up to the garret and carried the sack