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Title: Grimm's Fairy Tales

Author: Jacob Grimm
Wilhelm Grimm

Editor: Frances Jenkins Olcott

Illustrator: Rie Cramer

Release date: July 7, 2016 [eBook #52521]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

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HE SAID, “LITTLE TABLE SET THYSELF!”

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(HTML file Illustrated with pen and ink drawings by
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R. E. Owen)

52521(HTML file with illustrations in color by Rie Cramer)

GRIMM’S FAIRY
TALES

EDITED BY

FRANCES JENKINS OLCOTT

Illustrated By
Rie Cramer

THE PENN PUBLISHING
COMPANY PHILADELPHIA

1927

COPYRIGHT
1922 BY
THE PENN
PUBLISHING
C O M PA N Y

Grimm’s Fairy Tales

Printed in the U. S. A.

FOREWORD

T o our American boys and girls is offered this volume which is really
Grimm’s Fairy Tales, not an abridgment superficial and
colorless, nor an insipid retelling of the stories.

This edition is based on the Hunt version, with an introduction by the
folk-lorist, Andrew Lang. The Hunt version is considered a most accurate
English translation.
From the full collection, fifty-one stories suitable for children have
been selected. Among these are famous tales as well as many delightful
ones not usually included in children’s volumes.
Where the Hunt wording is too stilted, the text of the Hausmärchen
itself has been followed. The very long sentences have been subdivided.
While that quaint old-fashioned translation, illustrated with woodcuts by
Wehnert, has contributed its bit of folk phraseology. The Editor’s desire is
to restore to the children as large a collection as possible of Grimm’s Fairy
Tales unmutilated in their literary perfection.
The illustrations are by the well-known Dutch artist, Mrs. Rie Cramer.
Some of Rie Cramer’s other fairy tale pictures published in England, are
said by admiring critics there, to be very charming, of exceptional merit,
and to have high artistic merit of their own.
Her illustrations for Grimm are particularly harmonious in color, while
their quaint charm grows on one more and more as one lives with them.
They are fanciful or humorous. They have the quality, rare in fairy tales, of
actually illustrating their text. This will mean added pleasure to the
children. Rie Cramer’s little black and white headings are particularly pretty
and graceful in outline.
The tales are presented here in their original form, with nothing left out
of child-heartedness, humor, poetic feeling, and delicate sentiment and
fancy. Indeed, it is all here—the poesy and purity which those profound and

child-loving scholars, the Brothers Grimm, retained in the old folk-tales
which, with so much pains, they gathered largely from among the peasant-
folk themselves.
And the Brothers explained, in their preface, that they had planned the
volume as an educational book as well as one for scholars; for which reason
they had eliminated everything which they feared might harm the children.
But since the Brothers issued their book, about a hundred years ago,
educational requirements of what is ethically best for children have
materially advanced. Therefore, in this book, a few other parts unsuitable
for children have been omitted.
So now this volume of Grimm’s Fairy Tales is offered to our American
boys and girls; and may they have continued delight in the beautiful old
folk-fictions, which have come down to us from the fresh and sparkling
meadows and woods of ancient days.
Fathers and mothers, too, will enjoy reading the tales aloud and sharing
with the children the humor and the deep but simple ethical truths so
tenderly and poetically set forth therein.
Teachers and story-tellers, also, may find in this sincere version, rich
material for kindling the imagination and feeding the poetic fancy of their
pupils.
The Editor,
Frances Jenkins Olcott.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Editor’s acknowledgments are due to the following texts:
Kinder und Hausmärchen, following the last edition authorized by
William Grimm with the Grimm Introduction on the origin and educational
use of the tales.
Household Stories, illustrated by Wehnert, first published in London,
1853.
But most especially to Household Tales, with the Author’s notes,
translated by Margaret Hunt, introduction by Andrew Lang, Bohn Library.
For the use of the Hunt text the Editor gratefully acknowledges the
gracious permission of Messrs. Harcourt, Brace and Company, American
Publishers of the Bohn Library.

CONTENTS
PAGE
The Frog-King; or, Iron Henry 13
The Wolf and the Seven Little Kids 19
Rapunzel 24
Little Brother and Little Sister 30
The Star-Money 39
The Fisherman and His Wife 41
The White Snake 53
Haensel and Grethel 59
The Seven Ravens 69
Ash-Maiden 73
The Elves and the Shoemaker 83
The Three Brothers 86
Little Table Set Thyself, Gold-Ass, and Cudgel
Out of the Sack 89
Iron John 105
Clever Elsie 117
The Bremen Town-Musicians 122
The Six Swans 127
The Poor Miller’s Boy and the Cat 134
Little Red-Cap 140
King Thrushbeard 145
The Gold-Children 151
Little Snow-White 159

Rumpelstiltskin 171
Little Briar-Rose 176
The Three Little Men in the Wood 181
The Golden Bird 187
The Queen Bee 197
Bird-Found 200
The Golden Goose 204
Mother Holle 208
The Two Travelers 213
Jorinda and Joringel 228
How Six Men Got On in the World 232
The Goose-Girl 240
The Singing, Soaring Lark 249
Doctor Knowall 257
The Blue Light 260
The Spindle, the Shuttle, and the Needle 267
The Three Luck-Children 272
The Donkey Cabbages 276
Clever Hans 285
The Iron Stove 291
Sweet Porridge 299
Snow-White and Rose-Red 301
The Hedge-King 310
One-Eye, Two-Eyes, and Three-Eyes 314
The Goose-Girl at the Well 325
The Shoes That Were Danced to Pieces 338
The Nix of the Mill-Pond 344
The Little House in the Wood 352

Maid Maleen 360

ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
He Said, “Little Table Set Thyself!” Frontispiece
The Little Kids Cried, “First Show Us Your
Paws” 20
The King Said, “Will You Be My Dear
Wife?” 35
“Yes,” Said She, “Now I Am Emperor” 48
There Lay the Gold Ring in the Shell 57
Each Star Sat on Its Own Little Chair 71
The Elves Began to Stitch, Sew, and Hammer 84
The King’s Daughter Pulled Off His Hat, and
His Golden Hair Rolled Down 111
The Princess Went Out and Gathered Star-
Flowers 130
“Well,” She Laughed, “He Has a Chin Like a
Thrush’s Beak” 146
The Maiden Said, “I Will Be True to You,
Your Life Long” 155
“Perhaps,” Said She, “Your Name is
Rumpelstiltskin?” 174
In the Moonlight He Saw a Bird Whose
Feathers Were Shining with Gold 188
A Heavy Shower of Gold-Rain Fell 210
The Eldest Got the Merry Tailor for a
Husband 227

The Head Answered, “Alas! Young Queen
How Ill You Fare” 244
The First Servant Came With a Dish of
Delicate Fare 258
When the Corn Was Ripe, They Shot It
Down 273
Then the King’s Daughter Came to a Little
House and Peeped in Through the
Window 294
“Don’t Be Impatient,” Said Snow-White, “I
Will Help You” 306
When the Gray Mask Fell Off, the Golden
Hair Broke Forth Like Sunbeams 333
The Full Moon Came: She Combed Her
Long Black Hair With the Golden Comb 348
The Prince Took Her by the Hand and Led
Her to Church 363

GRIMM’S FAIRY TALES

THE FROG-KING; OR, IRON HENRY

I n old times, when wishing was having, 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 fountain. 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 in
the air and caught it. And this ball was her favorite plaything.
Now, it so happened one day, the King’s Daughter’s golden ball did not
fall into the little hand which she was holding up for it, but on to the
ground, 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 you, King’s
Daughter? You weep so that even a stone would show pity.”
She looked round to the side from whence the voice came, and saw a
Frog stretching its thick, ugly head from the water. “Ah! old water-splasher,
is it you?” said she; “I am weeping for my golden ball, which has fallen into
the fountain.”
“Be quiet, and do not weep,” answered the Frog, “I can help you. But
what will you give me if I bring your plaything up again?”

“Whatever you will 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 your clothes, your pearls and
jewels, or your golden crown, but if you will love me and let me be your
companion and playfellow, and sit by you at your little table, and eat off
your little golden plate, and drink out of your little cup, and sleep in your
little bed—if you will promise me this, I will go down below, and bring
your golden ball up again.”
“Oh, yes,” said she, “I promise you all you wish, if you will but bring
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. In a short time he came swimming 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 you. I can’t run as you can.”
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 fountain 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. When it got to
the top, it knocked at the door, and cried:
“King’s Daughter, youngest.
Open the door!”

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 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 are you so afraid of? Is there a Giant outside who wants to
carry you away?”

“Ah, no,” replied she, “it is no Giant, but a disgusting Frog.”
“What does the Frog want with you?”
“Ah, dear Father, yesterday when I was in the forest sitting by the
fountain, playing, my golden ball fell into the water. And because I cried so,
the Frog brought it out again for me. And because he insisted so on it, I
promised him he should be my companion; but I never thought he would be
able to come out of the water! And now he is here, and wants to come in.”
In the meantime, it knocked a second time, and cried:
“King’s Daughter, youngest!
Open to me!
Don’t you remember yesterday,
And all that you to me did say,
Beside the cooling fountain’s spray?
King’s Daughter, youngest!
Open to me!”

Then said the King, “That which you have promised you must 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 still and cried, “Lift me up beside
you.”
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 your 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 your little room and make your 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 you when you were
in trouble, ought not afterward to be despised.”
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 you; lift me up or I will tell your father.”
Then she was terribly angry, and took him up and threw him with all
her might against the wall.
“Now, you will 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 fountain 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
coach came rolling up drawn by eight white horses, with white ostrich
feathers on their heads. They 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
three iron bands laid round his heart, lest it should burst with grief and
sadness.
The coach 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 coach does break!”
“No, no, my lord, you do mistake!
It is the band around my heart,
That felt such great and bitter smart,
When you were in the fountain strange,
When you into a Frog were changed!”

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.

THE WOLF AND THE SEVEN LITTLE
KIDS

T here was once on 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 cried,
“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 his rough voice. “We
will not open the door,” cried they; “you are not our mother. She has a soft,
pleasant voice, but your voice is rough. You are the Wolf!”
Then the Wolf went away to a shopkeeper, and bought a great lump of
chalk, ate this and made his voice soft with it. Then he came back, knocked
at the door of the house, and 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 you. You are the Wolf!”
Then the Wolf ran to a baker, and said, “I have hurt my feet, rub some
dough over them for me.”

And when the baker had rubbed his feet over, he ran to the miller and
said, “Strew some white meal over my feet for me.” The miller thought to
himself, “The Wolf wants to deceive some one,” and refused. But the Wolf
said, “If you will not do it, I will devour you.” Then the miller was afraid,
and made his paws white for him. Yes! so are men!
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 from the forest
with her.”
The little Kids cried, “First show us your paws that we may know if
you are our dear little mother.”
Then he put his paws in through the window. And when the Kids saw
that they were white, they believed all that he said, and opened the door.
But who should come in but the Wolf!

THE LITTLE KIDS CRIED, “FIRST SHOW US YOUR PAWS”

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 made no
delay, but swallowed one after the other down his throat. The youngest 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 afterward, 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
called 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 he was
snoring so loud that the branches shook. She looked at him on every side
and saw that something was moving and struggling in his stomach. “Ah!”
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. Hardly had she made
one cut, than a little Kid thrust its head out, and when she had cut farther, all
six sprang out one after another, and were all still alive, and had suffered no
hurt whatever, for in his greediness the monster had swallowed them whole.
What rejoicing there was! They embraced their dear mother, and
jumped like a tailor at his wedding. The mother, however, said, “Now go
and look for some big stones. We will fill the wicked beast’s stomach with
them, while he is 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 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 to move about, the stones in his
stomach knocked against each other and rattled. Then cried he:
“What rumbles and tumbles
Against my poor bones?
I thought ’twas six Kids,
But it’s only 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. There was no help for it,
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.

RAPUNZEL

T here was 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. It 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 a Witch, 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 ails you, dear Wife?”
“Ah,” she replied, “if I can’t get some of the rampion to eat, which is in
the garden behind our house, I shall die.”
The man, who loved her, thought, “Sooner than let your wife die, bring
her some of the rampion yourself, let it cost you what it will!”
In the twilight of evening, he clambered over the wall into the garden
of the Witch, 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 Witch standing before him.

“How dare you,” said she with angry look, “descend into my garden
and steal my rampion like a thief? You shall suffer for it!”
“Ah,” answered he, “let mercy take the place of justice! I had 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 Witch let her anger be softened, and said to him, “If the case
be as you say, I will allow you to take away with you as much rampion as
you will, only I make one condition, you must give me the child which your
wife will bring into the world. It shall be well treated, and I will care for it
like a mother.”
The man in his terror consented to everything, and when the woman at
last had a little daughter, the Witch 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 Witch 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 Witch wanted to go in, she placed herself beneath this, and cried:
“Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down thy hair.”

Rapunzel had magnificent long hair, fine as spun gold, and when she heard
the voice of the Witch, she unfastened her braided tresses and wound them
round one of the hooks of the window above. And then the hair fell twenty
ells down, and the Witch 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 a Witch
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 Witch climbed up to
her.
“If that is the ladder by which one mounts, I will for once try my
fortune,” said he.
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, so 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 also, “I will willingly go away with you, but I do not know
how to get down. Bring with you a skein of silk every time that you come,
and I will weave a ladder with it. When that is ready I will descend, and you
will take me on your horse.”
They agreed that until that time, he should come to her every evening,
for the old woman came by day. The Witch remarked nothing of this, until
once Rapunzel said to her, “Tell me, Dame Gothel, how it happens that you
are so much heavier for me to draw up, than the young King’s Son—he is
with me in a moment.”

“Ah! you wicked Child!” cried the Witch. “What do I hear you say! I
thought I had separated you from all the world, and yet you have deceived
me!”
In her anger she clutched Rapunzel’s beautiful tresses, wrapped them
twice round her left hand, seized a pair of scissors with the right, and snip,
snap, they were cut off, and the lovely braids lay on the ground. And she
was so pitiless that she took poor Rapunzel into a desert, where she had to
live in great grief and misery.
On the same day, however, that she cast out Rapunzel, the Witch, 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. He did not find his dearest Rapunzel above,
but the Witch, who gazed at him with wicked and venomous looks.
“Aha!” she cried mockingly, “you would fetch your dearest! But the
beautiful bird sits no longer singing in the nest. The cat has got it, and will
scratch out your eyes as well. Rapunzel is lost to you! You will never see
her more!”
The King’s Son was beside himself with grief 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 lived in wretchedness. He heard a voice, and it
seemed so familiar to him that he went toward it. 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, happy and contented.

LITTLE BROTHER AND LITTLE SISTER

L ittle brother took his little sister by the hand and said, “Since our
mother died, we have had no happiness; our stepmother 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. 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 and shone
down hot into the tree. Then the little brother said, “Little Sister, I am
thirsty. If I knew of a little brook I would go and take a drink. I think I hear
one running.” The little brother got up and took the little sister by the hand,
and they set off to find the brook.
But the wicked stepmother was a Witch, and had seen how the two
children had gone away. She had crept after them, 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 little brother was going to drink out of it, but the little sister heard how it
said as it ran:
“Who drinks of me, a Tiger be!
Who drinks of me, a Tiger be!”

Then the little sister cried, “Pray, dear little Brother, do not drink, or you
will become a wild beast, and tear me to pieces.”
The little 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 little sister heard this say:
“Who drinks of me, a wild Wolf be!
Who drinks of me, a wild Wolf be!”

Then the little sister cried out, “Pray, dear little Brother, do not drink, or you
will become a Wolf, and devour me.”
The little 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 little sister heard how it
said as it ran:
“Who drinks of me, a Roebuck be!
Who drinks of me, a Roebuck be!”

The little sister said, “Oh, I pray you, dear little Brother, do not drink, or
you will become a Roe, and run away from me.”
But the little brother had knelt 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 Roe.
And now the little sister wept over her poor bewitched little 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 Roe’s neck, and
she plucked rushes and wove them into a soft cord. With this she tied the
little animal and led it on; and she walked deeper and deeper into the forest.
And when they had gone a very long way, they came to a little house.
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.
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 little
sister was tired, and had said her prayer, she laid her head upon the Roe’s
back: that was her pillow, and she slept softly on it. And if only the little
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 Roe heard all, and was only too
anxious to be there.
“Oh,” said he to his little 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 Roe 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 was gone.
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 Roe 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 password.”
When the King and his huntsmen again saw the young Roe 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 by 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 little Roe 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 Roe, 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 little 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 little sister could not do otherwise, but opened the door for
him with a heavy heart, and the Roe, full of health and joy, bounded away
into the forest.
When the King saw him, he said to his huntsman, “Now chase him all
day long till nightfall, but take care that no one does him any harm.”
As soon as the sun had set, the King said to the huntsmen, “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 with 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?”

THE KING SAID, “WILL YOU BE MY DEAR WIFE?”

“Yes, indeed,” answered the maiden, “but the little Roe must go with
me. I cannot leave him.”
The King said, “He shall stay with you as long as you live, and shall
want nothing.”
Just then he came running in, and the little 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 Roe was tended
and cherished, and ran about in the palace-garden.
But the wicked Witch, because of whom the children had gone out into
the world, thought all the time that the little sister had been torn to pieces by
the wild beasts in the wood, and that the little brother had been shot for a
Roe 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 as 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. It happened that the
King was out hunting; so the old Witch took the form of the chambermaid,
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 weak Queen into
the bathroom, and put her into the bath. Then they shut the door and ran
away. But in the bathroom 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 nursed 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 Roe, but
went into the corner where he lay, and stroked his back. Then she went
quite silently out of the door again.
The next morning, the nurse asked the guards whether any one 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 any one 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 moe!”

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 shall I come, then never moe!”

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 moe!”

At that the King could not restrain himself. He sprang toward 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 toward 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 Roe changed his shape, and received
his human form again. So the little sister and little brother lived happily
together all their lives.

THE STAR-MONEY

T here was once on a time, a little girl whose father and mother were
dead. She was so poor that she no longer had any little room to
live in, or bed to sleep in. At last, she had nothing else but the
clothes she was wearing and a little bit of bread in her hand which some
charitable soul had given her. She was, however, good and pious.

And as she was thus forsaken by all the world, she went forth into the
open country, trusting in the good God.
Then a poor man met her, who said, “Ah, give me something to eat, I
am so hungry!”
She reached him the whole of her piece of bread, and said, “May God
bless it to your use,” and went onward.
Then came a child who moaned and said, “My head is so cold, give me
something to cover it with.”
So she took off her hood and gave it to him.
And when she had walked a little farther, she met another child who
had no jacket and was frozen with cold. Then she gave it her own.
A little farther on one begged for a frock, and she gave away that also.
At length, she got into a forest and it had already become dark, and
there came yet another child, and asked for a little shirt. The good little girl
thought to herself, “It is a dark night and no one sees me. I can very well
give my little shirt away,” and took it off, and gave away that also.
And she so stood, and had not one single thing left. Then suddenly
some Stars from heaven fell down, and they were nothing else but hard
smooth pieces of money! And although she had just given her little shirt
away, lo! she had a new one which was of the very finest linen.
Then she gathered together the money into this, and was rich all the
days of her life.

THE FISHERMAN AND HIS WIFE

T here 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 want to oppose his
wife, and went to the sea.
When he got there the sea was all green and yellow, and no longer
smooth. So he stood and said:
“Flounder, Flounder in the sea,
Come, I pray thee, here to me;
For my wife, Dame 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 got 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; “go at once, 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 did not wish to 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 gray and thick, and no longer 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, Dame Ilsabil,
Wills not as I’d have her will.”

“Well, what does she want, now?” 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 home, and when he got there, he found a great
stone palace, and his wife was just standing on the steps going in. She took
him by the hand and said, “Come in.”
So he went with her, and in the castle was a great hall paved with
marble, and many servants, who flung wide the doors. The walls were all
bright with beautiful hangings, and in the rooms were chairs and tables of
pure gold. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and all the rooms and

bedrooms had carpets. 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 courtyard, 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. 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 at once. 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-gray, 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, Dame Ilsabil,
Wills not as I’d have her will.”

“Well, what does she want, now?” 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. The
sentinel was standing before the door, and there were numbers of soldiers
with kettledrums 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 splendor, 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. 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, 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, Dame Ilsabil,
Wills not as I’d have her will.”

“Well, what does she want, now?” 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. 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. 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 than, 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.”

“YES,” SAID SHE “NOW I AM EMPEROR”

“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 toward 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. 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, Dame Ilsabil,
Wills not as I’d have her will.”

“Well, what does she want, now?” 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 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 churchly splendor. 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.”

“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 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,” said she, 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. Will you 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, 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, Dame Ilsabil,
Wills not as I’d have her will.”

“Well; what does she want, now?” 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 at this very time.

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 and even the servant did not know what was
in it. Neither did any one 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 to understand 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 should be 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. 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 long enough to be roasted.”
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. The King, to make
amends for the wrong, allowed him to ask a favor, and promised him the
best place in the Court. The servant refused everything, and asked only 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.
One day he 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. 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 folk, with their clumsy beasts, keep off our bodies? That stupid
horse, with his heavy hoofs, has been treading down my people without
mercy!”
So he turned on to a side path and the Ant-King cried out to him, “We
will remember you—-one good turn deserves another!”

The path led him into a wood, and there he saw two old ravens standing
by their nest, and throwing out their young ones. “Out with you, you idle,
good-for-nothing creatures!” cried they; “we cannot find food for you any
longer. You are big enough, and can provide for yourselves.”
But the poor young ravens lay upon the ground flapping their wings,
and crying, “Oh, what helpless chicks we are! We must shift for ourselves,
and yet we cannot fly! What can we do, but lie here and starve?”
So the good young fellow alighted and killed his horse with his sword,
and gave it to them for food. Then they came hopping up to it, satisfied
their hunger, and cried, “We will remember you—one good turn deserves
another!”
And now he had to use his own legs, and when he had walked a long
way, he came to a large city. There was a great noise and crowd in the
streets, and a man rode up on horseback, crying aloud, “The King’s
Daughter wants a husband. But whoever sues for her hand must perform a
hard task. 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 cast into it. Then the
King ordered him to fetch this ring up from the bottom of the sea, and
added, “If you come up 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.

THERE LAY THE GOLD RING IN THE SHELL

He stood on the shore and considered what he should do, when
suddenly he saw three fishes come swimming toward him. 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. When he had
taken it up and opened it, there lay the gold ring in the shell. Full of joy he
took it to the King, and expected that he would grant him the promised
reward.

But when the proud Princess perceived that he was not her equal in
birth, she scorned him, and required him first to perform another task. She
went down into the garden and strewed with her own hands ten sacksful of
millet-seed on the grass.
Then she said, “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 he might
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-
seeds 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 forever, 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 homeward, and took the Golden Apple to
the King’s beautiful Daughter, who had now no more excuses left to make.
They cut the Apple of Life in two and ate it together; and then her heart

became full of love for him, and they lived to a great age in undisturbed
happiness.

HAENSEL AND GRETHEL

H ard by a great forest, dwelt a poor woodcutter with his wife and
his two children. The boy was called Haensel 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. 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.”
“Oh, you fool!” said she. “Then we must all four die of hunger. You
may 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 the woman had said to their father.
Grethel wept bitter tears, and said to Haensel, “Now all is over with
us.”
“Be quiet, Grethel,” said Haensel, “do not distress yourself, I will soon
find a way to help us.”

And when the old folk 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. Haensel 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 Haensel 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, Haensel stood still and peeped back, and did so
again and again while he was throwing the white pebble-stones one by one
out of his pocket onto 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.”
Haensel 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.”
Haensel 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, however, not the axe, it was a
branch which he had fastened to a withered tree which the wind was
blowing backward and forward. 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 Haensel comforted her, and said, “Just wait a little, until the moon
has risen, and then we shall soon find the way.”
And when the full moon had risen, Haensel 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 Haensel 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 afterward, there was another famine 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 you
to share the last mouthful with your children!” The woman, however, would
listen to nothing that he had to say, but scolded and reproached him. He
who says A must say B, likewise, and as he had yielded the first time, he
had to do so a second time also.
The children were, however, still awake and had heard the
conversation. When the old folk were asleep, Haensel again got up to go out
and pick up pebbles. But the woman had locked the door, and Haensel
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, Haensel crumbled his in his
pocket, and often stood still and threw a morsel on the ground, and 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. 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 Haensel, who
had scattered his by the way. Then they fell asleep, and evening passed, but
no one came to the poor children.
They did not awake until it was dark night, and Haensel 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. 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. Haensel 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, 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. If help did
not come soon, they must die of hunger and weariness!
When it was midday, 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. They followed it until they reached a little house, on the roof of
which it alighted.
When they came quite up to the little House they saw that it was built
of bread and covered with cakes, but that the windows were of clear sugar.
“We will set to work on that,” said Haensel, “and have a good meal. I
will eat a bit of the roof, and you, Grethel, can eat some of the window; it
will taste sweet.”

Haensel reached up and broke off a little of the roof to try how it tasted.
Grethel leant against the window and nibbled at the panes. Then a soft voice
cried from the room:
“Nibble, nibble, gnaw!
Who nibbles at my door?”

but the children went on eating without disturbing themselves. Haensel,
who thought the roof tasted very nice, tore down a great piece of it. 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, leaning on
crutches, came creeping out. Haensel 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 she set good food before them, milk and pancakes, with sugar, apples,
and nuts. Afterward she covered two pretty little beds with clean white
linen, and Haensel and Grethel lay down in them, and thought they were in
Heaven.
The Old Woman had only pretended to be so kind. She was really a
wicked Witch, who lay in wait for children, and who had built the little
bread house 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
Haensel 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 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 Haensel 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 your 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 Haensel, while Grethel got
nothing but crab-shells. Every morning the woman crept to the little stable,
and cried, “Haensel, stretch out your finger that I may feel if you will soon
be fat.”
When four weeks had gone by she was seized with impatience and
would not wait any longer. “Ho, there! Grethel,” she cried to the girl, “be
active, and bring some water. Let Haensel 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 your noise to yourself,” said the Old Woman, “all that won’t
help you at all.”
Early in the morning, Grethel had to go out and hang up the cauldron,
full of 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 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 eat her, too.
But Grethel saw what she had in her mind, and would not creep 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 in. Then she fell
over into the oven and was miserably burnt to death.
Grethel, however, ran as quick as lightning to Haensel, opened his little
stable, and cried, “Haensel, we are saved! The old Witch is dead!”
Then Haensel 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 Haensel, 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 Haensel, “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 Haensel, “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,
Haensel and Grethel are waiting for thee?
There’s never a plank, nor a bridge in sight,
Take us across on thy back so white.”

The duck came to them, and Haensel seated himself on her 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. At length, they saw from afar their father’s house. Then they began
to run, rushed into the parlor, 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 Haensel threw one handful after another out of his pocket to
add to them. Then all trouble 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, big fur cap out of it!

THE SEVEN RAVENS

T here was once a man who had seven sons, but never a daughter no
matter how much he wished for one.

At length, his wife had a child, and it was a daughter. The joy was
great. But the child was sickly and small, and so weak that it had to be
baptized at once.
The father sent one of the boys in a hurry to the spring, to fetch water
for the baptism. The other six boys ran along with him. And as each strove
to be the first to fill the jug, it fell into the spring. There they stood, and did
not know what to do. None of them dared to go home.
When they did not come back, the father grew impatient, and said,
“They have forgotten all about it in a game of play, the wicked boys!”
Soon he grew afraid lest the child should die without being baptized,
and he cried out in anger, “I wish the boys were all turned into Ravens!”
Hardly was the word spoken, before he heard a whirring of wings in the
air above his head. He looked up, and saw seven coal-black Ravens flying
high and away.
The parents could not recall the curse. And though they grieved over
the loss of their seven sons, yet they comforted themselves somewhat with
their dear little daughter, who soon grew strong and every day more
beautiful.
For a long time, she did not know that she had had brothers. Her
parents were careful not to mention them before her. But one day, she
chanced to overhear some people talking about her, and saying, “that the
maiden is certainly beautiful, but really to blame for the misfortune of 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 was become of
them.

The parents did not dare to keep the secret longer, and said that her
birth was only the innocent cause of what had happened to her brothers. But
the maiden laid it daily to heart, and thought that she must deliver her
brothers.
She had no peace and rest until she set out secretly, and went forth into
the wide world to seek them out, 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 onward, 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!”

EACH STAR SAT ON ITS OWN LITTLE CHAIR

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 little chair. But the
Morning Star arose, and gave her the drumstick of a chicken, and said, “If
you have not that drumstick you cannot open the Glass Mountain, and in
the Glass Mountain are your brothers.”
The maiden took the drumstick, wrapped it carefully in a cloth, and
went onward 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 little sister took a knife, cut off one of her little
fingers, put it in the door, and succeeded in opening it.
When she had got 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 wish to
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. 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 little 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.

ASH-MAIDEN

T he 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 dear God will
always protect you, and I will look down on you from Heaven and be near
you.” 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 child. “Is the stupid goose to sit in the parlor 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 gray 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 Ash-Maiden.
It happened once that the father was going to the Fair, and he asked the
two daughters what he should bring back for them.
“Beautiful dresses,” said one. “Pearls and jewels,” said the second.

“And you, Ash-Maiden,” said he, “what will you 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 the two 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 the two daughters the things which
they had wished for, and to Ash-Maiden he gave the branch from the hazel-
bush. Ash-Maiden 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.
It grew, however, and became a handsome tree. Thrice a day Ash-
Maiden went and sat beneath it, and wept and prayed, and a little White
Bird always came on the tree. And if Ash-Maiden expressed a wish, the bird
threw down to her what she had wished for.
It happened that the King gave a feast, which was to last three days. To
it all the beautiful young girls in the country were invited, in order that his
son might choose himself a Bride. When the two sisters heard that they too
were to appear among the number, they were delighted.
They called Ash-Maiden and said, “Comb our hair, brush our shoes,
and fasten our buckles, for we are going to the feast at the King’s palace.”
Ash-Maiden obeyed, but wept, because she too would have liked to go
with them to the dance, and she begged her mother to allow her to do so.
“You go, Ash-Maiden!” said she; “you are dusty and dirty, and would
go to the feast? You have no clothes and shoes, and yet would dance!”
As, however, Ash-Maiden went on asking, the mother at last said, “I
have emptied a dish of lentils into the ashes for you. If you have picked
them out again in two hours, you shall go with us.”
The maiden went through the back-door into the garden, and called,
“You tame Pigeons, you Turtledoves, 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 afterward
the turtledoves. 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 the mother, and was glad, and believed
that now she would be allowed to go with them to the feast.
But the mother said, “No, Ash-Maiden, you have no clothes and you
cannot dance. You would only be laughed at.”
And as Ash-Maiden wept at this, the mother said, “If you can pick two
dishes of lentils out of the ashes for me in one hour, you shall go with us.”
And she thought to herself, “That she most certainly cannot do.”
When the 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 Turtledoves, 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 afterward
the turtledoves. And at last 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 mother and was delighted,
and believed that she might now go with them to the feast.
But the mother said, “All this will not help you. You go not with us, for
you have no clothes and cannot dance. We should be ashamed of you!”

Then she turned her back on Ash-Maiden, and hurried away with her
two proud daughters.
As no one was now at home, Ash-Maiden went to her mother’s grave
beneath the hazel-tree, and cried:
“Shiver and quiver, Little Tree,
Silver and gold throw 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 feast.
Her sisters and the 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 Ash-Maiden, 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 he danced with
her. He would dance with no other maiden, and never let go 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 you and bear you 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 Ash-Maiden?” 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, Ash-Maiden lay in her dirty clothes among
the ashes, and a dim little oil-lamp was burning on the mantelpiece. For
Ash-Maiden had jumped quickly down from the back of the pigeon-house,
and had run to the little hazel-tree. There she had taken off her beautiful
clothes and laid them on the grave, and the bird had taken them away again.
Then she had placed herself in the kitchen amongst the ashes, in her gray
gown.

Next day, when the feast began afresh, and her parents and the sisters
had gone once more, Ash-Maiden went to the hazel-tree, and said:
“Shiver and quiver, Little Tree,
Silver and gold throw over me!”

Then the bird threw down a much more beautiful dress than on the
preceding day. And when Ash-Maiden appeared at the feast 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 arrived, 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, like a squirrel, so nimbly between the branches, 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 Ash-Maiden?” and had an axe brought
and cut the tree down, but no one was on it.
And when they got into the kitchen, Ash-Maiden 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 had put on
her gray gown.
On the third day, when the parents and sisters had gone away, Ash-
Maiden went once more to her mother’s grave, and said to the little tree:
“Shiver and quiver, Little Tree,
Silver and gold throw 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 feast 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, Ash-Maiden 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, however, 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, for the shoe was too small for
her.
Then her mother gave her a knife, and said, “Cut the toe off. When you
are Queen you will 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 your heel.
When you are Queen you will 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 only a little stunted kitchen-girl 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 insisted on it, and Ash-Maiden 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 mother and the two sisters were terrified and became pale with
rage. He, however, took Ash-Maiden 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 Ash-Maiden’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 favor with Ash-Maiden 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. Afterward 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.

THE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER

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 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, lo! both shoes stood all finished on his table. He was
astounded, and did not know what to say. He took the shoes in his hands to
examine them closer, and they were so neatly made that there was not one
bad stitch in them, just as if they were meant for a masterpiece.
Soon after, a buyer came in, and as the shoes pleased him 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 morning,
so that he soon had his honest living 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 there, and watched.

When it was midnight, two pretty tiny naked Little Men came, sat
down by the shoemaker’s table, took all the work which was cut out before
them and began to stitch, 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 then 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
much, and have nothing on, and must be cold. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I
will make them little shirts, coats, vests, and trousers, and knit both of them
a pair of stockings. Do you make them two little pairs of shoes.”
The man said, “I shall be very glad to do it.”

THE ELVES BEGAN TO STITCH, SEW, AND HAMMER

And one night, when everything was ready, they laid their presents,
instead of the cut-out work, all together on the table, 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, 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.

THE THREE BROTHERS

T here was once a man who had three sons, and nothing else in the
world but the house in which he lived. Now each of the sons
wished to have the house after his father’s death; but the father
loved them all alike, and did not know what to do. He did not wish to sell
the house, because it had belonged to his forefathers, else he might have
divided the money amongst them.

At last a plan came into his head, and he said to his sons, “Go into the
world, and try each of you to learn a trade. When you all come back, he
who makes the best masterpiece shall have the house.”
The sons were well content with this, and the eldest determined to be a
blacksmith, the second a barber, and the third a fencing-master. They fixed
a time when they should all come home again, and then each went his way.
It chanced that they all found skilful masters, who taught them their
trades well. The blacksmith had to shoe the King’s horses, and he thought to
himself, “The house is mine, without doubt.” The barber shaved only great
people, and he too already looked upon the house as his own. The fencing-
master got many a blow, but he only bit his lip, and let nothing vex him;
“for,” said he to himself, “if you are afraid of a blow, you’ll never win the
house.”
When the appointed time had gone by, the three brothers came back
home to their father. But they did not know how to find the best opportunity
for showing their skill, so they sat down and consulted together.
As they were sitting thus, all at once a hare came running across the
field. “Ah, ha, just in time!” said the barber. So he took his basin and soap,
and lathered away until the hare came up. Then he soaped and shaved off
the hare’s whiskers whilst he was running at the top of his speed, and did
not even cut his skin or injure a hair on his body.

“Well done!” said the old man, “your brothers will have to exert
themselves wonderfully, or the house will be yours.”
Soon after, up came a nobleman in his coach, dashing along at full
speed. “Now you shall see what I can do, Father,” said the blacksmith. So
away he ran after the coach, took all four shoes off the feet of one of the
horses whilst he was galloping, and put on four new shoes without stopping
him.
“You are a fine fellow, and as clever as your brother,” said his father. “I
do not know to which I ought to give the house.”
Then the third son said, “Father, let me have my turn, if you please.”
And, as it was beginning to rain, he drew his sword, and flourished it
backward and forward above his head so fast that not a drop fell upon him.
It rained still harder and harder, till at last it came down in torrents. But he
only flourished his sword faster and faster, and remained as dry as if he
were sitting in a house.
When his father saw this he was amazed, and said, “This is the
masterpiece, the house is yours!”
His brothers were satisfied with this, as was agreed before-hand. And,
as they loved one another very much, they all three stayed together in the
house, followed their trades, and, as they had learnt them so well and were
so clever, they earned a great deal of money.
Thus they lived together Happily, until they grew old. And at last, when
one of them fell sick and died, the two others grieved so sorely about it that
they also fell ill, and soon after died. And because they had been so clever,
and had loved one another so much, they were all laid in the same grave.

LITTLE TABLE SET THYSELF, GOLD-ASS,
AND CUDGEL OUT OF THE SACK

T here 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, have you had enough?”
The goat answered:
“I have eaten so much,
Not a leaf more I’ll touch,
Ma! Ma!”

“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, are you satisfied?”
The goat answered:
“With what should I be satisfied?
Among the graves I leapt about,
And found no food, so went without,
Ma! Ma!”

“What do I hear?” cried the tailor, and ran up-stairs and said to the
youth, “Hollo, you liar; you said the goat had had enough, and have let her
go hungry!” 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, are you
satisfied?”
The goat answered:
“I have eaten so much,
Not a leaf more I’ll touch,
Ma! Ma!”

“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, have you had enough?”
The goat answered:
“With what should I be satisfied?
Among the graves I leapt about,
And found no food, so went without,
Ma! Ma!”

“The godless wretch!” cried the tailor, “to let such a good animal go
hungry,” 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, have you
had enough?”
The goat answered:
“I have eaten so much,
Not a leaf more I’ll touch,
Ma! Ma!”

“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, have
you had enough?”
The wicked beast answered:

“With what should I be satisfied?
Among the graves I leapt about,
And found no leaves, so went without,
Ma! Ma!”

“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 up-stairs 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 myself will take you to feed.”
He took her by the rope and conducted her to green hedges, and
amongst milfoil, and whatever else goats like to eat. “There you may for

once eat to your heart’s content,” said he to her, and let her browse till
evening.
Then he asked, “Goat, are you satisfied?” She replied:
“I have eaten so much,
Not a leaf more I’ll touch,
Ma! Ma!”

“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, are
you satisfied for once?”
But the goat did not behave better to him, and cried:
“With what should I be satisfied?
Among the graves I leapt about,
And found no leaves, so went without,
Ma! Ma!”

When the tailor heard that, he was shocked, and saw clearly that he had
driven away his three sons without cause. “Wait, you ungrateful creature,”
cried he, “it is not enough to drive you forth, I will mark you so that you
will no more dare to show yourself amongst honest tailors!”
In great haste, he ran up-stairs, 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 with mighty leaps.
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 unweariedly, and when the time came for him to go on his travels, his
master presented him with a little table which had no unusual appearance,
and was made of common wood. But it had one good property; if any one
put it down, and said:

“Little Table!
Set 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 you have enough for your
whole life!” and went joyously about the world, and never troubled himself
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 in the plain, a
wood, a meadow, or wherever he fancied, he took his Little Table off his
back, set it down before him, and said:
“Little Table!
Set 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 arrived, one
evening, at 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 joking. He, however, placed his
wooden Little Table in the middle of the room, and said:
“Little Table!
Set thyself!”

Instantly it was covered with food, so good that the host could never have
procured it, and the smell of it arose pleasantly to the noses 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 most, was that when a dish became empty, a full
one instantly took its place. The innkeeper stood in one corner and watched
the doings. He did not know what to say, but thought, “I could easily find
use for such a cook as that in my 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 midday, he reached his father, who received him with great joy.
“Well, my dear son, what have you learnt?” said he to him.
“Father, I have become a joiner.”
“A good trade,” replied the old man; “but what have you brought back
with you from your apprenticeship?”
“Father, the best thing which I have brought back with me is this Little
Table.”
The tailor examined it on all sides and said, “You did not make a
masterpiece, when you made that. It is a bad old table.”
“But it is a table which furnishes itself,” replied the son. “When I put it
down, and tell it to set 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!
Set 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, and
began to tailor again, 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 you have conducted
yourself so well, I give you 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 you set
him on a cloth, and say:
“‘Bricklebrit!’

the good animal will drop gold pieces for you.”
“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, “You
must seek out your father; if you go to him with the Gold-Ass, he will
forget his anger, and receive you well.”
It came to pass, that he reached 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 to tie him up, but the young

apprentice said, “Don’t trouble yourself. I will take my gray horse into the
stable, and tie him up myself, 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
tablecloth 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 went away with the ass,
and thought that he had his Gold-Ass.
At midday he reached his father, who rejoiced to see him again, and
gladly took him in. “What have you made of yourself, my Son?” asked the
old man.
“A miller, dear Father,” he answered.
“What have you brought back with you from your 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 folk.”
“That suits me well,” said the tailor, “for then I shall have no need to
torment myself any longer with the needle;” and he ran out 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 labor, 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 you why,” replied the master; “if any one has done anything
to injure you, do but say:
“‘Cudgel!
Out of the sack!’

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 you say:
“‘Cudgel!
Into the sack!’”

The apprentice thanked him, put the sack on his back, and when any
one came too near him, and wished to attack him, he said:
“Cudgel!
Out of the sack!”

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 any one 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 Little 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 innkeeper 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 innkeeper 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 innkeeper was about to give a
hearty tug, he cried:
“Cudgel!
Out of the sack!”

Instantly the little Cudgel came forth, and fell on the innkeeper, and gave
him a sound thrashing.
The host cried for mercy. But the louder he cried, so much the more
heavily the Cudgel beat time on his back, until at length he fell to the
ground exhausted.
Then the turner said, “If you do not give back the Little Table that sets
itself, and the Gold-Ass, the dance shall begin afresh.”
“Oh, no,” cried the host, quite humbly, “I will gladly bring out
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:
“Cudgel!
Into the sack!”

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 have you brought back with
you from your travels?”
“A precious thing, dear Father,” replied the son, “a Cudgel in the sack.”
“What!” cried the father, “a Cudgel! That’s worth your trouble, indeed!
From every tree you can cut one for yourself.”

“But not one like this, dear Father. If I say:
“‘Cudgel!
Out of the sack!’

the Cudgel springs out and leads any one, who means ill by 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 innkeeper 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 your face that you also would have liked to be
there!)
Then the turner brought the Little Table, and said, “Now, dear Brother,
speak to it.” And scarcely had the carpenter said:
“Little Table!
Set thyself!”

than it was spread, and covered with the most exquisite dishes. Then such a
meal took place as the good tailor had never yet known in his house. 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 splendor.
What, however, has become of the goat, who was to blame for the tailor
driving out his three sons? That I will tell you.

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 you,
brother Fox, why do you 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 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,
you are really pulling a very pitiful face. What has become of all your
jollity?”
“It is all very well for you 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 you! I am a poor weak creature, whom you
would not turn aside to look at. Yet I believe I can help you.” She flew into
the fox’s cave, lighted on the goat’s clean, shaved head, and stung her so
hard that she sprang up crying, “Ma! ma!” and ran forth into the world like
mad; and to this hour no one knows where she has gone.

IRON JOHN

O nce on a time there was a King who had a great forest near his
palace, full of all kinds of wild animals. One day he sent out a
huntsman to shoot him a roe, but he did not come back.

“Perhaps some accident has befallen him,” said the King, and the next
day he sent out two more huntsmen who were to search for him, but they
too stayed away.
Then on the third day, he sent for all his huntsmen, and said, “Scour the
whole forest through, and do not give up until ye have found all three.” But
of these also, none came home again, and of the pack of hounds which they
had taken with them, none were seen more.
From that time forth, no one would any longer venture into the forest,
and it lay in deep stillness and solitude. Nothing was seen but sometimes an
eagle or a hawk flying over it. This lasted for many years, when a strange
huntsman came to the King asking for work, and offered to go into the
dangerous forest. The King, however, would not give his consent, and said,
“It is not safe in there. I fear it would fare with you no better than with the
others, and you would never come out again.”
The huntsman replied, “Lord, I will venture it at my own risk; of fear I
know nothing.”
The huntsman therefore betook himself with his dog to the forest. It
was not long before the dog fell in with some game, and wanted to pursue
it. But hardly had the dog run two steps when he stood before a deep pool
and could go no farther. Then a naked arm stretched itself out of the water,
seized him, and drew him under.
When the huntsman saw that, he went back and fetched three men to
come with buckets and bale out the water. When they could see the bottom,
there lay a Wild Man whose body was brown like rusty iron, and whose hair

hung over his face down to his knees. They bound him with cords, and led
him away to the castle.
There was great astonishment over the Wild Man. The King had him
put in an iron cage in his courtyard, and forbade the door to be opened on
pain of death, and the Queen herself was to take the key into her keeping.
And from this time forth, every one could once more go into the forest with
safety.
The King had a son, eight years old, who one day was playing in the
courtyard, and while he was playing, his golden ball fell into the cage. The
boy ran thither and said, “Give me my ball.”
“Not till you have opened the door for me,” answered the man.
“No,” said the boy, “I will not do that. The King has forbidden it,” and
ran away.
The next day he again went and asked for his ball. The Wild Man said,
“Open my door,” but the boy would not.
On the third day when the King had ridden out hunting, the boy went
once more and said, “I cannot open the door even if I wished, for I have not
the key.”
Then the Wild Man said, “It lies under your mother’s pillow. You can
get it there.”
The boy, who wanted to have his ball back, cast all thought to the
winds, and brought the key. The door opened with difficulty, and the boy
pinched his fingers. When it was open, the Wild Man stepped out, gave him
the golden ball, and hurried away.
But the boy was afraid. He called and cried after him, “Oh, Wild Man,
do not go away, or I shall be beaten!”
The Wild Man turned back, took him up, set him on his shoulder, and
went with hasty steps into the forest.
When the King came home, he saw the empty cage, and asked the
Queen how that had happened. She knew nothing about it, and sought the
key, but it was gone. She called the boy, but no one answered. The King
sent out people to seek for him in the fields, but they did not find him. Then

he could easily guess what had happened, and much grief reigned in the
Royal Court.
When the Wild Man had reached once more the dark forest, he took the
boy down from his shoulder, and said to him, “You will never see your
father and mother again, but I will keep you with me for you have set me
free, and I pity you. If you do all I bid you, you shall fare well. Of treasure
and gold have I enough, and more than any one in the world.”
He made a bed of moss for the boy on which he slept. And the next
morning, the man took him to a well, and said, “Behold, the gold well is as
bright and clear as crystal; you shall sit beside it, and take care that nothing
falls into it, or it will be polluted. I will come every evening to see if you
have obeyed my order.”
The boy placed himself by the margin of the well, and often saw a
golden fish or a golden snake show itself therein, and he took care that
nothing fell in. As he was sitting thus, his finger hurt him so violently that
without thinking he put it in the water. He drew it quickly out again, but
saw that it was quite gilded. And whatsoever pains he took to wash the gold
off again, all was to no purpose.
In the evening, Iron John came back, looked at the boy, and said,
“What has happened to the well?”
“Nothing, nothing,” he answered, and held his finger behind his back,
that the man might not see it.
But he said, “You have dipped your finger into the water. This time it
may pass, but take care you do not again let anything get in.”
At daybreak the boy was already sitting by the well and watching it.
His finger hurt him again, and he passed it over his head, and then
unhappily a hair fell down into the well. He took it quickly out, but it was
quite gilded.
Iron John came, and already knew what had happened. “You have let a
hair fall into the well,” said he. “I will allow you to watch by it once more,
but if this happens the third time, then the well will be polluted, and you can
no longer remain with me.”

On the third day, the boy sat by the well, and did not stir his finger,
however much it hurt him. But the time was long to him, and he looked at
the reflection of his face on the surface of the water. And as he still bent
down more and more trying to look straight into the eyes, his long hair fell
down from his shoulders into the water. He raised himself up quickly, but
the whole of the hair of his head was golden, and shone like the sun.
You may imagine how terrified the poor boy was! He took his pocket-
handkerchief and tied it round his head, in order that the man might not see
it.
When he came, he already knew everything, and said, “Take off the
handkerchief.” Then the golden hair streamed forth, and let the boy excuse
himself as he might, it was of no use. “You have not stood the trial, and can
no longer stay here. Go forth into the world. There you will learn what
poverty is. But as you have not a bad heart, and as I mean well by you,
there is one thing I will grant you. If you fall into any difficulty, come to the
forest and cry, ‘Iron John,’ and then I will come and help you. My power is
great, greater than you think, and I have gold and silver in abundance.”
Then the King’s Son left the forest, and walked by beaten and unbeaten
paths ever onward, until at length he reached a great city. There he looked
for work, but could find none, and he had learnt nothing by which he could
help himself.
At length, he went to the palace, and asked if they would take him in.
The people about Court did not know what use to make of him, but they
liked him, and told him to stay. At last, the cook took him into his service,
and said he might carry wood and water, and rake the cinders together.
Once when it happened that no one else was at hand, the cook ordered
him to carry the food to the royal table, but as he did not like to let his
golden hair be seen, he kept his little hat on. Such a thing as that had never
come under the King’s notice, and he said, “When you serve at the royal
table you must take off your hat.”
He answered, “Ah, Lord, I cannot.”
Then the King had the cook called before him. He scolded him, and
asked how he could take such a boy as that into his service; and said that he

was to turn him off at once. The cook, however, had pity on him, and
exchanged him for the gardener’s boy.
And now, the boy had to plant and water the garden, hoe and dig, and
bear the wind and bad weather.
One day in summer when he was working alone in the garden, the day
was so warm he took his little hat off that the air might cool him. As the sun
shone on his hair it glittered and flashed so that the rays fell into the
bedroom of the King’s Daughter. Up she sprang to see what it could be.
Then she saw the boy, and cried to him, “Boy, bring me a wreath of
flowers.”

THE KING’S DAUGHTER PULLED OFF HIS HAT

He put his hat on with all haste, and gathered wild field-flowers and
bound them together. When he was ascending the stairs with them, the
gardener met him, and said, “How can you take the King’s Daughter a
garland of such common flowers? Go quickly, and get another, and seek out
the prettiest and rarest.”
“Oh, no,” replied the boy, “the wild ones have more scent, and will
please her better.”

When he went into the room, the King’s Daughter said, “Take your cap
off, it is not seemly to keep it on in my presence.”
He again said, “I cannot.”
She, however, caught at his hat and pulled it off, and then his golden
hair rolled down on his shoulders. And it was splendid to behold.
He wanted to run out, but she held him by the arm, and gave him a
handful of ducats. With these he departed, but he cared nothing for the gold
pieces. He took them to the gardener, and said, “I give them to your
children, they may play with them.”
The following day, the King’s Daughter again called to him that he was
to bring her a wreath of field-flowers. When he went in with it, she snatched
at his hat, and wanted to take it away from him, but he held it fast with both
hands. She again gave him a handful of ducats. But he would not keep
them, and presented them to the gardener as playthings for his children.
On the third day, things went just the same. She could not get his hat
away from him, and he would not have her money.
Not long afterward, the country was overrun by war. The King gathered
together his people, and did not know whether or not he could overcome the
enemy, who was superior in strength and had a mighty army.
Then said the gardener’s boy, “I am grown up, and will go to the wars
also, only give me a horse.”
The others laughed, and said, “Seek one for yourself when we are gone.
We will leave one behind us in the stable for you.”
When they had gone forth, he went into the stable, and got the horse. It
was lame of one foot, and limped hobblety jig, hobblety jig. Nevertheless he
mounted it, and rode away to the dark forest. When he came to the
outskirts, he called “Iron John” three times so loudly that it echoed through
the trees.
Thereupon the Wild Man appeared immediately, and said, “What do
you desire?”
“I want a strong steed, for I am going to the wars.”

“That you shall have, and still more than you ask.” Then the Wild Man
went back into the forest, and it was not long before a stable-boy came out
of it, who led a horse that snorted, and could hardly be restrained. Behind
them followed a great troop of soldiers entirely equipped in iron, and their
swords flashed in the sun. The youth made over his three-legged horse to
the stable-boy, mounted the other, and rode at the head of the soldiers.
When he drew near the battle-field, a great part of the King’s men had
already fallen, and little was wanting to make the rest give way. Then the
youth galloped thither with his iron soldiers, broke like a hurricane over the
enemy, and beat down all who opposed him. They began to fly, but the
youth pursued, and never stopped, until there was not a single man left.
Instead, however, of returning to the King, he conducted his troop by
side-roads to the forest, and called Iron John.
“What do you desire?” asked the Wild Man.
“Take back your horse and troops, and give me my three-legged horse
again.” All that he asked was done, and soon he was riding on his three-
legged horse.
When the King returned to his palace, his daughter went to meet him,
and wished him joy of his victory. “I am not the one who carried away the
victory,” said he, “but a stranger Knight who came to my assistance with his
soldiers.” The daughter wanted to hear who the strange Knight was, but the
King did not know, and said, “He followed the enemy, and I did not see him
again.”
She inquired of the gardener where his boy was, but he smiled, and
said, “He has just come home on his three-legged horse, and the others have
been mocking him, and crying, ‘Here comes our hobblety jig back again!’
They asked, too, ‘Under what hedge have you been lying sleeping all the
time?’ He, however, answered, ‘I did the best of all, and it would have gone
badly without me.’ And then he was ridiculed still more.”
The King said to his daughter, “I will proclaim a great feast that shall
last for three days, and you shall throw a Golden Apple. Perhaps the
unknown will come to it.”
When the feast was announced, the youth went out to the forest, and
called Iron John.

“What do you desire?” asked he.
“That I may catch the King’s Daughter’s Golden Apple.”
“It is as safe as if you had it already,” said Iron John. “You shall
likewise have a suit of red armor for the occasion, and ride on a spirited
chestnut horse.”
When the day came, the youth galloped to the spot, took his place
amongst the Knights, and was recognized by no one. The King’s Daughter
came forward, and threw a Golden Apple to the Knights. None of them
caught it but he; only as soon as he had it, he galloped away.
On the second day, Iron John equipped him as a white Knight, and gave
him a white horse. Again he was the only one who caught the apple, and he
did not linger an instant, but galloped off with it.
The King grew angry, and said, “That is not allowed. He must appear
before me and tell his name.” He gave the order that if the Knight who
caught the apple should go away again, they should pursue him, and, if he
would not come back willingly, they should cut him down and stab him.
On the third day, he received from Iron John a suit of black armor and a
black horse. Again he caught the apple. But when he was riding off with it,
the King’s attendants pursued him, and one of them got so near that he
wounded the youth’s leg with the point of his sword. The youth
nevertheless escaped from them, but his horse leapt so violently that the
helmet fell from his head, and they could see that he had golden hair. They
rode back and announced this to the King.
The following day, the King’s Daughter asked the gardener about his
boy. “He is at work in the garden. The queer creature has been at the
festival too, and only came home yesterday evening. He has likewise shown
my children three Golden Apples which he has won.”
The King had him summoned into his presence. He came and again had
his hat on his head. But the King’s Daughter went up to him and took it off.
Then his golden hair fell down over his shoulders, and he was so handsome
that all were amazed.
“Are you the Knight who came every day to the festival, always in
different colors, and who caught the three Golden Apples?” asked the King.

“Yes,” answered he, “and here are the apples,” and he took them out of
his pocket, and returned them to the King. “If you desire further proof, you
may see the wound which your people gave me when they followed me.
But I am likewise the Knight who helped you win your victory over your
enemies.”
“If you can perform such deeds as that, you are no gardener’s boy. Tell
me, who is your father?”
“My father is a mighty King, and gold have I in plenty as much as I
require.”
“I well see,” said the King, “that I owe thanks to you. Can I do
anything to please you?”
“Yes,” answered he, “that indeed you can. Give me your daughter to
wife.”
The maiden laughed, and said, “He does not stand much on ceremony,
but I have already seen by his golden hair that he is no gardener’s boy,” and
then she went and kissed him.
His father and mother came to the wedding, and were in great delight,
for they had given up all hope of ever seeing their dear son again. And as
they were sitting at the marriage-feast, the music suddenly stopped, the
doors opened, and a stately King came in with a great retinue.
He went up to the youth, embraced him and said, “I am Iron John, and
was by enchantment a Wild Man, but you have set me free. All the treasures
which I possess, shall be yours.”

CLEVER ELSIE

T here 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 made one condition, 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 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 pickaxe exactly above
her, which the masons had left there by mistake.
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 pickaxe will fall on his head and kill him.” Then she sat and wept
and screamed with all the strength of her body, over the misfortune which
lay before her.

Those upstairs waited for the drink, but Clever Elsie still did not come.
Then the woman said to the servant, “Just go down into the cellar and see
where Elsie is.”
The maid went and found her sitting in front of the barrel, screaming
loudly.
“Elsie, why do you weep?” asked the maid.
“Ah,” she answered, “have I not reason to weep? If I get Hans, and we
have a child, and he grows big, and has to draw beer here, the pickaxe may
fall on his head, and kill him.”
Then said the maid, “What a clever Elsie we have!” and sat down
beside her and began loudly to weep over the misfortune.
After a while, as the maid did not come back, and those upstairs were
thirsty for the beer, the man said to the boy, “Just go down into the cellar
and see where Elsie and the girl are.”
The boy went down, and there sat Clever Elsie and the girl both
weeping together. Then he asked, “Why are you weeping?”
“Ah,” said Elsie, “have I not reason to weep? If I get Hans, and we
have a child, and he grows big, and has to draw beer here, the pickaxe 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 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 pickaxe, when it grew big and
had to draw beer, and the pickaxe 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 pickaxe, if it should happen to be sitting beneath it,
drawing beer just at the very time when it fell, he cried, “Oh, what a clever
Elsie!” and sat down, and likewise wept with them.
The Bridegroom stayed up-stairs alone for a long time; then as no one
came 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, all five of them were sitting screaming and
lamenting quite piteously, each outdoing the other.
“What misfortune has happened then?” asked he.
“Ah, dear Hans,” said Elsie, “if we marry each other and have a child,
and he is big, and we perhaps send him here to draw something to drink,
then the pickaxe which has been left up there might dash his brains out, if it
were to fall down, so have we not reason to weep?”
“Come,” said Hans, “more understanding than that is not needed for
my household, as you are such a clever Elsie, I will have you,” and 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 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 frightened, and became uncertain
whether she really was Clever Elsie or not, and said, “Is it I, or is it not I?”
But she knew not what answer to make to this, and stood for a time in
doubt. At length she thought, “I will go home and ask if it be I, or if it be
not I. They will be sure to know.”
She ran to the door of her own house, but it was shut. Then she
knocked at the window and cried, “Hans, is Elsie within?”
“Yes,” answered Hans, “she is within.”
Hereupon she was terrified, and said, “Ah, heavens! Then it is not I,”
and went to another door.
But when the people heard the jingling of the bells, they would not
open it, and she could get in nowhere. Then she ran out of the village, and
no one has seen her since.

THE BREMEN TOWN-MUSICIANS

A certain man had a Donkey, which had carried the corn-sacks to
the mill faithfully 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 wants to kill me. So I have taken 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. Come 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 wants to drown me, so I have run away. But now good advice is
scarce. Where am I to go?”

“Come with us to Bremen. You understand night-music, so you can be
a town-musician.”
The Cat thought well of it, and went with them.
After this the three fugitives came to a farmyard, 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.
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 the 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 would do him
good too!
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 as to how they could drive
away the robbers, and at last they thought of a plan. The Donkey was to
place himself with his forefeet upon the window-ledge, the Hound was to
jump on the Donkey’s back, the Cat was to climb upon the Hound, 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. Being tired with their
long walk, they soon went to sleep.
When it was past midnight, 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.
Then, as he ran across the yard by the straw-heap, the Donkey gave
him a smart kick with his hind foot. The Cock, too, who had been awakened
by the noise, and had become lively, cried down from the beam:
“Kicker-ee-ricker-ee-ree!”

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. By the door stands a man with a
knife, who stabbed me in the leg. 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.

THE SIX SWANS

O nce 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 saw that he had lost his way. He sought a way out,
but could find none. Then he perceived an Old Woman with a head which
nodded all the time, who came toward 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 fulfill that, you will never get out of the forest,
and will die of hunger in it.”
“What kind of a 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 wife. 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. 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 new Queen 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 concealed, and the way was so difficult

to find, that he himself would not have found it at all, 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 to visit his dear children, that
the Queen noticed his absence. She was curious and wanted to know what
he did when he was 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. 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
one day, 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
all the 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 found no one but the
little girl.
“Where are your 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 also would be stolen from him,
he wanted to take her away. But she was afraid of the Queen, and entreated
the King to let her stay just one night more in the forest-castle.

The poor girl thought, “I can no longer remain 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. She did not venture to
get into any of them, but crept under one, and lay down on the hard ground,
to pass the night there. Just before sunset 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. She
rejoiced and crept forth from beneath the bed. The brothers were not less
delighted to see their little sister, but their joy was short.
“Here can you not abide,” they said to her. “This is a shelter for
robbers. If they come home and find you, they will kill you.”
“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 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
you may neither speak nor laugh, and in that time you must sew together six
little shirts of Star-Flowers for us. And if one single word falls from your
lips, all your 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 PRINCESS WENT OUT AND GATHERED STAR-FLOWERS

The maiden, however, 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 Star-Flowers and began to sew. She could not speak to any
one, and she had no wish to laugh. She sat there and looked at nothing but
her work.

When she had 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 are you?” But she made no answer.
“Come down to us,” said they. “We will not do you 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
with that. They, however, did not cease, and then she threw her girdle down
to them, and as this also was to no use, her garters, and little by little
everything which 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 are you? What are you 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 a few days after, he united himself to her.
The King, however, had a wicked mother, who was dissatisfied with his
marriage and spoke ill of the young Queen. “Who knows,” said she, “from
whence comes the creature, who can’t speak? 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 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 old
woman used the same treachery, but the King could not bring himself to
believe 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 defense, the
King could do no otherwise than deliver her over to justice; and she was
sentenced to be burned.
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 toward her. Then
she saw that her deliverance was near, and her heart leapt with joy.
The Swans swept toward 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 form before her, vigorous and
handsome. The youngest lacked only his left arm, and had in its place 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 you 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.
To the great joy of the King, they were brought back. And as a
punishment, the wicked woman was bound to the stake and burned to ashes.
But the King and the Queen, with their six brothers, lived many years
in happiness and peace.

THE POOR MILLER’S BOY AND THE
CAT

I n a certain mill, lived an old miller who had neither wife nor child.
Three apprentices served under him.

As they had been with him several years, he one day said to them, “I
am old, and want to sit in the chimney-corner. Go out, and whichsoever of
you brings me the best horse, to him will I give the mill. And in return for
it, he shall take care of me till my death.”
The third of the boys was, however, the drudge, who was looked on as
foolish by the others. They begrudged the mill to him, and afterward he
would not have it.
Then all three went out together, and when they came to the village, the
two said to stupid Hans, “You may just as well stay here; as long as you live
you will never get a horse.”
Hans, however, went with them, and when it was night they came to a
cave in which they lay down to sleep. The two sharp ones waited until Hans
had fallen asleep, then they got up, and went away leaving him where he
was. They thought they had done a very clever thing, but it was certain to
turn out ill for them.
When the sun arose, and Hans woke up, he was lying in a deep cavern.
He looked around on every side and exclaimed, “Oh, alas! where am I?”
Then he got up and clambered out of the cave, into the forest, thinking:
“Here I am quite alone and deserted, how shall I obtain a horse now?”
Whilst he was thus walking full of thought, he met a small Tabby-Cat
which said quite kindly, “Hans, where are you going?”
“Alas, you cannot help me.”

“I well know your desire,” said the Cat. “You wish to have a beautiful
horse. Come with me, and be my faithful servant for seven years, and then I
will give you a horse more beautiful than any you have ever seen in your
whole life.”
“Well, this is a wonderful Cat!” thought Hans, “but I am determined to
see if she is telling the truth.”
So she took him with her into her enchanted castle, where there were
nothing but cats who were her servants. They leapt nimbly upstairs and
downstairs, and were merry and happy.
In the evening when they sat down to dinner, three of them had to make
music. One played the bassoon, the other the fiddle, and the third put the
trumpet to his lips, and blew out his cheeks as much as he possibly could.
When they had dined, the table was carried away, and the Cat said,
“Now, Hans, come and dance with me.”
“No,” said he, “I won’t dance with a pussy cat. I have never done that
yet.”
“Then take him to bed,” said she to the cats.
So one of them lighted him to his bedroom, one pulled his shoes off,
one his stockings, and at last one of them blew out the candle.
Next morning they returned and helped him out of bed, one put his
stockings on for him, one tied his garters, one brought his shoes, one
washed him, and one dried his face with her tail.
“That feels very soft!” said Hans.
He, however, had to serve the Cat, and chop some wood every day. And
to do that, he had an axe of silver, while the wedge and saw were of silver
and the mallet of copper. So he chopped the wood small.
He stayed there in the house and had good meat and drink, but never
saw any one but the Tabby-Cat and her servants.
Once she said to him, “Go and mow my meadow, and dry the grass,”
and gave him a scythe of silver, and a whetstone of gold, but bade him
deliver them up again carefully.

So Hans went thither, and did what he was bidden, and when he had
finished the work, he carried the scythe, whetstone, and hay to the house,
and asked if it was not yet time for her to give him his reward.
“No,” said the Cat, “you must first do something more for me of the
same kind. There is timber of silver, carpenter’s axe, square, and everything
that is needful, all of silver, with these build me a small house.”
Then Hans built the small house, and said that he had now done
everything, and still he had no horse.
Nevertheless, the seven years had gone by with him as if they were six
months. The Cat asked him if he would like to see her horses?
“Yes,” said Hans.
Then she opened the door of the small house. And when she had
opened it, there stood twelve horses,—such horses, so bright and shining,
that his heart rejoiced at the sight of them.
And now she gave him to eat and to drink, and said, “Go home. I will
not give you your horse to take away with you. But in three days’ time, I
will follow you and bring it.”
So Hans set out, and she showed him the way to the mill. She had,
however, never once given him a new coat, and he had been obliged to keep
on his dirty old smock-frock, which he had brought with him, and which
during the seven years had everywhere become too small for him.
When he reached home, the two other apprentices were there again,
and each of them certainly had brought a horse with him. But one of them
was blind and the other lame. They asked Hans where his horse was.
“It will follow me in three days’ time.”
Then they laughed and said, “Indeed, stupid Hans! where will you get a
horse? It will be a fine one!”
Hans went into the parlor, but the miller said he should not sit down to
table for he was so ragged and torn, that they would all be ashamed of him
if any one came in. So they gave him a mouthful of food outside.
At night, when they went to rest, the two others would not let him have
a bed, and at last he was forced to creep into the goose-house, and lie down

on a little hard straw.
In the morning, when he awoke, the three days had passed, and a coach
came with six horses and they shone so bright that it was delightful to see
them!—and a servant brought a seventh as well, which was for the poor
miller’s boy.
And a magnificent Princess alighted from the coach, and went into the
mill. And this Princess was the little Tabby-Cat whom poor Hans had
served for seven years.
She asked the miller where the miller’s boy and drudge was.
Then the miller said, “We will not have him here in the mill, he is so
ragged. He is lying in the goose-house.”
Then the King’s Daughter said that they were to fetch him immediately.
So they brought him; and he had to hold his little smock together to
cover himself.
Her servants unpacked splendid garments, and washed him and dressed
him. And when it was done, no King could have looked more handsome.
Then the Princess desired to see the horses, which the other apprentices
had brought home with them. One of them was blind and the other lame. So
she ordered her servants to bring the seventh horse.
When the miller saw it, he said such a horse as that had never before
entered his yard.
“And that is for the third miller’s boy,” said she.
“Then he must have the mill,” said the miller.
But the Princess said that the horse was for himself, and that he was to
keep his mill as well. Then she took her faithful Hans, set him in the coach,
and drove away with him.
They first drove to the little house, which he had built with the silver
tools. Behold! it was a great castle! Everything inside it was of silver and
gold!
Then she married him; and he was rich, so rich that he had enough for
all the rest of his life.

After this, let no one say that any one who is silly can never become a
person of importance.

LITTLE RED-CAP

O nce upon a time, there was a sweet little girl, who was loved by

the child!
every one who looked at her, and most of all by her
Grandmother. There was nothing that she would not have given

Once she gave her a little cap of red velvet, which suited her so well
that she would not 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. Walk nicely and
quietly. Do not run off the path, or you may fall and break the bottle; then
your Grandmother will get nothing! When you go into her room, don’t
forget to say ‘Good morning,’ and don’t stop to peep into every corner,
before you do it.”
“I’ll take great care,” said Little Red-Cap to her Mother, and gave her
hand on it.
The Grandmother lived in the wood, half an hour’s distance 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 an hour 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.”
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 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 thus 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.
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 satisfied 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 the
Wolf 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 then 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 tumbled 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 grew strong again.
But Red-Cap thought to herself, “As long as I live, I will never leave
the path to run into the wood, when my mother has forbidden me to do so.”

KING THRUSHBEARD

A
well.
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 made fun of them as

Once the King gave a great feast and invited thereto, from far and near,
all the young men likely to marry. They were 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 daughter did nothing but mock
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 afterward, 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 up, in his dirty, ragged clothes, and sang before the
King and his daughter. 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 go away with
your husband.”
The beggar man led her out by the hand, and she was obliged to go
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.”

“WELL,” SHE LAUGHED, “HE HAS A CHIN LIKE A THRUSH’S
BEAK”

“Ah, unhappy girl that I am! If I had but taken King Thrushbeard!”
Afterward, 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 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 ate up
all the food in the house.
Then the man said, “Wife, we cannot go on any longer eating and
drinking here and earning nothing. You must 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.”
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 earn a living by selling 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 around her ready for sale. But
suddenly there came a drunken soldier 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 not 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 ordinary work, so I have been to our King’s palace and have asked
whether they cannot find a place for a kitchen-maid. 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 each of 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 splendor, 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. 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 back with fear, for she saw that it was King
Thrushbeard, her suitor whom she had driven away with scorn.
Her struggles were of no use; he drew her into the hall. But the string
by which her pockets were fastened, broke, the pots fell down, the soup ran
out, and the scraps were scattered all around. And when the people saw it,
there arose laughter and derision, and she was so ashamed that she would
rather have been a thousand fathoms below 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!
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 soldier 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 the most splendid clothing on
her. Her father and his whole Court arrived, and wished her happiness in her
marriage to King Thrushbeard. And the joy now began in earnest. I wish
you and I had been there too!

THE GOLD-CHILDREN

T here was once a poor man and a poor woman who had nothing but
a little cottage. They earned their bread by fishing, and always
lived from hand to mouth.

But it came to pass one day, when the man was sitting by the waterside
and casting his net, that he drew out a fish entirely of gold.
As he was looking at the fish, full of astonishment, it began to speak
and said, “Hark you, Fisherman, if you will throw me back again into the
water, I will change your little hut into a splendid castle.”
Then the fisherman answered, “Of what use is a castle to me, if I have
nothing to eat?”
The Gold Fish continued, “That shall be taken care of. There will be a
cupboard in the castle in which, when you open it, shall be dishes of the
most delicate meats, and as many of them as you may desire.”
“If that be true,” said the man, “then I can well do you a favor.”
“Yes,” said the Fish, “there is, however, the condition that you shall tell
no one in the world, whosoever he may be, whence your good luck has
come. If you speak but one single word, all will be over.”
Then the man threw the wonderful Fish back again into the water, and
went home.
Where his hovel had formerly stood, now stood a great castle. He
opened wide his eyes, entered, and saw his wife dressed in beautiful
clothes, sitting in a splendid room.
She was quite delighted, and said, “Husband, how has all this come to
pass? It suits me very well.”
“Yes,” said the man, “it suits me too. But I am frightfully hungry, just
give me something to eat.”

Said the wife, “But I have got nothing and don’t know where to find
anything in this new house.”
“There is no need of your knowing,” said the man, “for I see yonder a
great cupboard, just unlock it.”
When she opened it, lo! there stood cakes, meat, fruit, wine.
Then the woman cried joyfully, “What more can you want, my dear?”
and they sat down, and ate and drank together.
When they had had enough, the woman said, “But, Husband, whence
come all these riches?”
“Alas,” answered he, “do not question me about it, for I dare not tell
you anything. If I disclose it to any one, then all our good fortune will fly.”
“Very good,” said she, “if I am not to know anything, then I do not
want to know anything.”
However, she was not in earnest. She never rested day or night, and she
goaded her husband until in his impatience he revealed that all was owing
to a wonderful Gold Fish which he had caught, and to which in return he
had given its liberty.
And as soon as the secret was out, the splendid castle with the cupboard
immediately disappeared. They were once more in the old fisherman’s hut,
and the man was obliged to follow his former trade and fish.
But fortune would so have it, that he once more drew out the Gold Fish.
“Listen,” said the Fish, “if you will throw me back into the water again, I
will once more give you the castle with the cupboard full of roast and
boiled meats. Only be firm; for your life’s sake don’t reveal from whom you
have it, or you will lose it all again!”
“I will take good care,” answered the fisherman, and threw the fish
back into the water.
Now at home, everything was once more in its former magnificence.
The wife was overjoyed at their good fortune. But curiosity left her no
peace, so that after a couple of days she began to ask again how it had come
to pass, and how he had managed to secure it.

The man kept silence for a short time, but at last she made him so angry
that he broke out and betrayed the secret. In an instant the castle
disappeared, and they were back again in their old hut.
“Now you have got what you want,” said he; “and we can gnaw at a
bare bone again.”
“Ah,” said the woman, “I had rather have no riches; if I am not to know
from whom they come, then I have no peace.”
The man went back to fish, and after a while he chanced to draw out
the Gold Fish for a third time.
“Listen,” said the Fish, “I see very well that I am fated to fall into your
hands. Take me home and cut me into six pieces. Give your wife two of
them to eat, two to your horse, and bury two of them in the ground. Then
they will bring you a blessing.”
The fisherman took the Fish home with him, and did as it had bidden
him.
It came to pass that from the two pieces that were buried in the ground,
two Golden Lilies sprang up; that the horse had two Golden Foals; and the
fisherman’s wife bore two children who were made entirely of gold.
The children grew up, became tall and handsome, and the lilies and
horses grew likewise.
Then the lads said, “Father, we want to mount our Golden Steeds and
travel out in the world.”
But he answered sorrowfully, “How shall I bear it, if you go away and I
know not how it fares with you?”
Then they said, “The two Golden Lilies remain here. By them you may
see how it is with us. If they are fresh, then we are in health. If they are
withered, we are ill. If they perish, then we are dead.”
So they rode forth and came to an inn, in which were many people.
They perceived the Gold-Children and began to laugh, and jeer.
When one of them heard the mocking he felt ashamed and would not
go out into the world, but turned back and went home again to his father.
But the other rode forward and reached a great forest.

THE MAIDEN SAID, “I WILL BE TRUE TO YOU, YOUR LIFE LONG”

As he was about to enter it, the people said, “It is not safe for you to
ride through; the wood is full of robbers, who would treat you badly. You
will fare ill. When they see that you are all of gold and your horse likewise,
they will assuredly kill you.”
But he would not allow himself to be frightened, and said, “I must and
will ride through it.”

Then he took bear-skins and covered himself and his horse with them,
so that the gold was not seen, and rode fearlessly into the forest. When he
had ridden onward a little, he heard a rustling in the bushes, and heard
voices speaking together.
From one side came cries of, “There is one!” but from the other, “Let
him go! ’tis an idle fellow, as poor and bare as a church-mouse. What
should we gain from him?”
So the Gold-Child rode joyfully through the forest, and no evil befell
him.
One day he entered a village wherein he saw a maiden, who was so
beautiful that he did not believe that any more beautiful than she existed in
the world.
And as such a mighty love took possession of him, he went up to her
and said, “I love you with my whole heart. Will you be my wife?”
He, too, pleased the maiden so much that she agreed and said, “Yes, I
will be your wife, and be true to you your whole life long.”
They were married. Then just as they were in the greatest happiness,
home came the father of the Bride. When he saw that his daughter’s
wedding was being celebrated, he was astonished, and said, “Where is the
Bridegroom?”
They showed him the Gold-Child, who, however, still wore his bear-
skins.
Then the father said wrathfully, “A vagabond shall never have my
daughter!” and was about to kill him.
Then the Bride begged as hard as she could, and said, “He is my
husband, and I love him with all my heart!” until at last he allowed himself
to be appeased.
Nevertheless the idea never left his thoughts, so that next morning he
rose early, wishing to see whether his daughter’s husband was a common
ragged beggar. But when he peeped in, he saw a magnificent golden man in
the bed, and the cast-off bear-skins lying on the ground.

Then he went back, and thought, “What a good thing it was that I
restrained my anger! I should have committed a great crime.”
But the Gold-Child dreamed that he rode out to the chase of a splendid
stag, and when he awoke in the morning, he said to his wife, “I must go out
hunting.”
She was uneasy, and begged him to stay there, and said, “You might
easily meet with a great misfortune.”
But he answered, “I must and will go.”
Thereupon he got up, and rode forth into the forest. It was not long
before a fine stag crossed his path exactly according to his dream. He aimed
and was about to shoot it, when the stag ran away. He gave chase over
hedges and ditches for the whole day without feeling tired. In the evening
the stag vanished from his sight, and when the Gold-Child looked round
him, he was standing before a little house, wherein was a Witch.
He knocked, and a little old woman came out and asked, “What are you
doing so late in the midst of the great forest?”
“Have you not seen a stag?”
“Yes,” answered she, “I know the stag well,” and thereupon a little dog
which had come out of the house with her, barked at the man violently.
“Will you be silent, you odious toad,” said he, “or I will shoot you
dead.”
Then the Witch cried out in a passion, “What! will you slay my little
dog?” and immediately she transformed him, so that he lay like a stone.
Meanwhile his Bride awaited him in vain, and thought, “That which I
so greatly dreaded, which lay so heavily on my heart, has come upon him!”
But at home, the other brother was standing by the Gold-Lilies, when
one of them suddenly drooped. “Alas!” said he, “my brother has met with
some great misfortune! I must away to see if I can possibly rescue him.”
Then he mounted his Golden Horse, and rode forth and entered the
great forest, where his brother lay turned to stone. The old Witch came out
of her house and called him, wishing to entrap him also.

He did not go near her, but said, “I will shoot you, if you do not bring
my brother to life again.”
She touched the stone, though very unwillingly, with her forefinger.
Then he was immediately restored to his human shape.
The two Gold-Children rejoiced, when they saw each other again. They
kissed and caressed each other, and rode away together out of the forest, the
one home to his Bride, the other to his father.
The father then said, “I knew well that you had rescued your brother,
for the Golden Lily suddenly rose up and blossomed out again.”
Then they lived happily, and all prospered with them until their death.

LITTLE SNOW-WHITE

O nce 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. 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 any
one 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 little Snow-White was growing up, and grew more and more
beautiful. 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, I ween.”

Then the Queen was shocked, and turned yellow and green with envy. From
that hour, whenever she looked at little Snow-White, her heart heaved in her
breast, she hated the maiden 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.”
The huntsman obeyed, and took her away. But when he had drawn his
knife, and was about to pierce little 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.
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, 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 some one 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 fast 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, oh!” 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.

The next 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 little Snow-White,” she answered.
“How have you come to our house?” said the Dwarfs.
Then she told them that the wicked Queen 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 may stay with us and you shall want for nothing.”
“Yes,” said little 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 maiden was alone the whole day, so the good Dwarfs warned her
and said, “Beware of the Queen, she will soon know that you are here. Be
sure to let no one come in.”
But the Queen, believing that little Snow-White was dead, could not
but think that she herself was again the first and most beautiful of all. 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,
Little Snow-White is 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, for that
little Snow-White was still alive.
And so she thought and thought again how she might kill her, for so
long as she herself 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 pedler-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 at the window, and called, “Good-day,
my dear woman, what have you to sell?”
“Good things, pretty things,” she answered; “stay-laces of all colors,”
and she pulled out one which was woven of bright-colored silk.
“I may let the worthy old woman in,” thought little 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.”
Little 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
laced so tightly that little 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 afterward, 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. Than 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 pedler-
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,
Little Snow-White is 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 may look,” said the old woman, and pulled the
poisonous comb out and held it up.
It pleased the maiden 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, then the poison in
it took effect, and the maiden 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, and the Seven Dwarfs came
home. When they saw little Snow-White lying as if dead upon the ground,
they at once suspected the Queen. They looked and found the poisoned
comb. Scarcely had they taken it out, when little 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,
Little Snow-White is alive and well,
And none is so fair as she.”

When she heard the Glass speak thus, she trembled and shook with
rage. “Little Snow-White shall die,” she cried, “even if it costs me my life!”
Thereupon she went into a 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 every one 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 as
a countrywoman, and so she went over the Seven Mountains to the Seven
Dwarfs. She knocked at the door. Little 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 little 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. Little 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 little 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 was
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 might be seen from all sides. 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 to watch it. And birds came too, and wept for little
Snow-White; first an owl, then a raven, and last a dove.
And now little Snow-White lay a long, long time in the coffin. 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 little 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
little Snow-White. I will honor 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 little 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, 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 little Snow-White was willing, and went with him, and their
wedding was held with great show and splendor. But the wicked Queen 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, 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 little 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.

RUMPELSTILTSKIN

O nce there was a miller who was poor, but who had a beautiful
daughter. Now it happened that he had to 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. If by to-morrow morning early, you have not spun this
straw into gold, 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 her life 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 Little Man, “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 till the morning, when all the straw was spun,
and all the reels were full of gold.

By daybreak, the King was 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 the 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. 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 Little Man 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 difficulty, she
promised the Little Man 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 Little Man. But suddenly he came into her room, and said, “Now give
me what you promised.”
The Queen was horror-struck, and offered the Little Man all the riches
of the kingdom if he would leave her the child.

But the Little Man said, “No, something that is alive, is dearer to me
than all the treasures in the world.”
Then the Queen began to weep and cry, so that the Little Man pitied
her. “I will give you three days’ time,” said he; “if by that time you find out
my name, then you shall 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 there might be.
When the Little Man 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 Little Man 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. Before the house a fire was burning, and round
about the fire a funny Little Man was jumping. He hopped upon one leg,
and shouted:
“To-day I brew, to-morrow I bake,
And next, I shall the Queen’s child take!
Ah! well it is, none knows the same—
That Rumpelstiltskin is my name!”

You may think how glad the Queen was when she heard the name! And
when soon afterward the Little Man came in, and asked, “Now, Mistress
Queen, what is my name?” she said:
“Is your name Conrad?”
“No.”
“Is your name Harry?”
“No.”

“Perhaps your name is Rumpelstiltskin?”

“PERHAPS,” SAID SHE, “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 stamped 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.

LITTLE 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
toward 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 splendor. 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, in her fifteenth year, shall 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 wished to 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 fulfilled on the young girl,
for she was so beautiful, modest, sweet tempered, and wise, that every one
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 bedchambers 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. There in a
little room sat an Old Woman with a spindle, busily spinning 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, which rattles round so merrily?” said the
maiden, 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.
Every year it 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, again a King’s Son came to that country. He
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 come, and had tried to get through
the thorny hedge, but they had remained sticking fast in it, so 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. The day was 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 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. 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. 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 gazed at each other in great astonishment. And the
horses in the courtyard 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, 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 and Briar-Rose was celebrated
with all splendor, and they lived contented to the end of their days.

THE THREE LITTLE MEN IN THE WOOD

T here 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. They went walking together,
and came to the woman’s house. Then she said to the man’s daughter:
“Listen! Tell your father that I would like to marry him. Then you shall
wash yourself 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, also a torment!”
At last, as he could not decide, he pulled off his boot, and said, “Take
this boot. It has a hole in the sole of it. Go with it upstairs to the loft. Hang
it on the big nail. Then pour water into it. If it holds the water, then I will
again take a wife. But if it runs 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 the man’s daughter, and day by
day did her best to treat her still worse. She was envious too because the
man’s daughter was beautiful and lovable, and her own daughter ugly and
repulsive.
One day, 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 the man’s 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.”
“Alas!” 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.”
“Will you contradict me again?” said the woman. “See that you go, and
do not show your face again until you have the basketful of strawberries!”
Then she gave her a little piece of hard bread, and said, “This will last
you the day,” and thought, “You will die of cold and hunger outside, and
will never be seen again by me.”
Then the girl obeyed, 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 little 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 Dwarfs said, “Give us some of it.”
“Willingly,” said she, and divided her bit of bread in two, and gave
them the half.
They asked, “What do you here in the forest in the winter time, in your
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 one another,
“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 every day she shall 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 the woman what she had longed
for so much.
When she went in and said good-evening, a piece of gold at once fell
out of 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 pride,” cried the woman’s daughter, “to throw about
gold in that way!” but she was secretly envious of it, and wanted to go into
the forest to seek strawberries.
Her mother said, “No, my dear little Daughter, it is too cold, you might
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 to take with her.

The girl went into the forest and straight up to the little house. The
three Little Men peeped out again, but she did not greet them. 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 you, 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 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 each word she said,
a toad sprang out of her mouth, so that everybody was seized with horror of
her.
Then her 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 you, and what are you 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, “Will you 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.

THE GOLDEN BIRD

I n 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, into the garden. But when it was midnight, 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. He was quite ready,
but the King had not much trust in him, and thought that he would be of less
use 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 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 every one 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. 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 enter
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.

IN THE MOONLIGHT HE SAW A BIRD

“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.
Some time had passed, and when the eldest son, month after month, did
not come 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. His brother was standing
at the window of the one from which came the music, and called to him. He
could not resist, but went inside, and lived only for pleasure.
Again some time passed, and then the youngest King’s 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 be less likely to find the Golden Bird 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 proceed
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
straight forward. 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. 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. 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. 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 help you, 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.
“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. Away he went over stock and stone, until his hair whistled in the wind.
Everything happened just as the Fox had said. The King’s Son 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
would rescue 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 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
say farewell to 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. 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 be allowed 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
after seven days when 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.

On the evening of the seventh day the Fox appeared and said, “You do
not deserve that I should take any trouble about you. Nevertheless, go away
and lie down to sleep. I will do the work for you.”
The next morning, when he awoke and looked out of the window, the
hill had gone. Full of joy, the youth ran 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.”
All was brought to pass 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.”
When all was accomplished 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 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 their entire 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, and, as it
was cool and pleasant within it, whilst the sun shone hotly, 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 foreboding 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. He came and
leapt down to him, and upbraided him for having forgotten his 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 afterward, 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 to 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.

THE QUEEN BEE

T wo King’s Sons once went out in search of adventures, and fell into
a wild, disorderly way of living, so that they never came home
again. The youngest, who was called Simpleton, set out to seek
his brothers. When at length he found them, they mocked him for thinking
that he with his simplicity could get through the world, when they two
could not make their way, and yet were so much cleverer.

They all three traveled away together, and came to an ant-hill. The two
elder wanted to destroy it, to see the little ants creeping about in their terror,
carrying their eggs away, but Simpleton said, “Leave the creatures in peace.
I will not allow you to disturb them.”
Then they went farther, and came to a lake, on which a great number of
ducks were swimming. The two brothers wanted to catch a couple and roast
them, but Simpleton would not permit it, and said, “Leave the creatures in
peace. I will not suffer you to kill them.”
At length they came to a bee’s nest, in which there was so much honey,
that it ran out of the trunk of the tree where it was. The two wanted to make
a fire under the tree, and suffocate the bees in order to take away the honey,
but Simpleton again stopped them and said, “Leave the creatures in peace. I
will not allow you to burn them.”
At last the two brothers arrived at a castle where stone horses were
standing in the stables, and no human being was to be seen. They went
through all the halls until they came to a door in which were three locks. In
the middle of the door there was a little pane, through which they could see
into the room.
There they saw a little Gray Man sitting at a table. They called him,
once, twice, but he did not hear. Then they called him for the third time,
when he got up, opened the locks, and came out. He said nothing but led
them to a handsomely-spread table; and when they had eaten and drunk, he
took each of them to a bedroom.

Next morning, the little Gray Man came to the eldest, beckoned to him,
and conducted him to a stone table, on which were inscribed three tasks, by
the doing of which the castle could be delivered. The first was that in the
forest, beneath the moss, lay the Princess’s pearls, a thousand in number,
which must be picked up. And if by sunset, one single pearl was wanting,
he who had looked for them would be turned to stone.
The eldest went thither, and sought the whole day, but when it came to
an end, he had found only one hundred, and what was written on the table
came to pass, he was changed into stone.
Next day, the second brother undertook the adventure. It did not,
however, fare much better with him than with the eldest. He did not find
more than two hundred pearls, and was changed to stone.
At last, the turn came to Simpleton, who sought in the moss. But it was
so hard to find the pearls, and he got on so slowly, that he seated himself on
a stone, and wept. And while he was thus sitting, the King of the Ants,
whose life he had once saved, came with five thousand ants, and before
long the little creatures had got all the pearls together, and laid them in a
heap.
The second task was to fetch out of the lake the key of the King’s
Daughter’s bedchamber. When Simpleton came to the lake, the ducks which
he had saved, swam up to him, dived down, and brought the key out of the
water.
But the third task was the most difficult. From amongst the three
sleeping daughters of the King, the youngest and dearest was to be sought
out. They resembled each other exactly, and were only to be distinguished
by their having eaten different sweetmeats before they fell asleep: the eldest
a bit of sugar; the second a little syrup; and the youngest a spoonful of
honey.
Then the Queen of the Bees, which Simpleton had protected from the
fire, came and tasted the lips of all three. At last she remained sitting on the
mouth which had eaten honey; and thus the King’s Son recognized the right
Princess.
Then the enchantment was at an end. Everything was released from
sleep, and those who had been turned to stone received once more their

natural forms. Simpleton married the youngest and sweetest Princess, and
after her father’s death became King, while his two brothers received the
two other sisters.

BIRD-FOUND

T here was once a forester, who went into the forest to hunt. When he
entered it, he heard a screaming as if a little child was there.

He followed the sound, and at last came to a high tree. In the top of it a
little child was sitting. His mother had fallen asleep under the tree with the
child, and a bird of prey had seen him in her arms, flown down, and
snatched him away, and set him on the high tree.
The forester climbed the tree, and brought the child down. And he
thought to himself, “I will take him home, and bring him up with my Lina.”
He took him home, and the two children grew up together. The one he
had found in a tree, he called Bird-Found, because a bird had carried it
away.
Bird-Found 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?”
Then the cook said, “Early to-morrow morning, when the forester is out
hunting, I will heat the water. When it is boiling in the kettle, I will throw in
Bird-Found, 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 Bird-
Found, “If you will never leave me, I will never leave you.”
Bird-Found said, “Neither now, nor ever, will I leave you.”
Then said Lina, “I will tell you. Last night, old Sanna carried so many
buckets of water into the house that I asked her why she was doing so. She

said that early to-morrow morning, when Father was out hunting, she would
set on the kettle full of water, throw you into it and boil you. But we will
get up quickly, dress ourselves, and go away together.”
The two children, therefore, got up, dressed themselves quickly, and
went away. When the water in the kettle was boiling, the cook came into the
bedroom to fetch Bird-Found and throw him into it. But when she came in,
and went to the beds, both the children were gone.
Then she was terribly frightened, 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 and brought back.”
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 Bird-Found, “Never
leave me, and I will never leave you.”
Bird-Found said, “Neither now, nor ever.”
Then said Lina, “Do you become a rose-tree, and I the rose upon it.”
When the three servants came to the forest, nothing was there but a
rose-tree and one rose on it; the children were nowhere. Said they, “There is
nothing to be done here,” and they went home and told the cook that they
had seen nothing in the forest but a little rose-bush with one rose on it.
Then the old cook scolded and said, “You simpletons, you should have
cut the rose-bush in two, and have broken off the rose and brought it home
with you. Go, and do it at once.”
They had therefore to go out and look for the second time. The
children, however, saw them coming from a distance.
Then Lina said, “Bird-Found, never leave me, and I will never leave
you.”
Bird-Found said, “Neither now, nor ever.”
Said Lina, “Then do you become a church, and I’ll be the chandelier in
it.”

So when the three servants came, nothing was there but a church, with
a chandelier in it. They said therefore to each other, “What can we do here?
Let us go home.” When they got home, the cook asked if they had not
found them. They said no, they had found nothing but a church, and that
there was a chandelier in it.
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 saw from afar that the three
servants were coming, and the cook waddling after them.
Then said Lina, “Bird-Found, never leave me, and I will never leave
you.”
Then said Bird-Found, “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, when she fell 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.

THE GOLDEN GOOSE

T here was a man who had three sons, the youngest of whom was
called Dunderhead, and was despised, mocked, and put down on
every occasion.

It happened, that the eldest wanted to go into the forest to hew wood.
Before he went his mother gave him a beautiful sweet cake and a bottle of
wine, that he might not suffer from hunger or thirst.
When he entered the forest, there met him a little old Gray Man who
bade him good-day, and said, “Do give me a piece of cake out of your
pocket, and let me have a draught of your wine. I am so hungry and thirsty.”
But the prudent youth answered, “If I give you my cake and wine, I
shall have none for myself. Be off with you,” and he left the Little Man
standing and went on.
But when he began to hew down a tree, it was not long before he made
a false stroke, and the axe cut him in the arm. So he had to go home and
have it bound up. And this was the little Gray Man’s doing.
After this, the second son went into the forest, and his mother gave
him, like the eldest, a cake and a bottle of wine. The little old Gray Man
met him likewise, and asked him for a piece of cake and a drink of wine.
But the second son, too, said with much reason, “What I give you will be
taken away from myself. Be off!” and he left the Little Man standing and
went on.
His punishment, however, was not delayed. When he had made a few
strokes at the tree, he struck himself in the leg. So he had to be carried
home.
Then Dunderhead said, “Father, do let me go and cut wood.”
The father answered, “Your brothers have hurt themselves doing so.
Leave it alone. You do not understand anything about it.”

But Dunderhead begged so long that at last he said, “Go then. You will
get wiser by hurting yourself.”
His mother gave him a cake made with water and baked in the cinders,
and with it a bottle of sour beer.
When he came to the forest the little old Gray Man met him likewise,
and greeting him said, “Give me a piece of your cake and a drink out of
your bottle. I am so hungry and thirsty.”
Dunderhead answered, “I have only cinder-cake and sour beer. If that
pleases you, we will sit down and eat.”
So they sat down, and when Dunderhead pulled out his cinder-cake, it
was a fine sweet cake, and the sour beer had become good wine.
So they ate and drank, and after that the Little Man said, “Since you
have a good heart, and are willing to divide what you have, I will give you
good luck. There stands an old tree. Cut it down, and you will find
something at the roots.”
Then the old man took leave of him.
Dunderhead went and cut down the tree; and when it fell there was a
Goose sitting in the roots, with feathers of pure gold. He lifted her up, and
taking her with him, went to an inn, where he thought he would stay the
night. Now the host had three daughters, who saw the Goose and were
curious to know what such a wonderful bird might be. And each wanted one
of its feathers.
The eldest thought, “I shall soon find an opportunity of pulling out a
feather,” and when Dunderhead was gone out, she seized the Goose by the
wing. But her finger and hand remained sticking fast to it.
The second came in soon afterward, thinking only of how she might get
a feather for herself, but she had scarcely touched her sister than she was
held fast.
At last, the third came with the like intent, and the others screamed out,
“Keep away! For goodness’ sake keep away!”
But she did not understand why she was to keep away. “The others are
there,” she thought, “I may as well be there too,” and ran to them. But as

soon as she had touched her sister, she remained sticking fast to her. So they
had to spend the night with the Goose.
The next morning, Dunderhead took the Goose under his arm and set
out, without troubling himself about the three girls who were hanging on to
it. They were obliged to run after him, now left, now right, just as he was
inclined to go.
In the middle of the fields, the parson met them, and when he saw the
procession he said, “For shame, you good-for-nothing girls! Why are you
running across the fields after this young man? Is that seemly?” At the same
time he seized the youngest by the hand in order to pull her away. But as
soon as he touched her, he likewise stuck fast, and was obliged to run
behind. Before long, the sexton came by and saw his master, the parson,
running on foot behind three girls. He was astonished at this, and called out,
“Hi! your Reverence! Whither away so quickly? Do not forget that we have
a christening to-day!” and running after him he took him by the sleeve, but
was also held fast.
While the five were trotting thus one behind the other, two laborers
came with their hoes from the fields. The parson called out to them and
begged that they would set him and the sexton free. But they had scarcely
touched the sexton, when they were held fast. And now there were seven of
them running behind Dunderhead and the Goose.
Soon afterward, he came to a city, where a King ruled who had a
daughter who was so serious that no one could make her laugh. So he had
put forth a decree that whosoever should make her laugh should marry her.
When Dunderhead heard this, he went with his Goose and all her train
before the King’s Daughter.
As soon as she saw the seven people running on and on, one behind the
other, she began to laugh very loudly as if she would never leave off.
Thereupon Dunderhead asked to have her for his wife, and the wedding was
celebrated.
After the King’s death, Dunderhead inherited the Kingdom, and lived a
long time contentedly with his wife.

MOTHER HOLLE

T here was once a widow who had two daughters, one of whom was
beautiful and industrious, whilst the other was ugly and lazy. But
she was much fonder of the ugly and lazy one. Every day, the
other, poor girl, had to sit by a well in the highway, and spin, spin till her
fingers bled.

Now it happened, one day, that the shuttle was stained with her blood.
She dipped it in the well to wash the stains off, and it dropped out of her
hand and fell to the bottom. She began to weep, and ran to the woman, and
told her of the mishap.
She scolded her hard, and was so cruel 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. Then in
the anguish of her heart, she jumped into the well to get the shuttle. She lost
her senses. But when she awoke and came to herself, she was in a lovely
meadow, where the sun was shining and thousands of flowers were
growing.
Along this meadow she went, and at length came to a baker’s oven full
of bread. And the bread cried:

“Oh, take me out! Take me out!
Or I shall burn. I am well baked!”

So she went up to it, and, with the bread shovel, took out all the loaves one
after the other.
After that, she went on till she came to a tree covered with apples, and
it called 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 was
peeping. 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, my
Child? Stay with me. If you will do the work in my house carefully, you
shall be the better for it! Only you must take care to make my bed well, and
to shake it thoroughly till the feathers fly—for then it snows on earth. I am
Mother Holle.”
As the Old Woman spoke so kindly to her, the girl took heart, and
willingly entered her service. She did everything to the Old Woman’s
satisfaction, and always shook her bed so hard that the feathers flew about
like snowflakes. So she lived happily with her, never an angry word, and
boiled or roasted meat every day.
She stayed some time with Mother Holle, then she grew sad. At first
she did not know what was the matter with her, but, by and by, she found
that it was homesickness. 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 am longing for home. 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.
You have served me so faithfully, that 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 girl was standing beneath the doorway, a
heavy shower of Gold-Rain fell, and all the gold stuck to her so that she
was covered with it.
“You shall have that because you are 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 girl found herself again upon the
earth, not far from her mother’s house.
As she went into the yard, the cock was standing by the well, and cried:
“Cock-a-doodle-doo!
Your Golden Girl’s came back to you!”

So she went into her mother. And as she was thus covered with gold, she
was welcomed by both her and the sister.

A HEAVY SHOWER OF GOLD-RAIN FELL

The girl told all that had happened to her. As soon as the mother heard
how she had come by such great riches, she was anxious for the same good
fortune to befall her 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 cried again:
“Oh, take me out! Take me out!
Or I shall burn. I am well baked!”

But the lazy thing answered, “As if I wanted to soil myself!” 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 on
she went.
When she came to Mother Holle’s house, she was not afraid, for she
had already heard about her big teeth. She hired herself out immediately.
The first day, she made herself 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 stall
more so, for then she would not get up in the morning. Neither did she
make Mother Holle’s bed carefully, nor 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 to go, and thought that now the Gold-Rain would
come. Mother Holle led her to the great doorway. But while she was
standing under it, instead of gold, a big kettleful of pitch was emptied over
her.
“That is the reward of your service,” said Mother Holle, and shut the
door.
So the lazy girl went home. She was covered with pitch, and the cock
by the well, 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 so long as she lived.

THE TWO TRAVELERS

H ill and vale do not come together, but the children of men do, good
and bad. In this way a shoemaker and a tailor once met with
each other in their travels.

The tailor was a handsome little fellow who was always merry and full
of enjoyment. He saw the shoemaker coming toward him from the other
side, and as he observed by his bag what kind of a trade he plied, he sang a
little mocking song to him:
Sew me the seam,
Draw me the thread,
Spread it with pitch,
Knock the nail on the head.

The shoemaker, however, could not endure a joke. He pulled a face as if he
had drunk vinegar, and made a gesture as if he were about to seize the tailor
by the throat.
But the little fellow began to laugh, reached him his bottle, and said,
“No harm was meant, take a drink, and swallow your anger down.”
The shoemaker took a very hearty drink, and the storm on his face
began to clear away.
He gave the bottle back to the tailor, and said, “I spoke civilly to you.
One speaks well after much drinking, but not after much thirst. Shall we
travel together?”
“All right,” answered the tailor, “if only it suits you to go into a big
town where there is no lack of work.”
“That is just where I want to go,” answered the shoemaker. “In a small
nest there is nothing to earn; and in the country, people like to go barefoot.”

They traveled therefore onward together, and always set one foot
before the other like a weazel in the snow.
Both of them had time enough, but little to bite and to break. When
they reached a town, they went about and paid their respects to the
tradesmen.
Because the tailor looked so lively and merry, and had such pretty red
cheeks, every one gave him work willingly. And when luck was good, the
master’s daughters gave him a kiss beneath the porch, as well. When he
again fell in with the shoemaker, the tailor had always the most in his
bundle.
The ill-tempered shoemaker made a wry face, and thought, “The
greater the rascal the more the luck.”
But the tailor began to laugh and to sing, and shared all he got with his
comrade. If a couple of pence jingled in his pockets, he ordered good cheer,
and thumped the table in his joy till the glasses danced, and it was lightly
come, lightly go, with him.
When they had traveled for some time, they came to a great forest
through which passed the road to the capital. Two foot-paths, however, led
through it, one of them a seven days’ journey, and the other only two. But
neither of the travelers knew which way was the short one.
They seated themselves beneath an oak-tree, and took counsel together
as to what they should do and for how many days they should provide
themselves with bread.
The shoemaker said, “One must look before one leaps. I will take with
me bread for a week.”
“What!” said the tailor, “drag bread for seven days on one’s back like a
beast of burden, and not be able to look about. I shall trust in God, and not
trouble myself about anything! The money I have in my pocket is as good
in summer as in winter; but in hot weather bread gets dry and mouldy into
the bargain. Even my coat does not go as far as it might. Besides, why
should we not find the right way? Bread for two days, and that’s enough.”
Each, therefore, bought his own bread. And then they tried their luck in
the forest.

It was as quiet there as in a church. No wind stirred, no brook
murmured, no bird sang, and through the thickly-leaved branches, no
sunbeam forced its way.
The shoemaker spoke never a word, the heavy bread weighed down his
back until the perspiration streamed down his cross and gloomy face.
The tailor, however, was quite merry; he jumped about, whistled on a
leaf, or sang a song, and thought to himself, “God in Heaven must be
pleased to see me so happy.”
This lasted two days, but on the third the forest would not come to an
end, and the tailor had eaten up all his bread, so after all his heart sank
down a yard deeper. In the meantime, he did not lose courage, but relied on
God and on his luck.
On the third day, he lay down in the evening hungry under a tree, and
rose again next morning hungry still.
So also passed the fourth day, and when the shoemaker seated himself
on a fallen tree and devoured his dinner, the tailor was only a looker-on.
If he begged for a little piece of bread the other laughed mockingly, and
said, “You have always been so merry, now you can try for once what it is
to be sad. The birds which sing too early in the morning, are struck by the
hawk in the evening,” in short he was pitiless.
But on the fifth morning, the poor tailor could no longer stand up, and
was hardly able to utter one word for weakness. His cheeks were white, and
his eyes red.
Then the shoemaker said to him, “I will give you a bit of bread to-day,
but in return for it, I will put out your right eye.”
The unhappy tailor, who still wished to save his life, could not do it in
any other way. He wept once more with both eyes, and then held them out.
The shoemaker, who had a heart of stone, put out his right eye with a sharp
knife.
The tailor called to remembrance what his mother had formerly said to
him when he had been eating secretly in the pantry, “Eat what one can, and
suffer what one must.”

When he had consumed his dearly-bought bread, he got on his legs
again, forgot his misery and comforted himself with the thought that he
could always see enough with one eye.
But on the sixth day, hunger made itself felt again, and gnawed him
almost to the heart. In the evening he fell down by a tree, and on the
seventh morning he could not raise himself up for faintness, and death was
close at hand.
Then said the shoemaker, “I will show mercy and give you bread once
more, but you shall not have it for nothing. I shall put out your other eye for
it.”
And now the tailor felt how thoughtless his life had been, prayed to
God for forgiveness, and said, “Do what you will, I will bear what I must,
but remember that our Lord God does not always look on passively, and
that an hour will come when the evil deed, which you have done to me and
which I have not deserved of you, will be requited. When times were good
with me, I shared what I had with you. My trade is of that kind that each
stitch must always be exactly like the other. If I no longer have my eyes and
can sew no more, I must go a-begging. At any rate, do not leave me here
alone when I am blind, or I shall die of hunger.”
The shoemaker, however, who had driven God out of his heart, took the
knife and put out his left eye. Then he gave him a bit of bread to eat, held
out a stick to him, and drew him on behind him.
When the sun went down, they got out of the forest, and before them in
the open country stood the gallows. Thither the shoemaker guided the blind
tailor, and then left him alone and went his way.
Weariness, pain, and hunger made the wretched man fall asleep, and he
slept the whole night. When day dawned he awoke, but knew not where he
lay.
Two poor sinners were hanging on the gallows, and a crow sat on the
head of each of them. Then one of the men who had been hanged began to
speak, and said, “Brother, are you awake?”
“Yes, I am awake,” answered the second.

“Then I will tell you something,” said the first; “the dew which this
night has fallen down over us from the gallows, gives every one who
washes himself with it, his eyes again. If blind people did but know this,
how many would regain their sight who do not believe that to be possible!”
When the tailor heard that, he took his pocket-handkerchief, pressed it
on the grass, and when it was moist with dew, washed the sockets of his
eyes with it. Immediately was fulfilled what the man on the gallows had
said, and a couple of healthy new eyes filled the sockets.
It was not long before the tailor saw the sun rise behind the mountains.
In the plain before him, lay the great royal city with its magnificent gates
and hundred towers. The golden balls and crosses which were on the spires
began to shine. He could distinguish every leaf on the trees, saw the birds
which flew past, and the midges which danced in the air. He took a needle
out of his pocket, and as he could thread it as well as ever he had done, his
heart danced with delight.
He threw himself on his knees, thanked God for the mercy he had
shown him, and said his morning prayer.
Then he took his bundle on his back, and soon forgot the pain of heart
he had endured, and went on his way singing and whistling.
The first thing he met was a brown foal running about the fields at
large. He caught it by the mane, and wanted to spring on it and ride into the
town.
The foal, however, begged to be set free. “I am still too young,” it said,
“even a light tailor such as you are would break my back in two—let me go
till I have grown strong. A time may come when I can reward you for it.”
“Run off,” said the tailor, “I see you are still a giddy thing.”
He gave it a touch with a switch over its back, whereupon it kicked up
its hind legs for joy, leapt over hedges and ditches, and galloped away into
the open country.
But the little tailor had eaten nothing since the day before. “The sun to
be sure fills my eyes,” said he, “but the bread does not fill my mouth. The
first thing that comes across me and is even half eatable, will have to suffer
for it.”

In the meantime a stork stepped solemnly over the meadow toward
him.
“Halt, halt!” cried the tailor, and seized him by the leg. “I don’t know if
you are good to eat or not, but my hunger leaves me no great choice. I must
cut your head off, and roast you.”
“Don’t do that,” replied the stork; “I am a sacred bird which brings
mankind great profit, and no one ever does me an injury. Leave me my life,
and I may do you good in some other way.”
“Well, be off, Cousin Longlegs,” said the tailor.
The stork rose up, let its long legs hang down, and flew gently away.
“What’s to be the end of this?” said the tailor to himself at last; “my
hunger grows greater and greater, and my stomach more and more empty.
Whatsoever comes in my way now is lost.”
At this moment, he saw a couple of young ducks which were on a
pond, come swimming toward him.
“You come just at the right moment,” said he, and laid hold of one of
them and was about to wring its neck.
On this an old duck, which was hidden among the reeds, began to
scream loudly and swam to him with open beak, and begged him urgently
to spare her dear children.
“Can you not imagine,” said she, “how your mother would mourn if
any one wanted to carry you off, and give you your death blow?”
“Only be quiet,” said the good-tempered tailor; “you shall keep your
children,” and he put the prisoner back into the water.
When he turned round, he was standing in front of an old tree which
was partly hollow, and saw some wild bees flying in and out of it.
“There I shall at once find the reward of my good deed,” said the tailor;
“the honey will refresh me.”
But the Queen-Bee came out, threatened him and said, “If you touch
my people, and destroy my nest, our stings shall pierce your skin like ten

thousand red-hot needles. But if you will leave us in peace and go your
way, we will do you a service for it another time.”
The little tailor saw that here also nothing was to be done. “Three
dishes empty and nothing on the fourth is a bad dinner!” He dragged
himself therefore with his starved-out stomach into the town. It was just
striking twelve, all was ready-cooked for him in the inn, and he was able to
sit down at once to dinner.
When he was satisfied, he said, “Now I will get to work.”
He went round the town, sought a master, and soon found a good
situation. As he had thoroughly learned his trade, it was not long before he
became famous, and every one wanted to have a new coat made by the little
tailor, whose importance increased daily.
“I can go no further in skill,” said he, “and yet things improve every
day.”
At last the King appointed him court-tailor.
But how things do happen in the world! On the very same day his
former comrade, the shoemaker, also became court-shoemaker. When the
latter caught sight of the tailor, and saw that he had once more two healthy
eyes, his conscience troubled him.
“Before he takes revenge on me,” thought he to himself, “I must dig a
pit for him.”
He, however, who digs a pit for another, falls into it himself.
In the evening when work was over and it had grown dusk, he stole to
the King and said, “Lord King, the tailor is an arrogant fellow and has
boasted that he will get the gold crown back again, which was lost in
ancient times.”
“That would please me very much,” said the King.
He caused the tailor to be brought before him next morning, and
ordered him to get the crown back again, or to leave the town for ever.
“Oho!” thought the tailor, “a rogue gives more than he has got. If the
surly King wants me to do what can be done by no one, I will not wait till
morning, but will go out of the town at once, to-day.”

He packed up his bundle, but when he was without the gate, he could
not help being sorry to give up his good fortune and turn his back on the
town in which all had gone so well with him. He came to the pond where he
had made the acquaintance of the ducks.
At that very moment the old one whose young ones he had spared was
sitting there by the shore, pluming herself with her beak. She knew him
again and asked why he was hanging his head.
“You will not be surprised when you hear what has befallen me,”
replied the tailor, and told her his fate.
“If that be all,” said the duck, “we can help you. The crown fell into the
water, and lies at the bottom. We will soon bring it up again for you. In the
meantime just spread out your handkerchief on the bank.”
She dived down with her twelve young ones. And in five minutes she
was up again with the crown resting on her wings. The twelve young ones
were swimming round about and had put their beaks under it, and were
helping to carry it. They all swam to the shore and put the crown on the
handkerchief.
No one can imagine how magnificent the crown was. When the sun
shone on it, it gleamed like a hundred thousand carbuncles. The tailor tied
his handkerchief together by the four corners, and carried it to the King,
who was full of joy, and put a gold chain round the tailor’s neck.
When the shoemaker saw that one stroke had failed, he contrived a
second, and went to the King and said, “Lord King, the tailor has become
insolent again. He boasts that he will copy in wax the whole of the royal
palace, with everything that pertains to it, loose or fast, inside and out.”
The King sent for the tailor and ordered him to copy in wax the whole
of the royal palace, with everything that pertained to it, movable or
immovable, within and without. And if he did not succeed in doing this, or
if so much as one nail on the wall were wanting, he should be imprisoned
for his whole life underground.
The tailor thought, “It gets worse and worse! No one can endure that!”
and threw his bundle on his back, and went forth.

When he came to the hollow tree, he sat down and hung his head. The
bees came flying out, and the Queen-Bee asked him if he had a stiff neck,
since he held his head so awry.
“Alas, no,” answered the tailor, “something quite different weighs me
down,” and he told her what the King had demanded of him.
The bees began to buzz and hum amongst themselves, and the Queen-
Bee said, “Just go home again. But come back to-morrow at this time, and
bring a large sheet with you, and then all will be well.”
So he turned back again, but the bees flew to the royal palace and
straight into it through the open windows, crept round about into every
corner, and inspected everything most carefully.
Then they hurried back and modeled the palace in wax with such
rapidity that any one looking on would have thought it was growing before
his eyes. By the evening all was ready.
And when the tailor came next morning, the whole of the splendid
building was there, and not one nail in the wall or tile of the roof was
wanting, and it was delicate withal and white as snow, and smelt sweet as
honey.
The tailor wrapped it carefully in his cloth and took it to the King, who
could not admire it enough, placed it in his largest hall, and in return for it
presented the tailor with a large stone house.
The shoemaker, however, did not give up, but went for the third time to
the King and said, “Lord King, it has come to the tailor’s ears that no water
will spring up in the courtyard of the castle. He has boasted that it shall rise
up in the midst of the courtyard to a man’s height and be clear as crystal.”
Then the King ordered the tailor to be brought before him and said, “If
a stream of water does not rise in my courtyard by to-morrow as you have
promised, the executioner shall in that very place make you shorter by the
head.”
The poor tailor did not take long to think about it, but hurried out to the
gate, and because this time it was a matter of life and death to him, tears
rolled down his face.

Whilst he was thus going forth full of sorrow, the foal to which he had
formerly given its liberty, and which had now become a beautiful chestnut
horse, came leaping toward him.
“The time has come,” it said to the tailor, “when I can repay you for
your good deed. I know already what is needful to you, but you shall soon
have help. Get on me, my back can carry two such as you.”
The tailor’s courage came back to him. He jumped up in one bound;
and the horse went full speed into the town, and right up to the courtyard of
the castle. It galloped as quick as lightning thrice round it, and at the third
time it fell violently down. At the same instant there was a terrific clap of
thunder, a fragment of earth in the middle of the courtyard sprang like a
cannon ball into the air, and over the castle. Directly after it, a jet of water
rose as high as a man on horseback, and the water was as pure as crystal,
and the sunbeams began to dance on it.
When the King saw that he arose in amazement, and went and
embraced the tailor in the sight of all men.
But good fortune did not last long. The King had daughters in plenty,
each one prettier than the other, but he had no son.
So the malicious shoemaker betook himself for the fourth time to the
King, and said, “Lord King, the tailor has not given up his arrogance. He
has now boasted that if he liked, he could cause a son to be brought to the
Lord King through the air.”
The King commanded the tailor to be summoned, and said, “If you
cause a son to be brought to me within nine days, you shall have my eldest
daughter to wife.”
“The reward is indeed great,” thought the little tailor. “One would
willingly do something for it, but the cherries grow too high for me. If I
climb for them, the bough will break beneath me, and I shall fall.”
He went home, seated himself cross-legged on his work-table, and
thought over what was to be done.
“It can’t be managed,” cried he at last. “I will go away. After all I can’t
live in peace here.”

He tied up his bundle and hurried away to the gate. When he got to the
meadow, he perceived his old friend the stork, who was walking backward
and forward like a philosopher. Sometimes he stood still, took a frog into
close consideration, and at length swallowed it down.
The stork came to him and greeted him. “I see,” he began, “that you
have your pack on your back. Why are you leaving the town?”
The tailor told him what the King had required of him, and how he
could not perform it, and lamented his misfortune.
“Don’t let your hair grow gray about that,” said the stork. “I will help
you out of your difficulty. For a long time past, I have carried the children
in swaddling-clothes into the town. So for once, I can fetch a little Prince
out of the well. Go home and be easy. In nine days from this time repair to
the royal palace, and there will I come.”
The little tailor went home, and at the appointed time was at the castle.
It was not long before the stork came flying thither and tapped at the
window. The tailor opened it, and Cousin Longlegs came carefully in, and
walked with solemn steps over the smooth marble pavement.
He had a baby in his beak that was as lovely as an angel, and stretched
out its little hands to the Queen. The stork laid it in her lap, and she caressed
it and kissed it, and was beside herself with delight.
Before the stork flew away he took his traveling bag off his back and
handed it over to the Queen. In it there were little paper parcels full of
colored sweetmeats, and they were divided amongst the little Princesses.

THE ELDEST GOT THE MERRY TAILOR FOR A HUSBAND

The eldest, however, had none of them, but got the merry tailor for a
husband.
“It seems to me,” said he, “just as if I had won the highest prize. My
mother was right after all; she always said that whoever trusts in God and
his own fortune can never fail.”
The shoemaker had to make the shoes in which the little tailor danced
at the wedding festival. After which he was commanded to quit the town for

ever.
The road to the forest led him to the gallows. Worn out with anger,
rage, and the heat of the day, he threw himself down. When he had closed
his eyes and was about to sleep, the two crows flew down from the heads of
the men who were hanging there, and pecked his eyes out.
In his madness he ran into the forest and must have died there of
hunger, for no one has ever either seen him again or heard of him.

JORINDA AND JORINGEL

T here was once an old castle in the midst of a large and thick forest,
and in it an old woman, who was a Witch, dwelt all alone.

In the daytime, she changed herself into a cat or a screech-owl, but in
the evening she took her proper shape again as a human being. She could
lure wild beasts and birds to her, then she killed and boiled and roasted
them.
If any one came within one hundred paces of the castle he was obliged
to stand still, and could not stir from the place until she bade him be free.
But whenever an innocent maiden came within this circle, she changed her
into a bird, shut her up in a wicker-work cage, and carried the cage into a
room in the castle. She had about seven thousand cages of rare birds in the
castle.
Now, there was once a maiden who was called Jorinda, who was fairer
than all other girls. She and a handsome youth named Joringel had
promised to marry each other, and their greatest happiness was being
together.
One day, in order that they might be able to talk together in quiet, they
went for a walk in the forest.
“Take care,” said Joringel, “that you do not go too near the castle.”
It was a beautiful evening. The sun shone brightly between the trunks
of the trees into the dark green of the forest, and the turtledoves sang
mournfully upon the young boughs of the birch-trees.
Jorinda wept now and then. She sat down in the sunshine and was
sorrowful. Joringel was sorrowful too. They were as sad as if they were
about to die. Then they looked around them, and were quite at a loss, for
they did not know by which way to go home. The sun was half above the
mountain and half set.

Joringel looked through the bushes, and saw the old walls of the castle
close at hand. He was horror-stricken and filled with deadly fear.
Jorinda was singing:
“My little Bird, with the necklace red,
Sings sorrow, sorrow, sorrow,
He sings that the Dove must soon be dead,
Sings sorrow, sor——jug, jug, jug!”

Joringel looked for Jorinda. She was changed into a Nightingale, and sang
“jug, jug, jug!”
A screech-owl with glowing eyes flew three times round about her, and
three times cried, “to-whoo, to-whoo, to-whoo!”
Joringel could not move. He stood there like a stone, and could neither
weep nor speak, nor move hand or foot.
The sun had now set. The owl flew into the thicket. Directly afterward
there came out of it a crooked Old Woman, yellow and lean, with large red
eyes and a hooked nose, the point of which reached to her chin. She
muttered to herself, caught the Nightingale, and took it away in her hand.
Joringel could neither speak nor move from the spot. The Nightingale
was gone.
At last the woman came back, and said in a hollow voice, “Greet thee,
Zachiel. If the moon shines on the cage, Zachiel, let him loose at once.”
Then Joringel was freed. He fell on his knees before the woman and
begged that she would give him back his Jorinda. But she said that he
should never have her again, and went away. He called, he wept. He
lamented, but all in vain, “Ah, what is to become of me?”
Joringel went away, and at last came to a strange village. There he kept
sheep for a long time. He often walked round and round the castle, but not
too near to it. One night he dreamt that he found a Blood-Red Flower, in the
middle of which was a beautiful large pearl; that he picked the flower and
went with it to the castle, and that everything he touched with the flower
was freed from enchantment. He also dreamt that by means of it, he
recovered his Jorinda.

In the morning, when he awoke, he began to seek over hill and dale to
find such a flower. He sought until the ninth day, and then, early in the
morning, he found the Blood-Red Flower. In the middle of it, there was a
large dew-drop, as big as the finest pearl.
Day and night, he journeyed with this flower to the castle. When he
was within a hundred paces of it he was not held fast, but walked on to the
door.
Joringel was full of joy. He touched the door with the flower, and it
sprang open. He walked in through the courtyard, and listened for the sound
of the birds. At last he heard it. He went on, and found the room from
whence it came. There the Witch was feeding the birds in the seven
thousand cages.
When she saw Joringel, she was angry, very angry, and scolded and
spat poison and gall, but she could not come within two paces of him. He
did not take any notice of her, but went and looked at the cages with the
birds. But there were many hundred Nightingales, how was he to find his
Jorinda again?
Just then he saw the Old Woman quietly take away a cage with a bird in
it, and go toward the door.
Swiftly he sprang toward her, touched the cage with the flower, and
also the Old Woman.
She could now no longer bewitch any one. And Jorinda was standing
there, clasping him round the neck, and she was as beautiful as ever!

HOW SIX MEN GOT ON IN THE WORLD

T here was once a man who understood all kinds of arts. He served in
war, and behaved well and bravely, but when the war was over
he received his dismissal, and three farthings for his expenses on
the way. “Stop,” said he, “I shall not be content with this. If I can but meet
with the right people, the King will have to give me all the treasure of the
country.”

Then full of anger he went into the forest, and saw a man standing
therein who had plucked up six trees as if they were blades of corn. He said
to him, “Will you be my servant and go with me?”
“Yes,” he answered, “but, first, I will take this little bundle of sticks
home to my mother,” and he took one of the trees, and wrapped it round the
five others, lifted the bundle on his back and carried it away.
Then he returned and went with his master, who said, “We two ought to
be able to get through the world very well.”
When they had walked on for a short while they found a huntsman who
was kneeling, had shouldered his gun, and was about to fire. The master
said to him, “Huntsman, what are you going to shoot?”
He answered, “Two miles from here a fly is sitting on the branch of an
oak-tree, and I want to shoot its left eye out.”
“Oh, come with me,” said the man, “if we three are together, we
certainly ought to be able to get on in the world!”
The huntsman was ready, and went with him.
They came to seven windmills whose sails were turning round with
great speed, and yet no wind was blowing either on the right or the left, and
no leaf was stirring. Then said the man, “I know not what is driving the
windmills, not a breath of air is stirring,” and he went onward with his
servants, and when they had walked two miles they saw a man sitting on a

tree, who was shutting one nostril, and blowing out of the other. “Good
gracious! what are you doing up there?”
He answered, “Two miles from here are seven windmills. Look, I am
blowing them till they turn round.”
“Oh, come with me,” said the man. “If we four are together, we shall
carry the whole world before us!”
Then the blower came down and went with him.
After a while they saw a man who was standing on one leg and had
taken off the other, and laid it beside him. Then the master said, “You have
arranged things very comfortably to have a rest.”
“I am a runner,” he replied, “and to stop myself running far too fast, I
have taken off one of my legs, for if I run with both, I go quicker than any
bird can fly.”
“Oh, come with me. If we five are together, we shall carry the whole
world before us.”
So he went with them.
It was not long before they met a man who wore a cap, but had put it
quite on one ear. Then the master said to him, “Gracefully! gracefully! don’t
stick your cap on one ear, you look just like a tom-fool!”
“I must not wear it otherwise,” said he, “for if I set my hat straight, a
terrible frost comes on, and all the birds in the air are frozen, and drop dead
on the ground.”
“Oh, come with me,” said the master. “If we six are together, we can
carry the whole world before us.”
Now the six came to a town where the King had proclaimed that
whosoever ran a race with his daughter and won the victory, should be her
husband, but whosoever lost it, must lose his head.
Then the man presented himself and said, “I will, however, let my
servant run for me.”
The King replied, “Then his life also must be staked, so that his head
and thine are both set on the victory.”

When that was settled and made secure, the man buckled the other leg
on the runner, and said to him, “Now be nimble, and help us to win.”
It was fixed that the one who was the first to bring some water from a
far distant well, was to be the victor. The runner received a pitcher, and the
King’s Daughter one too, and they began to run at the same time. But in an
instant, when the King’s Daughter had got a very little way, the people who
were looking on could see no more of the runner, it was just as if the wind
had whistled by.
In a short time he reached the well, filled his pitcher with water, and
turned back. Half-way home, however, he was overcome with fatigue, and
set his pitcher down, lay down himself, and fell asleep. He had, however,
made a pillow of a horse’s skull which was lying on the ground, in order
that he might lie uncomfortably, and soon wake up again.
In the meantime, the King’s Daughter, who could also run very well—
quite as well as any ordinary mortal can—had reached the well, and was
hurrying back with her pitcher full of water, and when she saw the runner
lying there asleep, she was glad and said, “My enemy is delivered over into
my hands,” emptied his pitcher, and ran on.
And now all would have been lost if by good luck the huntsman had
not been standing at the top of the castle, and had not seen everything with
his sharp eyes. Then said he, “The King’s Daughter shall still not prevail
against us.”
He loaded his gun, and shot so cleverly, that he shot the horse’s skull
away from under the runner’s head without hurting him. Then the runner
awoke, leapt up, and saw that his pitcher was empty, and that the King’s
Daughter was already far in advance. He did not lose heart, however, but
ran back to the well with his pitcher, again drew some water, and was still at
home again, ten minutes before the King’s Daughter. “Behold!” said he, “I
have not bestirred myself till now. It did not deserve to be called running
before.”
But it pained the King, and still more his daughter, that she should be
carried off by a common disbanded soldier like that. So they took counsel
with each other how to get rid of him and his companions.

Then said the King to her, “I have thought of a way. Don’t be afraid,
they shall not come back again.” And he said to them, “You shall now make
merry together, and eat and drink.”
He conducted them to a room which had a floor of iron, and the doors
also were of iron, and the windows were guarded with iron bars. There was
a table in the room covered with delicious food, and the King said to them,
“Go in, and enjoy yourselves.”
And when they were inside, he ordered the doors to be shut and bolted.
Then he sent for the cook, and commanded him to make a fire under the
room until the iron became red-hot. This the cook did, and the six who were
sitting at table began to feel quite warm, and they thought the heat was
caused by the food. But as it became still greater, and they wanted to get
out, and found that the doors and windows were bolted, they became aware
that the King had an evil intention, and wanted to suffocate them.
“He shall not succeed, however,” said the one with the cap. “I will
cause a frost to come, before which the fire shall be ashamed, and creep
away.”
Then he put his cap on straight, and immediately there came such a
frost that all heat disappeared, and the food on the dishes began to freeze.
When an hour or two had passed by, and the King believed that they
had perished in the heat, he had the doors opened to behold them himself.
But when the doors were opened, all six were standing there, alive and well,
and said that they should very much like to get out to warm themselves, for
the very food was fast frozen to the dishes with the cold.
Then, full of anger, the King went down to the cook, scolded him and
asked why he had not done what he had been ordered to do. But the cook
replied, “There is heat enough there, just look yourself.” Then the King saw
that a fierce fire was burning under the iron room, and perceived that there
was no getting the better of the six in this way.
Again the King considered how to get rid of his unpleasant guests, and
caused their chief to be brought and said, “If you will take gold and
renounce my daughter, you shall have as much as you wish.”
“Oh, yes, Lord King,” he answered, “give me as much as my servant
can carry, and I will not ask for your daughter.”

On this the King was satisfied, and the other continued, “In fourteen
days, I will come and fetch it.”
Thereupon he summoned together all the tailors in the whole kingdom,
and they were to sit for fourteen days and sew a sack. And when it was
ready, the strong one who could tear up trees had to take it on his back, and
go with it to the King.
Then said the King, “Who can that strong fellow be who is carrying a
bundle of linen on his back that is as big as a house?” and he was alarmed
and said, “What a lot of gold he can carry away!”
Then he commanded a ton of gold to be brought. It took sixteen of his
strongest men to carry it, but the strong one snatched it up in one hand, put
it in his sack, and said, “Why don’t you bring more at the same time?—that
hardly covers the bottom!”
Then, little by little, the King caused all his treasure to be brought
thither, and the strong one pushed it into the sack, and still the sack was not
half full with it. “Bring more,” cried he, “these few crumbs don’t fill it.”
Then seven thousand carts with gold had to be gathered together in the
whole kingdom, and the strong one thrust them and the oxen harnessed to
them into his sack. “I will examine it no longer,” said he, “but will just take
what comes, so long as the sack is but full.”
When all that was inside, there was still room for a great deal more.
Then he said, “I will just make an end of the thing. People do sometimes tie
up a sack even when it is not full.” So he took it on his back, and went away
with his comrades.
When the King now saw how one single man was carrying away the
entire wealth of the country, he became enraged, and bade his horsemen
mount and pursue the six, and ordered them to take the sack away from the
strong one. Two regiments speedily overtook the six, and called out, “You
are prisoners. Put down the sack with the gold, or you will all be cut to
pieces!”
“What say you?” cried the blower, “that we are prisoners! Rather than
that should happen, all of you shall dance about in the air.” And he closed
one nostril, and with the other blew on the two regiments. Then they were

driven away from each other, and carried into the blue sky over all the
mountains—one here, the other there.
One sergeant cried for mercy. He had nine wounds, and was a brave
fellow who did not deserve ill-treatment. The blower stopped a little so that
he came down without injury, and then the blower said to him, “Now go
home to your King, and tell him he had better send some more horsemen,
and I will blow them all into the air.”
When the King was informed of this he said, “Let the rascals go. They
have the best of it.”
Then the six conveyed the riches home, divided it amongst them, and
lived in content until their death.

THE GOOSE-GIRL

T here was once upon a time, an old Queen, whose husband had been
dead for many years, and she had a beautiful daughter.

When the Princess grew up, she was betrothed to a Prince who lived
very far away. When the time came for her to be married, and she had to
journey forth into the distant kingdom, the aged Queen packed up for her
many costly vessels of silver and gold, and trinkets, also of gold and silver,
and cups and jewels, in short, everything which appertained to a royal
dowry, for she loved her child with all her heart.
She likewise sent her maid-in-waiting, who was to ride with her, and
hand her over to the Bridegroom. Each had a horse for the journey, but the
horse of the King’s Daughter was called Falada, and could speak.
So when the hour of parting had come, the aged mother went into her
bedroom, took a small knife and cut her finger with it until it bled. Then she
held a white handkerchief to it, into which she let three drops of blood fall.
She gave the handkerchief to her daughter and said, “Dear Child,
preserve this carefully. It will be of service to you on your way.”
So they took a sorrowful leave of each other. The Princess put the piece
of cloth in her bosom, mounted her horse, and then went away to her
Bridegroom.
After she had ridden for a while she felt a burning thirst, and said to her
waiting-maid, “Dismount, and take my cup which you have brought with
you, and get me some water from the stream, for I should like to drink.”
“If you are thirsty,” said the waiting-maid, “get off your horse yourself,
and lie down and drink out of the water. I don’t choose to be your servant.”
So in her great thirst the Princess alighted, bent down over the water in
the stream and drank, and was not allowed to drink out of the golden cup.
Then she said, “Ah, Heaven!” and the three drops of blood answered:

“If thy Mother only knew,
’Twould surely break her heart in two!”

But the King’s Daughter was humble, said nothing, and mounted her horse
again.
She rode some miles further, but the day was warm, the sun scorched
her, and she was thirsty once more. When they came to a stream of water,
she again cried to her waiting-maid, “Dismount, and give me some water in
my golden cup,” for she had long ago forgotten the girl’s ill words.
But the waiting-maid said still more haughtily, “If you wish to drink,
drink as you can, I don’t choose to be your maid.”
Then in her great thirst the King’s Daughter alighted, bent over the
flowing stream, wept and said, “Ah, Heaven!” and the drops of blood again
replied:
“If thy Mother only knew,
’Twould surely break her heart in two!”

And as she was thus drinking and leaning right over the stream, the
handkerchief with the three drops of blood fell out of her bosom, and
floated away with the water without her observing it, so great was her
trouble. The waiting-maid, however, had seen it, and she rejoiced to think
that she had now power over the Bride, for since the Princess had lost the
drops of blood, she had become weak and powerless.
So now, when she wanted to mount her horse again, the one that was
called Falada, the waiting-maid said, “Falada is more suitable for me, and
my nag will do for you,” and the Princess had to be content with that.
Then the waiting-maid, with many hard words, bade the Princess
exchange her royal apparel for her own shabby clothes; and at length she
was compelled to swear by the clear sky above her, that she would not say
one word of this to any one at the Royal Court. And if she had not taken this
oath she would have been killed on the spot. But Falada saw all this, and
observed it well.
The waiting-maid now mounted Falada, and the true Bride the bad
horse, and thus they traveled onward, until they entered the royal palace.

There were great rejoicings over her arrival, and the Prince sprang forward
to meet her, lifted the waiting-maid from her horse, and thought she was his
Bride. She was conducted up-stairs, but the real Princess was left standing
below.
Then the old King looked out of the window and saw her standing in
the courtyard, and how dainty and delicate and beautiful she was. He
instantly went to the royal apartment, and asked the Bride about the girl she
had with her, who was standing down below in the courtyard, and who she
was.
“I picked her up on my way for a companion. Give the girl something
to work at, that she may not stand idle.”
But the old King had no work for her, and knew of none, so he said, “I
have a little boy who tends the geese, she may help him.”
The boy was called Conrad, and the true Bride had to help him to tend
the geese.
Soon afterward the false Bride said to the young King, “Dearest
Husband, I beg you to do me a favor.”
He answered, “I will do so most willingly.”
“Then send for the butcher, and have the head of the horse on which I
rode here, cut off, for it vexed me on the way.” In reality, she was afraid that
the horse might tell how she had behaved to the King’s Daughter.
Then she succeeded in making the King promise that it should be done,
and the faithful Falada was to die. This came to the ears of the real Princess,
and she secretly promised the butcher a piece of gold if he would perform a
small service for her. There was a great dark-looking gateway in the town,
through which, morning and evening, she had to pass with the geese: would
he be so good as to nail up Falada’s head on it, so that she might see him
again? The butcher promised to do that, and cut off the head, and nailed it
fast beneath the dark gateway.
Early in the morning, when she and Conrad drove out their flock
beneath this gateway, she said in passing:
“Alas, Falada, hanging there!”

Then the head answered:
“Alas! young Queen, how ill you fare!
If this your tender Mother knew,
Her heart would surely break in two!”

Then they went still farther out of the town, and drove their geese into the
country. And when they had come to the meadow, she sat down and
unbound her hair which was like pure gold. Conrad saw it and delighted in
its brightness, and wanted to pluck out a few hairs. Then she said:
“Blow, blow, thou gentle Wind, I say,
Blow Conrad’s little hat away,
And make him chase it here and there,
Until I’ve braided all my hair,
And bound it up again.”

And there came such a violent wind that it blew Conrad’s hat far away
across county, and he was forced to run after it.
When he came back she had finished combing her hair and was putting
it up again and he could not get any of it. Then Conrad was angry, and
would not speak to her. And thus they watched the geese until the evening,
and then they went home.

THE HEAD ANSWERED, “ALAS! YOUNG QUEEN HOW ILL YOU
FARE”

Next day when they were driving the geese out through the dark
gateway, the maiden said:
“Alas, Falada, hanging there!”

Falada answered:

“Alas! young Queen, how ill you fare!
If this your tender Mother knew,
Her heart would surely break in two!”

And she sat down again in the field and began to comb out her hair. Conrad
ran and tried to clutch it, so she said in haste:
“Blow, blow, thou gentle Wind, I say,
Blow Conrad’s little hat away,
And make him chase it here and there,
Until I’ve braided all my hair,
And bound it up again.”

Then the wind blew, and blew his little hat off his head and far away, and
Conrad was forced to run after it. When he came back, her hair had been
put up a long time, and he could get none of it. So they looked after their
geese till evening came.
But in the evening, after they had got home, Conrad went to the old
King, and said, “I won’t tend the geese with that girl any longer!”
“Why not?” inquired the old King.
“Oh, because she vexes me the whole day long.”
Then the old King commanded him to relate what it was that she did to
him.
And Conrad said, “In the morning, when we pass beneath the dark
gateway with the flock, there is a sorry horse’s head on the wall, and she
says to it:
“‘Alas, Falada, hanging there!’

And the head replies:
“‘Alas! young Queen, how ill you fare!
If this your tender Mother knew,
Her heart would surely break in two!’”

And Conrad went on to relate what happened on the goose-pasture, and
how when there he had to chase his hat.
The old King commanded him to drive his flock out again next day,
and as soon as morning came, he placed himself behind the dark gateway,
and heard how the maiden spoke to the head of Falada. Then he went into
the country, and hid himself in the thicket in the meadow. There he soon
saw with his own eyes, the goose-girl and the goose-boy bringing their
flock, and how after a while she sat down and unplaited her hair, which
shone with radiance. And soon she said:
“Blow, blow, thou gentle Wind, I say,
Blow Conrad’s little hat away,
And make him chase it here and there,
Until I’ve braided all my hair,
And bound it up again.”

Then came a blast of wind and carried off Conrad’s hat, so that he had to
run far away, while the maiden quietly went on combing and plaiting her
hair. All of which the King observed.
Then, quite unseen, he went away, and when the goose-girl came home
in the evening, he called her aside, and asked why she did all these things.
“I may not tell you that, and I dare not lament my sorrows to any
human being, for I have sworn not to do so by the heaven which is above
me. If I had not done that, I should have lost my life.”
He urged her and left her no peace, but he could draw nothing from her.
Then said he, “If you will not tell me anything, tell your sorrows to the iron
stove there,” and he went away.
Then she crept into the iron stove, and began to weep and lament, and
emptied her whole heart, and said, “Here am I deserted by the whole world,
and yet I am a King’s Daughter, and a false waiting-maid has by force
brought me to such a pass, that I have been compelled to put off my royal
apparel. She has taken my place with my Bridegroom, and I have to do the
mean work of a goose-girl.

“If my Mother only knew,
’Twould surely break her heart in two!”

The old King was standing outside by the pipe of the stove, and was
listening to what she said, and heard it. Then he came back again, and bade
her come out of the stove. And royal garments were placed on her, and it
was marvelous how beautiful she was! The old King called his son, and
revealed to him, that he had got the false Bride who was only a waiting-
maid, but that the true one was standing there, as the goose-girl.
The young King rejoiced with all his heart when he saw her beauty and
youth, and a great feast was made ready to which all the people and all
good friends were invited. At the head of the table sat the Bridegroom with
the King’s Daughter at one side of him, and the waiting-maid on the other,
but the waiting-maid was blinded, and did not recognize the Princess in her
dazzling array.
When they had eaten and drunk, and were merry, the old King asked
the waiting-maid as a riddle, what a person deserved who had behaved in
such and such a way to her master, and at the same time related the whole
story, and asked what sentence such a one merited?
Then the false Bride said, “She deserves no better fate than to be put in
a barrel which is studded inside with pointed nails, and two white horses
should be harnessed to it, to drag her along through one street after another,
till she is dead.”
“It is you,” said the old King, “and you have pronounced your own
sentence. Thus shall it be done unto you.”
And when the sentence had been carried out, the young King married
his true Bride, and both of them reigned over their kingdom in peace and
happiness.

THE SINGING, SOARING LARK

T here was once on a time, a man who was about to set out on a long
journey. At parting he asked his three daughters what he should
bring back for them.

Whereupon the eldest wished for pearls, the second wished for
diamonds, but the third said, “Dear Father, I should like a Singing, Soaring
Lark.”
The father said, “Yes, if I can get it, you shall have it,” kissed all three,
and set out.
Now, when the time had come for him to return home, he had brought
pearls and diamonds for the two eldest. But he had sought everywhere in
vain for a Singing, Soaring Lark for the youngest, and he was very unhappy
about it, for she was his favorite child.
Then his road lay through a forest, and in the midst of it was a splendid
castle. Near the castle stood a tree, and quite on the top of the tree, he saw a
Singing, Soaring Lark.
“Aha, you come just at the right moment!” he said, quite delighted, and
called to his servant to climb up and catch the little creature.
But as he approached the tree, a Lion leapt from beneath it, shook
himself, and roared till the leaves on the tree trembled. “He who tries to
steal my Singing, Soaring Lark,” he cried, “will I devour.”
Then the man said, “I did not know that the bird belonged to you. I will
make amends for the wrong I have done, and ransom myself with a large
sum of money, only spare my life.”
The Lion said, “Nothing can save you, unless you will promise to give
me for mine own what first meets you on your return home. But if you will
do that, I will grant you your life, and you shall have the bird for your
daughter, into the bargain.”

The man hesitated and said, “That might be my youngest daughter, she
loves me best, and always runs to meet me on my return home.”
The servant, however, was terrified and said, “Why should your
daughter be the very one to meet you, it might as easily be a cat, or dog?”
Then the man allowed himself to be persuaded, took the Singing,
Soaring Lark, and promised to give the Lion whatsoever should first meet
him on his return home.
When he reached home and entered his house, the first who met him
was no other than his youngest and dearest daughter, who came running up,
kissed and embraced him. When she saw that he had brought with him a
Singing, Soaring Lark, she was beside herself with joy.
The father, however, could not rejoice, but began to weep, and said,
“My dearest Child, I have bought the little bird at a great cost! In return for
it, I have been obliged to promise you to a savage Lion. When he has you
he will tear you in pieces and devour you,” and he told her all, just as it had
happened, and begged her not to go thither, come what might.
But she consoled him and said, “Dearest Father, indeed your promise
must be fulfilled. I will go thither and soften the Lion, so that I may return
to you safely.”
Next morning, she had the road pointed out to her, took leave, and went
fearlessly out into the forest. The Lion, however, was an enchanted Prince
and was by day a Lion, and all his people were Lions with him. But in the
night, they resumed their natural human shapes.
On her arrival, she was kindly received and led into the castle. When
night came, the Lion turned into a handsome man, and their wedding was
celebrated with great magnificence. They lived happily together, remained
awake at night, and slept in the daytime.
One day, he came and said, “To-morrow there is a feast in your father’s
house, because your eldest sister is to be married, and if you are inclined to
go there, my Lions shall conduct you.”
She said, “Yes, I should very much like to see my father again,” and
went thither, accompanied by the Lions.

There was great joy when she arrived, for they had all believed that she
had been torn in pieces by the Lion, and had long ceased to live. But she
told them what a handsome husband she had, and how well off she was. She
remained with them while the wedding-feast lasted, and then went back
again to the forest.
When the second daughter was about to be married, and she was again
invited to the wedding, she said to the Lion, “This time, I will not go alone.
You must come with me.”
The Lion, however, said that it was too dangerous for him, for if a ray
from a burning candle should fall on him, he would be changed into a
Dove, and for seven years long would have to fly about with the Doves.
She said, “Ah, but do come with me, I will take great care of you and
guard you from all light.”
So they went away together, and took with them their little child as
well. She had a chamber built, so strong and thick that no ray could pierce
through it. In this he was to shut himself up when the candles were lit for
the wedding-feast. But the door was made of green wood which warped and
left a little crack which no one noticed.
The wedding was celebrated with magnificence; but when the
procession with all its candles and torches came back from church and
passed by this apartment, a ray about the breadth of a hair fell on the King’s
Son. When this ray touched him, he was transformed in an instant. And
when she came in, and looked for him, she did not see him, but a white
Dove was sitting there.
The Dove said to her, “For seven years must I fly about the world, but
at every seventh step that you take I will let fall a drop of red blood and a
white feather. These will show you the way. If you follow the trace you can
release me.”
Thereupon the Dove flew out at the door, and she followed him. At
every seventh step a red drop of blood and a little white feather fell down,
and showed her the way.
So she went continually farther and farther, in the wide world, never
looking about her nor resting, and the seven years were almost past. Then

she rejoiced and thought that they would soon be delivered, and yet they
were so far from it!
Once when they were thus moving onwards, no little feather and no
drop of red blood fell, and when she raised her eyes the Dove had
disappeared. And as she thought to herself, “In this no man can help me,”
she climbed up to the Sun, and said to him, “You shine into every crevice,
and over every peak, have you not seen a white Dove flying?”
“No,” said the Sun, “I have seen none, but I present you with a casket.
Open it when you are in sorest need.”
Then she thanked the Sun, and went on until evening came and the
Moon appeared. She then asked her, “You shine the whole night through,
and on every field and forest, have you not seen a white Dove flying?”
“No,” said the Moon, “I have seen no Dove, but here I give you an egg.
Break it when you are in great need.”
She thanked the Moon, and went on until the Night Wind came up and
blew on her, then she said to it, “You blow over every tree and under every
leaf, have you not seen a white Dove flying?”
“No,” said the Night Wind, “I have seen none, but I will ask the three
other Winds; perhaps they have seen it.”
The East Wind and the West Wind came, and had seen nothing, but the
South Wind said, “I have seen the white Dove, it has flown to the Red Sea,
there it has become a Lion again, for the seven years are over. The Lion is
there fighting with a Dragon. The Dragon, however, is an enchanted
Princess.”
The Night Wind then said to her, “I will advise you. Go to the Red Sea,
on the right bank are some tall reeds, count them, break off the eleventh,
and strike the Dragon with it. Then the Lion will be able to subdue it, and
both then will regain their human form. After that, look round and you will
see the Griffin which is by the Red Sea. Swing yourself with your beloved,
on to his back, and the bird will carry you over the sea to your own home.
“Here is a nut for you, when you are above the centre of the sea, let the
nut fall. It will immediately shoot up, and a tall nut-tree will grow out of the
water on which the Griffin may rest; for if he cannot rest, he will not be

strong enough to carry you across. If you forget to throw down the nut, he
will let you fall into the sea.”
Then she went thither, and found everything as the Night Wind had
said. She counted the reeds by the sea, and cut off the eleventh, struck the
Dragon with it, whereupon the Lion overcame it. Immediately both of them
regained their human shapes. But when the Princess, who had been the
Dragon, was delivered from enchantment, she took the youth by the arm,
seated herself on the Griffin, and carried him off with her.
There stood the poor maiden, who had wandered so far and was again
forsaken! She sat down and cried, but at last she took courage and said,
“Still I will go as far as the Wind blows and as long as the cock crows, until
I find him.”
She went forth by long, long roads, until at last she came to the castle,
where both of them were living together. There she heard that a feast was to
be held, in which they would celebrate their wedding, but she said, “God
still helps me,” and opened the casket that the Sun had given her. A dress
lay therein as brilliant as the sun itself.
So she took it out and put it on, and went up into the castle, and every
one, even the Bride, looked at her with astonishment. The dress pleased the
Bride so well that she thought it might do for her wedding-dress, and asked
if it was for sale?
“Not for money or land,” answered she, “but for flesh and blood.”
The Bride asked her what she meant by that, then she said, “Let me
sleep a night in the chamber where the Bridegroom sleeps.”
The Bride would not, yet wanted very much to have the dress. At last
she consented, but the page was to give the Prince a sleeping-draught.
When it was night, and the youth was already asleep, she was led into
the chamber. She seated herself on the bed and said, “I have followed you
for seven years. I have been to the Sun and the Moon, and the Four Winds,
and have inquired for you and have helped you against the Dragon. Will
you, then, forget me?”
But the Prince slept so soundly that it only seemed to him as if the wind
were whistling outside in the fir-trees. When therefore day broke, she was

led out again, and had to give up the golden dress. And as that had been of
no avail, she was sad, went out into a meadow, sat down there, and wept.
While she was sitting there, she thought of the egg which the Moon had
given her. She opened it, and there came out a clucking hen with twelve
chickens all of gold. They ran about chirping, and crept again under the old
hen’s wings. Nothing more beautiful was ever seen in the world!
She arose, and drove them through the meadow. The Bride looked out
of the window, and the little chickens pleased her so that she came down
and asked if they were for sale.
“Not for money or land, but for flesh and blood. Let me sleep again in
the chamber where the Bridegroom sleeps.”
The Bride said, “Yes,” intending to cheat her as on the former evening.
But when the Prince went to bed he asked the page what the murmuring and
rustling in the night had been. On this the page told all; that he had been
forced to give him a sleeping-draught, because a poor girl had slept secretly
in the chamber, and that he was to give him another that night.
The Prince said, “Pour out the draught by the bedside.”
At night, she was again led in, and when she began to relate how ill all
had fared with her, he immediately recognized his beloved wife by her
voice, sprang up and cried, “Now I really am released! I have been as it
were in a dream, for the strange Princess has bewitched me so that I have
been compelled to forget you! But God has delivered me from the spell at
the right time.”
Then they both left the castle secretly in the night, for they feared the
father of the Princess, who was a sorcerer. They seated themselves on the
Griffin which bore them across the Red Sea. When they were in the midst
of it, she let fall the nut. Immediately a tall nut-tree grew up, whereon the
bird rested, and then carried them home, where they found their child, who
had grown tall and beautiful.
And they lived thenceforth happily until their death.

DOCTOR KNOWALL

T here was once on a time, a poor peasant called Crab, who drove
two oxen with a load of wood to town, and sold it to a doctor for
two dollars.

When the money was being counted out to him, it so happened that the
doctor was sitting at table, and when the peasant saw how daintily he ate
and drank, his heart desired what he saw, and he would willingly have been
a doctor. So he remained standing a while, and at length inquired if he, too,
could not be a doctor.
“Oh, yes,” said the doctor, “that is soon managed.”
“What must I do?” asked the peasant.
“In the first place, buy yourself an A B C book of the kind which has a
cock on the frontispiece. In the second, turn your cart and your two oxen
into money, and get yourself some clothes, and whatsoever else pertains to
medicine. Thirdly, have a sign painted with the words, ‘I am Doctor
Knowall,’ and have that nailed up above your house-door.”
The peasant did everything that he had been told to do. When he had
doctored people a while, but not long, a rich and great lord had some money
stolen. Then he was told about Doctor Knowall who lived in such and such
a village, and must know what had become of the money. So the lord had
the horses put in his carriage, drove out to the village, and asked Crab if he
were Doctor Knowall?
Yes, he was, he said.
Then he was to go with him and bring back the stolen money.
“Oh, yes, but Grethe, my wife, must go too.”
The lord was willing, and let both of them have a seat in the carriage.
They all drove away together. When they came to the nobleman’s castle, the
table was spread, and Crab was told to sit down and eat.

“Yes, but my wife, Grethe, too,” said he, and he seated himself with her
at the table.
And when the first servant came with a dish of delicate fare, the
peasant nudged his wife, and said, “Grethe, that was the first,” meaning that
was the servant who brought the first dish.
The servant, however, thought he intended by that to say, “That is the
first thief,” and as he actually was so, he was terrified, and said to his
comrade outside, “The doctor knows all! we shall fare badly; he said I was
the first.”
The second did not want to go in at all, but was obliged to. So when he
went in, the peasant nudged his wife, and said, “Grethe, that is the second.”
This servant was so frightened, that he got out.
With the third, it did not fare any better, for the peasant said again,
“Grethe, that is the third.”
The fourth had to carry in a covered dish. In it were crabs.

THE FIRST SERVANT CAME WITH A DISH OF DELICATE FARE

The lord told the doctor that he must show his skill by guessing what
was under the cover. The doctor looked at the dish, had no idea what was in
it, and cried out, “Alas! poor Crab!”
When the lord heard that, he cried, “There! he knows who has the
money!”
At this, the servants were terribly anxious. They winked at the doctor to
come out to them. When he went out, they all four confessed that they had

stolen the money, and that they were willing to restore it. They led him to
the spot where it was hidden.
Thus the lord got back his wealth, and Doctor Knowall received a large
reward and became a famous man.

THE BLUE LIGHT

T here was once on a time, a soldier who for many years had served

received.
the King faithfully. But when the war came to an end he could
serve no longer because of the many wounds which he had

The King said to him, “You may return to your home, I need you no
longer. You will not receive any more money, for only he receives wages
who renders me service for them.”
Then the soldier did not know how to earn a living, went away greatly
troubled, and walked the whole day, until in the evening he entered a forest.
When darkness came on, he saw a light, which he went toward, and came to
a house wherein lived a Witch.
“Do give me one night’s lodging, and a little to eat and drink,” said he
to her, “or I shall starve.”
“Oho!” she answered, “who gives anything to a runaway soldier? Yet
will I be compassionate, and take you in, if you will do what I wish.”
“What do you wish?” said the soldier.
“That you should dig all round my garden for me, to-morrow.”
The soldier consented, and next day labored with all his strength, but
could not finish it by the evening.
“I see well enough,” said the Witch, “that you can do no more to-day.
But I will keep you yet another night, in payment for which you must to-
morrow chop me a load of wood, and make it small.”
The soldier spent the whole day in doing it, and in the evening the
Witch proposed that he should stay one night more. “To-morrow, you shall
do me a very trifling piece of work. Behind my house, there is an old, dry
well, into which my light has fallen. It burns blue, and never goes out, and
you shall bring it up again for me.”

Next day, the Old Woman took him to the well, and let him down in a
basket. He found the Blue Light, and made her a signal to draw him up
again. She did draw him up, but when he came near the edge, she stretched
down her hand and wanted to take the Blue Light away from him.
“No,” said he, perceiving her evil intention, “I will not give you the
light, until I am standing with both feet upon the ground.”
The Witch fell into a passion, let him down again into the well, and
went away.
The poor soldier fell without injury on the moist ground, and the Blue
Light went on burning. But of what use was that to him? He saw very well
that he could not escape death. He sat for a while very sorrowfully, then
suddenly he felt in his pocket and found his pipe, which was still half full of
tobacco. “This shall be my last pleasure,” thought he, pulled it out, lit it at
the Blue Light and began to smoke.
When the smoke had circled about the cavern, suddenly a little Black
Man stood before him, and said, “Master, what are your commands?”
“What commands have I to give you?” replied the soldier, quite
astonished.
“I must do everything you bid me,” said the Little Man.
“Good,” said the soldier; “then in the first place help me out of this
well.”
The Little Man took him by the hand, and led him through an
underground passage, but the soldier did not forget to take the Blue Light
with him. On the way the Little Man showed him treasures hidden there,
and the soldier took as much gold as he could carry.
When he was above, he said to the Little Man, “Now go and bind the
old Witch, and carry her before the judge.”
In a short time she, with frightful cries, came riding by, as swift as the
wind, on a wild tom-cat, nor was it long after that before the Little Man
reappeared. “It is all done,” said he, “and the Witch is already hanging on
the gallows. What further commands has my lord?” inquired the Little Man.

“At this moment, none,” answered the soldier; “you may return home.
Only be at hand immediately, if I summon you.”
“Nothing more is needed than that you should light your pipe at the
Blue Light, and I will appear before you at once.” Thereupon he vanished
from sight.
The soldier returned to the town from which he had come. He went to
the best inn, ordered himself handsome clothes, and then bade the landlord
furnish him a room as magnificent as possible.
When it was ready and the soldier had taken possession of it, he
summoned the Little Black Man and said, “I have served the King
faithfully, but he has dismissed me, and left me to hunger, and now I want
to punish him.”
“What am I to do?” asked the Little Man.
“Late at night, when the King’s Daughter is in bed, bring her here in
her sleep; she shall do servant’s work for me.”
The Little Man said, “That is an easy thing for me to do, but a very
dangerous thing for you, for if it is discovered, you will fare ill.”
When twelve o’clock had struck, the door sprang open, and the Little
Man carried in the Princess.
“Aha! are you there?” cried the soldier, “get to your work at once!
Fetch the broom and sweep the chamber.”
When she had done this, he ordered her to come to his chair. Then he
stretched out his feet and said, “Pull off my boots for me,” and made her
pick them up again, and clean and brighten them.
She, however, did everything he bade her, without opposition, silently
and with half-shut eyes. When the first cock crowed, the Little Man carried
her back to the royal Palace, and laid her in her bed.
Next morning, when the Princess arose, she went to her father, and told
him that she had had a very strange dream. “I was carried through the
streets with the rapidity of lightning,” said she, “and taken into a soldier’s
room, and I had to wait upon him like a servant, sweep his room, clean his

boots, and do all kinds of menial work. It was only a dream, and yet I am
just as tired as if I really had done everything.”
“The dream may have been true,” said the King. “I will give you a
piece of advice. Fill your pocket full of peas, and make a small hole in it,
and then if you are carried away again, they will fall out and leave a track in
the streets.”
But unseen by the King, the Little Man was standing beside him when
he said that, and heard all. At night, when the sleeping Princess was again
carried through the streets, some peas certainly did fall out of her pocket,
but they made no track, for the crafty Little Man had just before scattered
peas in every other street. And again the Princess was compelled to do
servant’s work until cock-crow.
Next morning, the King sent his people out to seek the track, but it was
all in vain, for in every street poor children were sitting, picking up peas,
and saying, “It must have rained peas, last night.”
“We must think of something else,” said the King; “keep your shoes on
when you go to bed, and before you come back from the place where you
are taken, hide one of them there. I will soon find it.”
The Little Black Man heard this plot, and at night when the soldier
again ordered him to bring the Princess, revealed it to him, and told him
that he knew of no way to overcome this stratagem, and that if the shoe
were found in the soldier’s house it would go badly with him.
“Do what I bid you,” replied the soldier. And again this third night, the
Princess was obliged to work like a servant, but before she went away, she
hid her shoe under the bed.
Next morning, the King had the entire town searched for his daughter’s
shoe. It was found at the soldier’s, and the soldier himself, who at the
entreaty of the Little Man, had gone outside the city-gate, was soon brought
back, and thrown into prison.
In his flight he had forgotten the most valuable things he had, the Blue
Light and the gold, and had only one ducat in his pocket. And now loaded
with chains, he was standing at the window of his dungeon, when he
chanced to see one of his comrades passing by.

The soldier tapped at the pane of glass, and when this man came up,
said to him, “Be so kind as to fetch me the small bundle I have left lying in
the inn, and I will give you a ducat for doing it.”
His comrade ran thither and brought him what he wanted. As soon as
the soldier was alone again, he lighted his pipe and summoned the Little
Black Man.
“Have no fear,” said the latter to his master. “Go wheresoever they take
you, and let them do what they will, only take the Blue Light with you.”
Next day the soldier was tried, and though he had done nothing wicked,
the judge condemned him to death. When he was led forth to die, he begged
a last favor of the King.
“What is it?” asked the King.
“That I may smoke one more pipe on my way.”
“You may smoke three,” answered the King, “but do not imagine that I
will spare your life.”
Then the soldier pulled out his pipe and lighted it at the Blue Light.
And as soon as a few wreaths of smoke had ascended the Little Man was
there with a small cudgel in his hand, and said, “What does my lord
command?”
“Strike down to earth that false judge there, and his constable, and
spare not the King who has treated me so ill.”
Then the Little Man fell on them like lightning, darting this way and
that, and whosoever was so much as touched by his cudgel fell to earth, and
did not venture to stir again. The King was terrified; he threw himself on
the soldier’s mercy, and begged merely to be allowed to live. He gave him
his kingdom for his own, and the Princess to wife.

THE SPINDLE, THE SHUTTLE, AND THE
NEEDLE

T here was once a girl whose father and mother died while she was
still a little child. All alone, in a small house at the end of the
village, dwelt her godmother, who supported herself by spinning,
weaving, and sewing. The old woman took the forlorn child to live with her,
kept her to her work, and educated her in all that is good.

When the girl was fifteen, the old woman became ill, called the child to
her bedside, and said, “Dear Daughter, I feel my end drawing near. I leave
you the little house, which will protect you from wind and weather, and my
spindle, shuttle, and needle, with which you can earn your bread.”
Then she laid her hands on the girl’s head, blessed her, and said, “Only
preserve the love of God in your heart, and all will go well with you.”
Thereupon she closed her eyes, and when she was laid in the earth, the
maiden followed the coffin, weeping bitterly, and paid her the last mark of
respect.
And now the maiden lived quite alone in the little house, and was
industrious, and span, wove, and sewed, and the blessing of the good old
woman was on all that she did. It seemed as if the flax in the room
increased of its own accord, and whenever she wove a piece of cloth or
carpet, or had made a shirt, she at once found a buyer who paid her amply
for it. So that she was in want of nothing, and even had something to share
with others.
About this time, the Son of the King was traveling about the country
looking for a Bride. He was not to choose a poor one, and did not want to
have a rich one. So he said, “She shall be my wife who is the poorest, and at
the same time the richest.”
When he came to the village where the maiden dwelt, he inquired, as
he did wherever he went, who was the richest and also the poorest girl in

the place? They first named the richest; the poorest, they said, was the girl
who lived in the small house quite at the end of the village.
The rich girl was sitting in all her splendor before the door of her
house, and when the Prince approached her, she got up, went to meet him,
and made him a low curtsey. He looked at her, said nothing, and rode on.
When he came to the house of the poor girl, she was not standing at the
door, but sitting in her little room. He stopped his horse, and saw, through
the window on which the bright sun was shining, the girl sitting at her
spinning-wheel, busily spinning. She looked up, and when she saw that the
Prince was gazing in, blushed all over her face, let her eyes fall, and went
on spinning. I do not know whether, just at that moment, the thread was
quite even; but she went on spinning until the King’s Son had ridden away
again.
Then she stepped to the window, opened it, and said, “It is so warm in
this room!” but she still looked after him as long as she could see the white
feathers in his hat. Then she sat down to work again in her own room and
went on with her spinning. And a saying which the old woman had often
repeated when she was sitting at her work, came into her mind, and she
sang these words to herself:
“Spindle, my Spindle, haste, haste thee away,
Here to my house bring the wooer, I pray.”

And what do you think happened? The spindle sprang out of her hand in an
instant, and out of the door. And when, in her astonishment, she got up and
looked after it, she saw that it was dancing out merrily into the open
country, and drawing a shining golden thread after it. Before long, it had
entirely vanished from her sight.
As she had now no spindle, the girl took the weaver’s shuttle in her
hand, sat down to her loom, and began to weave.
The spindle, however, danced continually onward, and just as the
thread came to an end, reached the Prince.
“What do I see?” he cried; “the spindle certainly wants to show me the
way!” He turned his horse about, and rode back with the golden thread. The
girl was, however, sitting at her work singing:

“Shuttle, my Shuttle, weave well this day,
And guide the wooer to me, I pray.”

Immediately the shuttle sprang out of her hand and out by the door. Before
the threshold, however, it began to weave a carpet which was more
beautiful than the eyes of man had ever yet beheld. Lilies and roses
blossomed on both sides of it. And on a golden ground in the centre green
branches ascended, under which bounded hares and rabbits. Stags and deer
stretched their heads in between them. Brightly-colored birds were sitting in
the branches above. They lacked nothing but the gift of song. The shuttle
leapt hither and thither, and everything seemed to grow of its own accord.
As the shuttle had run away, the girl sat down to sew. She held the
needle in her hand and sang:
“Needle, my Needle, sharp-pointed and fine,
Prepare for a wooer this house of mine.”

Then the needle leapt out of her fingers, and flew everywhere about the
room as quick as lightning. It was just as if invisible spirits were working.
They covered tables and benches with green cloth in an instant, and the
chairs with velvet, and hung the windows with silken curtains.
Hardly had the needle put in the last stitch, than the maiden saw
through the window the white feathers of the Prince, whom the spindle had
brought thither by the golden thread. He alighted, stepped over the carpet
into the house, and when he entered the room, there stood the maiden in her
poor garments, but she shone out from them like a rose surrounded by
leaves.
“You are the poorest and also the richest,” said he to her. “Come with
me, you shall be my Bride.”
She did not speak, but she gave him her hand. Then he kissed her, and
led her forth, lifted her on to his horse, and took her to the royal castle,
where the wedding was solemnized with great rejoicings.
The spindle, shuttle, and needle were preserved in the treasure-
chamber, and held in great honor.

THE THREE LUCK-CHILDREN

A father once called his three sons before him. He gave to the
first a cock, to the second a scythe, and to the third a cat.

“I am old,” said he, “my death is nigh, and I have wished to take
thought for you before my end. Money I have not, and what I now give you
seems of little worth. But all depends on your making a sensible use of it.
Only seek out a country where such things are still unknown, and your
fortune is made.”
After the father’s death, the eldest went away with his cock. But
wherever he came the cock was already known. In the towns, he saw him
from a long distance, sitting upon the steeples and turning round with the
wind; and in the villages he heard more than one crowing. No one would
show any wonder at the creature, so that it did not look as if he would make
his fortune by it.

WHEN THE CORN WAS RIPE, THEY SHOT IT DOWN

At last, however, it happened that he came to an island where the
people knew nothing about cocks, and did not even understand how to tell
time. They certainly knew when it was morning or evening. But at night, if
they did not sleep through it, not one of them knew how to find out the
time.
“Look!” said he, “what a proud creature! It has a ruby-red crown upon
its head, and wears spurs like a knight. It calls you three times during the

night, at fixed hours; and when it calls for the last time, the sun soon after
rises. But if it crows by broad daylight, then take notice, for there will
certainly be a change of weather.”
The people were well pleased. For a whole night they did not sleep, and
listened with great delight as the cock at two, four, and six o’clock, loudly
and clearly proclaimed the time. They asked if the creature were for sale,
and how much he wanted for it.
“About as much gold as an ass can carry,” answered he.
“A ridiculously small price for such a precious creature!” they cried all
together, and willingly gave him what he had asked.
When he came home with his wealth, his brothers were astonished, and
the second said, “Well, I will go forth and see whether I cannot get rid of
my scythe as profitably.” But it did not look as if he would, for laborers met
him everywhere, and they had scythes upon their shoulders as well as he.
At last, however, he chanced upon an island where the people knew
nothing of scythes. When the corn was ripe, they took cannon out to the
fields and shot it down. Now this was rather an uncertain affair. Many shot
right over it, others hit the ears instead of the stems and shot them away,
whereby much was lost; and besides all this it made a terrible noise.
So the man set to work and mowed it down so quietly and quickly that
the people opened their mouths with astonishment. They agreed to give him
what he wanted for the scythe, and he received a horse laden with as much
gold as it could carry.
And now the third brother wanted to take his cat to the right man. He
fared just like the others. So long as he stayed on the mainland, there was
nothing to be done. Every place had cats, and there were so many of them
that most new-born kittens were drowned in the ponds.
At last, he sailed to an island, and it luckily happened that no cats had
ever yet been seen there, and that the mice had got the upper hand so much,
that they danced upon the tables and benches whether the master were at
home or not. The people complained bitterly of the plague. The King
himself, in his palace, did not know how to secure himself against them.
Mice squeaked in every corner, and gnawed whatever they could lay hold of
with their teeth.

But now the cat began her chase, and soon cleared a couple of rooms,
and the people begged the King to buy the wonderful beast for the country.
The King willingly gave what was asked, which was a mule laden with
gold; and the third brother came home with the greatest treasure of all.
The cat made merry with the mice in the royal palace, and killed so
many that they could not be counted. At last she grew warm with the work
and thirsty, so she stood still, lifted up her head and cried, “Mew! mew!”
When they heard this strange cry, the King and all his people were
frightened, and in their terror ran out of the palace.
Then the King took counsel what was best to be done. At last, it was
decided to send a herald to the cat, and command her to leave the palace; if
not, she was to expect that force would be used against her.
The councilors said, “We would rather be plagued with mice to which
misfortune we are accustomed, than give up our lives to such a monster as
this.”
A noble youth, therefore, was sent to ask the cat whether she “would
peaceably quit the palace.” But the cat, whose thirst had become still
greater, answered again, “Mew! Mew!”
The youth thought that she said, “Most certainly not! Most certainly
not!” and took this answer to the King.
“Then,” said the councilors, “she must yield to force.”
Cannon were brought out, and the palace was soon in flames. When the
fire reached the room where the cat was sitting, she sprang safely out of the
window. But the besiegers did not leave off, until the whole palace was shot
down to the ground.

THE DONKEY CABBAGES

T here was once a young huntsman, who went into the forest to lie in
wait. He had a fresh and joyous heart, and as he was going
thither, whistling upon a leaf, an ugly old crone came up, who
spoke to him and said, “Good-day, dear huntsman, truly you are merry and
contented, but I am suffering from hunger and thirst, do give me an alms.”

The huntsman had compassion on the poor old creature, felt in his
pocket, and gave her what he could afford.
He was then about to go further, but the old woman stopped him and
said, “Listen, dear Huntsman, to what I tell you. I will make you a present
in return for your kindness. Go on your way now, but in a little while you
will come to a tree, whereon nine birds are sitting which have a cloak in
their claws, and are plucking at it. Take your gun and shoot into the midst of
them. They will let the cloak fall down to you, but one of the birds will be
hurt, and will drop dead.
“Carry away the cloak, it is a Wishing-Cloak. When you throw it over
your shoulders, you only have to wish to be in a certain place, and you will
be there in the twinkling of an eye. Take out the heart of the dead bird,
swallow it whole, and every morning early, when you get up, you will find
a gold piece under your pillow.”
The huntsman thanked the Wise Woman, and thought to himself,
“Those are fine things that she has promised me, if all does but come true!”
And verily when he had walked about a hundred paces, he heard in the
branches above him a screaming and twittering. He looked up and saw a
crowd of birds, who were tearing a piece of cloth with their beaks and
claws, and tugging and fighting as if each wanted to have it all to himself.
“Well,” said the huntsman, “this is wonderful. It has come to pass just
as the old wife foretold!” and he took the gun from his shoulder, aimed and
fired right into the midst of them, so that the feathers flew about.

The birds instantly took to flight with loud outcries, but one dropped
down dead, and the cloak fell at the same time. Then the huntsman did as
the old woman had directed him, cut open the bird, sought the heart,
swallowed it down, and took the cloak home with him.
Next morning, when he awoke, the promise occurred to him. He
wished to see if it also had been fulfilled. When he lifted up the pillow, the
gold piece shone in his eyes. The next day, he found another, and so it went
on, every time he got up. He gathered together a heap of gold, but at last he
thought, “Of what use is all my gold to me if I stay at home? I will go forth
and see the world.”
He then took leave of his parents, buckled on his huntsman’s pouch and
gun, and went out into the world.
It came to pass, that one day he traveled through a dense forest, and
when he came to the end of it, in the plain before him was a fine castle. An
Old Woman was standing with a wonderfully beautiful maiden, looking out
of one of the windows.
The Old Woman, however, was a Witch and said to the maiden, “There
comes a man out of the forest, who has a wonderful treasure in his body. We
must filch it from him, my dear Daughter. It is more suitable for us than for
him. He has a bird’s heart about him, by means of which every morning, a
gold piece lies under his pillow.” She told her what she was to do to get it,
and what part she had to play, and finally threatened her, and said with
angry eyes, “And if you do not attend to what I say, it will be the worse for
you.”
Now when the huntsman came nearer he descried the maiden, and said
to himself, “I have traveled about for such a long time, I will take a rest for
once, and enter that beautiful castle. I have certainly money enough.”
Nevertheless, the real reason was that he had caught sight of the pretty
maiden.
He entered the house, and was well received and courteously
entertained. Before long, he was so much in love with the young Witch that
he no longer thought of anything else, and saw things as she saw them, and
did what she desired.

The Old Woman then said, “Now we must have the bird’s heart, he will
never miss it.” She prepared a drink, and when it was ready, poured it into a
cup and gave it to the maiden, who was to present it to the huntsman.
She did so, saying, “Now, my Dearest, drink to me.”
So he took the cup, and when he had swallowed the draught, he
brought up the heart of the bird. The girl had to take it away secretly and
swallow it herself, for the Old Woman would have it so. Thenceforward he
found no more gold under his pillow. But it lay instead under that of the
maiden, from whence the Old Woman fetched it away every morning. But
he was so much in love and so befooled, that he thought of nothing else but
of passing his time with the maiden.
Then the old Witch said, “We have the bird’s heart, but we must also
take the Wishing-Cloak away from him.”
The maiden answered, “We will leave him that; he has lost his wealth.”
The Old Woman was angry and said, “Such a mantle is a wonderful
thing, and is seldom to be found in this world. I must and will have it!” She
gave the maiden several blows, and said that if she did not obey, it should
fare ill with her.
So she did the Old Woman’s bidding, placed herself at the window and
looked on the distant country, as if she were very sorrowful.
The huntsman asked, “Why do you stand there so sorrowfully?”
“Ah, my Beloved,” was her answer, “over yonder lies the Garnet
Mountain, where the precious stones grow. I long for them so much that
when I think of them, I feel quite sad, but who can get them? Only the
birds; they fly and can reach them, but a man never.”
“Have you nothing else to complain of?” said the huntsman. “I will
soon remove that burden from your heart.”
With that he drew her under his mantle, wished himself on the Garnet
Mountain. In the twinkling of an eye they were sitting on it together.
Precious stones were glistening on every side, so that it was a joy to see
them. Together they gathered the finest and costliest of them.

Now, the Old Woman had, through her sorceries, contrived that the
eyes of the huntsman should become heavy. He said to the maiden, “We
will sit down and rest a while. I am so tired, that I can no longer stand on
my feet.”
Then they sat down, and he laid his head in her lap, and fell asleep.
When he was asleep, she unfastened the mantle from his shoulders, and
wrapped herself in it, picked up the garnets and stones, and wished herself
back at home with them.
But when the huntsman had had his sleep out, he awoke, and perceived
that his sweetheart had betrayed him, and left him alone on the wild
mountain. Then he said, “Oh, what treachery there is in the world!” and sat
there in care and sorrow, not knowing what to do.
But the mountain belonged to some wild and monstrous Giants, who
dwelt thereon and lived their lives there, and he had not sat long, before he
saw three of them coming toward him. The Giants came up, and the first
kicked him with his foot and said, “What sort of an earthworm is lying
curled up here?”
The second said, “Step upon him and kill him.”
But the third said, “Would that be worth your while? Let him live, he
cannot remain here. When he climbs higher, toward the summit of the
mountain, the clouds will lay hold of him and bear him away.” So saying
they passed by.
But the Huntsman had paid heed to their words, and as soon as they
were gone, he rose and climbed up to the summit of the mountain. And
when he had sat there a while, a cloud floated toward him, caught him up,
carried him away, and traveled about for a long time in the heavens. Then it
sank lower, and let itself down on a great cabbage-garden, girt round by
walls, so that he came softly to the ground on cabbages and vegetables.
Then the huntsman looked about him, and said, “If I only had
something to eat! I am so hungry, and my hunger will grow greater. But I
see here neither apples nor pears, nor any other sort of fruit, everywhere
there is nothing but cabbages.” At length he thought, “At a pinch I can eat
some of the leaves. They do not taste particularly good, but they will refresh
me.”

With that he picked himself out a fine head of cabbage, and ate it. But
scarcely had he swallowed a couple of mouthfuls, when wonderful! he felt
quite changed.
Four legs grew on him, a large head and two thick ears; and he saw
with horror that he was changed into a Donkey. Still as his hunger became
greater every minute, and as the juicy leaves were suitable to his present
nature, he went on eating with great zest. At last he arrived at a different
kind of cabbage, but as soon as he had swallowed it, he again felt a change,
and resumed his human shape.
Then the huntsman lay down, and slept off his fatigue. When he awoke
next morning, he broke off one head of the bad cabbages and another of the
good ones, and thought to himself, “This shall help me to get my own again
and punish treachery.”
Then he took the cabbages with him, climbed over the wall, and went
forth to seek for the castle of his sweetheart.
After wandering about for a couple of days, he was lucky enough to
find it again. He dyed his face brown, so that his own mother would not
have known him; and begged for shelter. “I am so tired,” said he, “that I can
go no further.”
The Witch asked, “Who are you, Countryman, and what is your
business?”
Said he, “I have been so fortunate as to find the most wonderful salad
which grows under the sun, and am carrying it about with me.”
When the Old Woman heard of the exquisite salad, she was greedy, and
said, “Dear Countryman, let me just taste this wonderful salad.”
“Why not?” answered he, “I have brought two heads with me, and will
give you one of them,” and he opened his pouch and handed her the bad
cabbage.
The Witch suspected nothing amiss, and her mouth watered so for this
new dish, that she herself went into the kitchen and prepared it. When it was
ready she could not wait until it was set on the table, but took a couple of
leaves at once, and put them in her mouth. Hardly had she swallowed them,

than she was deprived of her human shape, and she ran out into the
courtyard in the form of a Donkey.
Presently the maid-servant entered the kitchen, saw the salad standing
there ready prepared, and was about to carry it up. But on the way,
according to habit, she was seized by the desire to taste, and she ate a
couple of leaves. Instantly the magic power showed itself, and she likewise
became a Donkey, and ran out to the Old Woman. And the dish of salad fell
to the ground.
Meantime the huntsman sat beside the beautiful maiden, and as no one
came with the salad and she also was longing for it, she said, “I don’t know
what has become of the salad.”
The huntsman thought, “The salad must have already taken effect,” and
said, “I will go to the kitchen and inquire about it.”
As he went down he saw the two Donkeys running about in the
courtyard. The salad, however, was lying on the ground. “All right,” said
he, “the two have taken their portion,” and he picked up the other leaves,
laid them on the dish, and carried them to the maiden. “I bring you the
delicate food myself,” said he, “in order that you may not have to wait
longer.”
Then she ate of it, and was, like the others, immediately deprived of her
human form, and ran out into the courtyard in the shape of a Donkey.
After the huntsman had washed his face, so that the transformed ones
could recognize him, he went down into the courtyard, and said, “Now you
shall receive the wages of your treachery,” and bound them together, all
three with one rope, and drove them along until he came to a mill.
He knocked at the window, the miller put out his head, and asked what
he wanted. “I have three unmanageable beasts,” answered he, “which I
don’t want to keep any longer. Will you take them in, and give them food
and stable room, and manage them as I tell you? Then I will pay you what
you ask.”
The miller said, “Why not? But how am I to manage them?”
The huntsman then said that he was to give three beatings and one meal
daily to the old Donkey, and that was the Witch; one beating and three

meals to the younger one, which was the servant-girl; and to the youngest,
which was the maiden, no beatings and three meals, for he could not bring
himself to have the maiden beaten. After that he went back into the castle,
and found therein everything he needed.
After a couple of days, the miller came and said he must inform him
that the old Donkey which had received three beatings and only one meal
daily, was dead; “the two others,” he continued, “are certainly not dead, and
are fed three times daily, but they are so sad that they cannot last much
longer.”
The huntsman was moved to pity, put away his anger, and told the
miller to drive them back again to him. And when they came, he gave them
some of the good salad, so that they became human again.
The beautiful maiden fell on her knees before him, and said, “Ah, my
Beloved, forgive me for the evil I have done you. My mother drove me to it.
It was done against my will, for I love you dearly. Your Wishing-Cloak
hangs in a cupboard, and as for the Bird’s-Heart I will take a potion and
bring it up again.”
But he thought otherwise, and said, “Keep it. It is all the same, for I
will take you for my true wife.”
So the wedding was celebrated, and they lived happily together until
their death.

CLEVER HANS

I

T he 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 do you 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 have you been?”
“With Grethel.”
“What did you take her?”
“Took nothing; had something given me.”
“What did Grethel give you?”
“Gave me a needle.”

“Where is the needle, Hans?”
“Stuck in the hay-cart.”
“That was ill done, Hans. You should have stuck the needle in your
sleeve.”
“Never mind, I’ll do better next time.”

II

“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 do you bring that is good?”
“I bring nothing, I want to have something given 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 have you been?”
“With Grethel.”
“What did you take her?”
“Took her nothing, she gave me something.”
“What did Grethel give you?”

“Gave me a knife.”
“Where is the knife, Hans?”
“Stuck it in my sleeve.”
“That’s ill done, Hans, you should have put the knife in your pocket.”
“Never mind, will do better next time.”

III

“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 do you 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 have you been?”
“With Grethel.”
“What did you take her?”
“Took nothing, she gave me something.”

“What did Grethel give you?”
“She gave me a goat.”
“Where is the goat, Hans?”
“Put it in my pocket.”
“That was ill done, Hans, you should have put a rope round the goat’s
neck.”
“Never mind, will do better next time.”

IV

“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 do you 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 have you been?”
“With Grethel.”

“What did you take her?”
“I took her nothing, she gave me something.”
“What did Grethel give you?”
“Gave me a bit of bacon.”
“Where is the bacon, Hans?”
“I tied it to a rope, brought it home, dogs took it.”
“That was ill done, Hans, you should have carried the bacon on your
head.”
“Never mind, will do better next time.”

V

“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 do you bring?”
“I bring nothing, but would have something given me.”
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 have you been?”

“With Grethel.”
“What did you take her?”
“I took nothing, but had something given me.”
“What did Grethel give you?”
“A calf.”
“Where have you the calf, Hans?”
“I set it on my head and it kicked my face.”
“That was ill done, Hans, you should have led the calf, and put it in the
stall.”
“Never mind, will do better next time.”

VI

“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 do you bring?”
“I bring nothing, but would have something given me.”
Grethel says to Hans, “I will go with you.”
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 have you been?”
“With Grethel.”

“What did you take her?”
“I took her nothing.”
“What did Grethel give you?”
“She gave me nothing, she came with me.”
“Where have you left Grethel?”
“I led her by the rope, tied her to the rack, and scattered some grass for
her.”
“That was ill done, Hans, you should have cast friendly eyes on her.”
“Never mind, will do better.”
Hans went into the stable, cut out all the calves’ and sheep’s eyes, and
threw them in Grethel’s face. Then Grethel became angry, tore herself lose
and ran away, and became the Bride of Hans.

THE IRON STOVE

I n the days when wishing was having, a King’s Son was enchanted by an
old Witch, and shut up in an Iron Stove in a forest. There he passed
many years, and no one could deliver him.

Then a King’s Daughter came into the forest, who had lost herself and
could not find her father’s kingdom again. After she had wandered about for
nine days, she at length came to the Iron Stove. Then a voice issued from it,
and asked her, “Whence come you, and whither go you?”
She answered, “I have lost my father’s kingdom, and cannot get home
again.”
Then a voice inside the Iron Stove said, “I will help you to get home,
and that indeed most swiftly, if you will promise to do what I desire of you.
I am the son of a far greater King than your father, and I will marry you.”
Then was she afraid, and thought, “Alas! What use could I have with an
Iron Stove?” But as she much wished to get home to her father, she
promised to do as he desired.
He said, “You shall return here, and bring a knife with you, and scrape
a hole in the iron.”
Then he gave her a companion who walked near her, but did not speak.
In two hours he took her home. There was great joy in the castle when the
King’s Daughter came back, and the old King fell on her neck, and kissed
her.
She, however, was sorely troubled, and said, “Dear Father, what I have
suffered! I should never have got home again from the great wild forest, if I
had not come to an Iron Stove. But I have been forced to give my word that
I will go back to it, set it free, and marry it.”
Then the old King was so terrified that he all but fainted, for he had
only this one daughter. They, therefore, resolved they would send, in her
place, the miller’s daughter, who was very beautiful. They took her there,

gave her a knife, and said she was to scrape at the Iron Stove. So she
scraped at it for four-and-twenty hours, but could not bring off the least
morsel of it.
When day dawned, a voice in the stove said, “It seems to me it is day
outside.”
Then she answered, “It seems so to me too. I fancy I hear the noise of
my father’s mill.”
“So you are a miller’s daughter! Then go your way at once. Let the
King’s Daughter come here.”
She went away at once, and told the old King that the man outside there
would have none of her—he wanted the King’s Daughter.
They, however, still had a swineherd’s daughter, who was even prettier
than the miller’s daughter, and they determined to give her a piece of gold
to go to the Iron Stove, instead of the King’s Daughter. So she was taken
thither, and she also had to scrape for four-and-twenty hours. She, likewise,
made nothing of it.
When day broke, a voice inside the stove cried, “It seems to me it is
day outside!”
Then answered she, “So it seems to me. I fancy I hear my father’s horn
blowing.”
“Then you are a swineherd’s daughter! Go away at once. Tell the
King’s Daughter to come, and tell her all must be done as was promised.
And if she does not come, everything in the kingdom shall be ruined, and
destroyed, and not one stone be left standing on another.”
When the King’s Daughter heard that, she began to weep. But now
there was nothing for it but to keep her promise. So she took leave of her
father, put a knife in her pocket, and went forth to the Iron Stove in the
forest.
When she got there, she began to scrape, and the iron gave way, and
when two hours were over, she had already scraped a small hole. Then she
peeped in, and saw a youth so handsome, and so brilliant with gold and
with precious jewels, that her very soul was delighted. Therefore, she went
on scraping, and made the hole so large that he was able to get out.

Then said he, “You are mine, and I am yours. You are my Bride, and
have released me.”
He wanted to take her away with him to his kingdom, but she entreated
him to let her go once again to her father. The King’s Son allowed her to do
so, but she was not to say more to her father than three words, and then she
was to come back again.
So she went home, but she spoke more than three words, and instantly
the Iron Stove disappeared, and was taken far away over glass mountains
and piercing swords. But the King’s Son was set free, and no longer shut up
in it.
After this, she bade good-bye to her father, took some money with her,
but not much, and went back to the great forest, and looked for the Iron
Stove, but it was nowhere to be found. For nine days she sought it. Then her
hunger grew so great that she did not know what to do, for she could no
longer live.
When it was evening, she seated herself in a small tree, and made up
her mind to spend the night there, as she was afraid of wild beasts. When
midnight drew near, she saw in the distance a small light, and thought, “Ah,
there I may be saved!” She got down from the tree, and went toward the
light, and on the way she prayed. Then she came to a little old house, and
much grass had grown all about it, and a small heap of wood lay in front of
it.
She thought, “Ah, whither have I come!” and peeped in through the
window. But she saw nothing inside but Toads, big and little, except a table
covered with wine and roast meat, while the plates and glasses were of
silver. Then she took courage, and knocked at the door. The fat Toad cried:
“Little green Waiting-Maid,
Waiting-Maid with the limping leg,
Little Dog of the limping leg,
Hop hither and thither,
And quickly see who is without!”

and a small Toad came along and opened the door to her.

THEN THE KING’S DAUGHTER CAME TO A LITTLE HOUSE

When she entered, they all bade her welcome, and she was forced to sit
down. They asked, “Where have you come from, and whither are you
going?”
Then she related all that had befallen her, and how because she had
disobeyed the order which had been given her not to say more than three
words, the stove, and the King’s Son also, had disappeared, and now she

was seeking him over hill and dale until she found him. At that, the old fat
one said:
“Little green Waiting-Maid,
Waiting-Maid with the limping leg,
Little Dog of the limping leg,
Hop hither and thither,
And bring me the great box.”

Then the little one went and brought the box. After this they gave her meat
and drink, and took her to a well-made bed, which felt like silk and velvet.
She laid herself therein, in God’s name, and slept.
When morning came she arose, and the old Toad gave her three needles
out of the great box, which she was to take with her; they would be needed
by her, for she had to cross a high Glass Mountain, and go over three
piercing swords and a great lake. If she did all this, she would get her lover
back again. Then she gave her three things, which she was to take the
greatest care of, namely, three large needles, a plough-wheel, and three nuts.
With these she traveled onwards, and when she came to the Glass
Mountain, which was so slippery, she stuck the three needles first behind
her feet and then before them, and so got over it. And when she was over it,
she hid them in a place which she marked carefully. After this she came to
the three piercing swords, and then she seated herself on her plough-wheel,
and rolled over them. At last she arrived in front of a great lake, and when
she had crossed it, she came to a large and beautiful castle.
She went in and asked for a place. She knew, however, that the King’s
Son whom she had released from the Iron Stove in the great forest, was in
the castle. Then she was taken as a scullery-maid at low wages. But, already
the King’s Son had another maiden by his side, whom he wanted to marry,
for he thought that she had long been dead.
In the evening, when she had washed up and was done, she felt in her
pocket and found the three nuts which the old Toad had given her. She
cracked one with her teeth, and was going to eat the kernel, when, lo and
behold, there was a stately royal garment in it! But when the Bride heard of
this she came and asked for the dress, and wanted to buy it, and said, “It is
not a dress for a servant-girl.”

She said, no, she would not sell it, but if the Bride would grant her one
thing she should have it, and that was, leave to sleep one night in her
Bridegroom’s chamber. The Bride gave her permission because the dress
was so pretty, and she had never had one like it.
When it was evening, she said to her Bridegroom, “That silly girl will
sleep in your room.”
“If you are willing so am I,” said he.
She, however, gave him a glass of wine in which she had poured a
sleeping-draught. So the Bridegroom and the scullery-maid went to sleep in
the room, and he slept so soundly that she could not waken him.
She wept the whole night and cried, “I set you free when you were in
an Iron Stove in the wild forest. I sought you, and walked over a Glass
Mountain, and three sharp swords, and a great lake before I found you, and
yet you will not hear me!”
The servants sat by the chamber-door, and heard how she thus wept the
whole night through, and in the morning they told it to their lord.
And the next evening, when she had washed up, she opened the second
nut, and a far more beautiful dress was within it. When the Bride beheld it,
she wished to buy that also. But the girl would not take money, and begged
that she might once again sleep in the Bridegroom’s chamber. The Bride,
however, gave him a sleeping-drink, and he slept so soundly that he could
hear nothing.
But the scullery-maid wept the whole night long, and cried, “I set you
free when you were in an Iron Stove in the wild forest. I sought you, and
walked over a Glass Mountain, and over three sharp swords and a great lake
before I found you, and yet you will not hear me!”
The servants sat by the chamber-door and heard her weeping the whole
night through, and in the morning informed their lord of it.
And on the third evening, when she had washed up, she opened the
third nut, and within it was a still more beautiful dress which was stiff with
pure gold.
When the Bride saw that, she wanted to have it, but the maiden gave it
up only on condition that she might for the third time sleep in the

Bridegroom’s apartment. The King’s Son was, However, on his guard, and
threw the sleeping-draught away.
Now, therefore, when she began to weep and to cry, “Dearest Love, I
set you free when you were in the Iron Stove in the terrible wild forest,” the
King’s Son leapt up and said, “You are the true one, you are mine, and I am
yours.”
Thereupon, while it was still night, he got into a carriage with her, and
they took away the false Bride’s clothes so that she could not get up. When
they came to the great lake, they sailed across it, and when they reached the
three sharp-cutting swords they seated themselves on the plough-wheel, and
when they got to the Glass Mountain they thrust the three needles in it. And
so at length they reached the little old house. But when they went inside
that, it was a great castle, and the Toads were all disenchanted, and were
King’s children, and full of happiness.
Then the wedding was celebrated, and the King’s Son and the Princess
remained in the castle, which was much larger than the castles of their
fathers. But, as the old King grieved at being left alone, they fetched him
away, and brought him to live with them. And they had two Kingdoms, and
lived together happily ever afterward.
A Mouse did run,
The story’s done!

SWEET PORRIDGE

T here was a poor, good little girl, who lived alone with her mother,
and they had nothing more to eat.

So the child went into the forest, and an Old Woman met her, who
knew of her sorrow, and gave her a Little Pot, which, when she said:
“Boil, Little Pot, boil!”

would cook good sweet Porridge. And when she said:
“Stop, Little Pot, stop!”

it ceased to cook.
The little girl took the Pot home to her mother. And now they were
freed from their poverty and hunger, and ate sweet Porridge as often as they
liked.
Once on a time, when the little girl had gone out, the mother said:
“Boil, Little Pot, boil!”

And it began to cook, and she ate till she was satisfied. Then she wanted the
Pot to stop cooking, but did not know the word.
So it went on cooking, and the Porridge rose over the edge. And still it
cooked on till the kitchen, and the whole house was full, and then the next
house, and then the whole street, just as if it wanted to satisfy the hunger of
the whole world. And there was the greatest trouble, and no one knew how
to stop it. At last, when only a single house was left, the child came home
and just said:
“Stop, Little Pot, stop!”

and it stopped cooking.

And whosoever wished to return to the town, had to eat his way back.

SNOW-WHITE AND ROSE-RED

T here was once a poor widow who lived in a lonely cottage. In front
of the cottage was a garden wherein stood two rose-trees, one of
which bore white and the other red roses. She had two children
who were like the two rose-trees. One was called Snow-White, and the
other Rose-Red.

They were as good and happy, as busy and cheerful as ever two
children in the world were, only Snow-White was more quiet and gentle
than Rose-Red. Rose-Red liked better to run about in the meadows and
fields seeking flowers and catching butterflies. But Snow-White sat at home
with her mother, and helped her with the housework, or read to her when
there was nothing to do.
The two children were so fond of each other, that they always held each
other by the hand when they went out together. When Snow-White said,
“We will not leave each other,” Rose-Red answered, “Never so long as we
live.” And their mother would add, “What one has, she must share with the
other.”
They often ran about the forest alone and gathered red berries. Beasts
never did them any harm, but came close to them trustfully. The little hare
would eat a cabbage-leaf out of their hands, the roe grazed by their side, the
stag leapt merrily by them, and the birds sat still upon the boughs, and sang
whatever they knew.
No mishap overtook them. If they stayed too late in the forest, and
night came on, they laid themselves down near one another upon the moss,
and slept until morning. Their mother knew this, and had no worry on their
account.
One day, when they had spent the night in the wood and the dawn had
roused them, they saw a beautiful Child in a shining white dress sitting near
their bed. He got up and looked quite kindly at them, but said nothing and
went away into the forest. And when they looked round, they found that

they had been sleeping quite close to a precipice, and would certainly have
fallen into it in the darkness, if they had gone only a few paces farther. And
their mother told them that it must have been the Angel who watches over
good children.
Snow-White and Rose-Red kept their mother’s little cottage so neat,
that it was a pleasure to look inside it. In the summer, Rose-Red took care
of the house, and every morning laid a wreath of flowers by her mother’s
bed before she awoke, in which was a rose from each tree. In the winter,
Snow-White lit the fire and hung the kettle on the hook. The kettle was of
copper and shone like gold, so brightly was it polished.
In the evening, when the snowflakes fell, the mother said, “Go, Snow-
White, and bolt the door,” and then they sat round the hearth, and the
mother took her spectacles and read aloud out of a large book. The two girls
listened as they sat and span. And close by them lay a lamb upon the floor,
and behind them upon a perch sat a white dove with its head hidden beneath
its wings.
One evening, as they were thus sitting comfortably together, some one
knocked at the door as if he wished to be let in. The mother said, “Quick,
Rose-Red, open the door, it must be a traveler who is seeking shelter.”
Rose-Red went and pushed back the bolt, thinking that it was a poor
man, but it was not. It was a Bear that stretched his broad, black head
within the door.
Rose-Red screamed and sprang back, the lamb bleated, the dove
fluttered, and Snow-White hid herself behind her mother’s bed.
But the Bear began to speak and said, “Do not be afraid. I will do you
no harm! I am half-frozen, and only want to warm myself a little beside
you.”
“Poor Bear,” said the mother, “lie down by the fire. Only take care that
you do not burn your coat.” Then she cried, “Snow-White, Rose-Red, come
out, the Bear will do you no harm, he means well.”
So they both came out, and by-and-by the lamb and dove came nearer,
and were not afraid of him.

The Bear said, “Here, Children, knock the snow out of my coat a little;”
so they brought the broom and swept the Bear’s hide clean. And he
stretched himself by the fire and growled contentedly and comfortably.
It was not long before they grew quite at home, and played tricks with
their clumsy guest. They tugged at his hair with their hands, put their feet
upon his back and rolled him about, or they took a hazel-switch and beat
him, and, when he growled, they laughed. But the Bear took it all in good
part, only when they were too rough he called out, “Leave me alive,
Children:
“Snowy-white, Rosy-red,
Will you beat your lover dead?”

When it was bedtime, and the others went to sleep, the mother said to
the Bear, “You may lie there by the hearth, and then you will be safe from
the cold and the bad weather.”
As soon as day dawned the two children let him out, and he trotted
across the snow into the forest.
Henceforth the Bear came every evening at the same time, laid himself
down by the hearth, and let the children amuse themselves with him as
much as they liked. They got so used to him, that the doors were never
fastened until their black friend had arrived.
When spring was come and all outside was green, the Bear said one
morning to Snow-White, “Now I must go away, and cannot come back for
the whole summer.”
“Where are you going, then, dear Bear?” asked Snow-White.
“I must go into the forest and guard my treasures from the wicked
Dwarfs. In the winter, when the earth is frozen hard, they are obliged to stay
below and cannot work their way through. But now, when the sun has
thawed and warmed the earth, they break through it, and come out to pry
and steal. And what once gets into their hands and in their caves, does not
easily see daylight again.”
Snow-White was very sorry for his going away. And as she unbolted
the door for him, and the Bear was hurrying out, he caught against the bolt

and a piece of his hairy coat was torn off. It seemed to Snow-White as if she
saw gold shining through it, but she was not sure about it. The Bear ran
away quickly, and was soon out of sight behind the trees.
A short time afterward, the mother sent her children into the forest to
get fire-wood. There they found a big tree which lay felled on the ground,
and close by the trunk something was jumping backward and forward in the
grass. But they could not make out what it was.
When they came nearer they saw a Dwarf with an old withered face
and a snow-white beard a yard long. The end of the beard was caught in a
crevice of the tree, and the little fellow was jumping backward and forward
like a dog tied to a rope, and did not know what to do.
He glared at the girls with his fiery red eyes and cried, “Why do you
stand there? Can you not come here and help me?”
“What are you about there, Little Man?” asked Rose-Red.
“You stupid, prying goose!” answered the Dwarf; “I was going to split
the tree to get a little wood for cooking. The little bit of food that one of us
wants gets burnt up directly with thick logs. We do not swallow so much as
you coarse, greedy folk. I had just driven the wedge safely in, and
everything was going as I wished; but the wretched wood was too smooth
and suddenly sprang asunder, and the tree closed so quickly that I could not
pull out my beautiful white beard. So now it is tight in, and I cannot get
away. And you silly, sleek, milk-faced things laugh! Ugh! how odious you
are!”
The children tried very hard, but they could not pull the beard out, it
was caught too fast.
“I will run and fetch some one,” said Rose-Red.
“You senseless goose!” snarled the Dwarf. “Why should you fetch
some one? You are already two too many for me. Can you not think of
something better?”
“Don’t be impatient,” said Snow-White, “I will help you,” and she
pulled her scissors out of her pocket, and cut off the end of the beard.
As soon as the Dwarf felt himself free, he grabbed a bag which lay
amongst the roots of the tree, and which was full of gold, and lifted it up,

grumbling to himself, “Rude people, to cut off a piece of my fine beard!
Bad luck to you!” and then he swung the bag upon his back, and went off
without even once looking at the children.
Some time after that Snow-White and Rose-Red went to catch a dish of
fish. As they came near the brook, they saw something like a large
grasshopper jumping toward the water, as if it were going to leap in. They
ran to it and found it was the Dwarf.
“Where are you going?” said Rose-Red; “you surely don’t want to go
into the water?”

“DON’T BE IMPATIENT,” SAID SNOW-WHITE, “I WILL HELP YOU”

“I am not such a fool!” cried the Dwarf; “don’t you see that the
accursed fish wants to pull me in?” The Little Man had been sitting there
fishing, and unluckily the wind had twisted his beard with the fishing-line.
Just then a big fish bit, and the feeble creature had not strength to pull it out.
The fish kept the upper hand and was pulling the Dwarf toward him. He
held on to all the reeds and rushes, but it was of little good, he was forced to
follow the fish, and was in great danger of being dragged into the water.

The girls came just in time. They held him fast and tried to free his
beard from the line. But all in vain, beard and line were entangled fast
together. Nothing was left but to bring out the scissors and cut the beard,
whereby a small part of it was lost.
When the Dwarf saw that, he screamed out, “Is that civil, you
toadstool, to disfigure one’s face? Was it not enough to clip off the end of
my beard? Now you have cut off the best part of it. I cannot let myself be
seen by my people. I wish you had been made to run the soles off your
shoes!” Then he took out a sack of pearls which lay in the rushes, and,
without saying a word more, he dragged it away and disappeared behind a
stone.
It happened that soon afterward the mother sent the two children to the
town to buy needles and thread, and laces and ribbons. The road led them
across a heath upon which huge pieces of rock lay strewn about. They now
noticed a large bird hovering in the air, flying slowly round and round
above them. It sank lower and lower, and at last settled near a rock not far
off. Directly afterward they heard a loud, piteous cry. They ran up and saw,
with horror, that the eagle had seized their old acquaintance the Dwarf, and
was going to carry him off.
The children, full of pity, at once took tight hold of the Little Man, and
pulled against the eagle so long that at last he let his booty go.
As soon as the Dwarf had recovered from his first fright, he cried with
his shrill voice, “Could you not have done it more carefully! You dragged at
my brown coat, so that it is all torn and full of holes. You helpless, clumsy
creatures!” Then he took up a sack full of precious stones, and slipped away
again under the rock into his hole.
The girls, who by this time were used to his thanklessness, went on
their way and did their business in the town.
As they crossed the heath again on their way home they surprised the
Dwarf, who had emptied out his bag of precious stones in a clean spot, and
had not thought that any one would come there at such a late hour. The
evening sun shone upon the brilliant stones. They glittered and sparkled
with all colors so beautifully, that the children stood still and looked at
them.

“Why do you stand gaping there?” cried the Dwarf, and his ashen-gray
face became copper-red with rage. He was going on with his bad words,
when a loud growling was heard, and a black Bear came trotting toward
them out of the forest. The Dwarf sprang up in a fright, but he could not get
to his cave, for the Bear was already close.
Then in the fear of his heart he cried, “Dear Mr. Bear, spare me! I will
give you all my treasures! Look, the beautiful jewels lying there! Grant me
my life. What do you want with such a slender little fellow as I? You would
not feel me between your teeth. Come, take these two wicked girls, they are
tender morsels for you, fat as young quails. For mercy’s sake eat them!”
The Bear took no heed of his words, but gave the wicked creature a
single blow with his paw, and he did not move again.
The girls had run away, but the Bear called to them, “Snow-White and
Rose-Red, do not be afraid. Wait, I will come with you.”
Then they knew his voice and waited. And when he came up to them,
suddenly his bear-skin fell off, and he stood there a handsome man, clothed
all in gold.
“I am a King’s Son,” he said, “and I was bewitched by that wicked
Dwarf, who had stolen my treasures. I have had to run about the forest as a
savage bear until I was freed by his death. Now he has got his well-
deserved punishment.”
Snow-White was married to him, and Rose-Red to his brother. They
divided between them the great treasure which the Dwarf had gathered
together in his cave. The old mother lived peacefully and happily with her
children for many years. She took the two rose-trees with her, and they
stood before her window, and every year bore the most beautiful roses,
white and red.

THE HEDGE-KING

I n former days, every sound had its meaning, the birds also had their

words.
own language which every one understood. Now it only sounds like
chirping, screeching, and whistling, and to some, like music without

It came into the birds’ mind, however, that they would no longer be
without a ruler, and would choose one of themselves to be King.
One alone amongst them, the green plover, was opposed to this. He had
lived free and would die free, and anxiously flying hither and thither, he
cried, “Where shall I go? where shall I go?” He retired into a lonely and
unfrequented marsh, and showed himself no more among his fellows.
The birds now wished to discuss the matter, and on a fine May morning
they all gathered together from the woods and fields: eagles and
chaffinches, owls and crows, larks and sparrows, how can I name them all?
Even the cuckoo came, and the hoopoe, his clerk, who is so called because
he is always heard a few days before him, and a very small bird which as
yet had no name, mingled with the band.
The hen, which by some accident had heard nothing of the whole
matter, was astonished at the great assemblage. “What, what, what is going
to be done?” she cackled. But the cock calmed his beloved hen, and said,
“Only rich people,” and told her what they had on hand.
It was decided, however, that the one who could fly the highest should
be King. A tree-frog which was sitting among the bushes, when he heard
that, cried a warning, “No, no, no! no!” because he thought that many tears
would be shed because of this. But the crow said, “Caw, caw,” and that all
would pass off peaceably.
It was now determined that, on this fine morning, they should at once
begin to ascend, so that hereafter no one should be able to say, “I could

easily have flown much higher, but the evening came on, and I could do no
more.”
On a given signal, therefore, the whole troop rose up in the air. The dust
ascended from the land, and there was tremendous fluttering and whirring
and beating of wings. It looked as if a black cloud was rising up. The little
birds were, however, soon left behind. They could go no farther, and fell
back to the ground.
The larger birds held out longer, but none could equal the eagle, who
mounted so high that he could have picked the eyes out of the sun. And
when he saw that the others could not get up to him, he thought, “Why
should I fly any higher, I am the King?” and began to let himself down
again.
The birds beneath him at once cried to him, “You must be our King, no
one has flown so high as you.”
“Except me,” screamed the little fellow without a name, who had crept
into the breast-feathers of the eagle. And as he was not at all tired, he rose
up and mounted so high that he reached heaven itself. When, however, he
had gone as far as this, he folded his wings together, and called down with
clear and penetrating voice:
“I am King! I am King!”

“You, our King?” cried the birds angrily. “You have done this by trick
and cunning!”
So they made another condition. He should be King who could go
down lowest in the ground. How the goose did flap about with its broad
breast when it was once more on the land! How quickly the cock scratched
a hole! The duck came off the worst of all, for she leapt into a ditch, but
sprained her legs, and waddled away to a neighboring pond, crying,
“Cheating, cheating!”
The little bird without a name, however, sought out a mouse-hole,
slipped down into it, and cried out of it, with his small voice:
“I am King! I am King!”

“You our King!” cried the birds still more angrily. “Do you think your
cunning shall prevail?”
They determined to keep him a prisoner in the hole and starve him out.
The owl was placed as sentinel in front of it, and was not to let the rascal
out if she had any value for her life. When evening was come all the birds
were feeling very tired after exerting their wings so much that they went to
bed with their wives and children.
The owl alone remained standing by the mouse-hole, gazing steadfastly
into it with her great eyes. In the meantime she, too, had grown tired and
thought to herself, “You might certainly shut one eye, you will still watch
with the other, and the little miscreant shall not come out of his hole.” So
she shut one eye, and with the other looked straight at the mouse-hole.
The little fellow put his head out and peeped, and wanted to slip away,
but the owl came forward, and he drew his head back. Then the owl opened
the one eye again, and shut the other, intending to shut them in turn all
through the night.
But when she next shut the one eye, she forgot to open the other. And
as soon as both her eyes were shut, she fell asleep. The little fellow soon
saw that, and slipped away.
From that day forth, the owl has never dared to show herself by
daylight, for if she does the other birds chase her and pluck her feathers out.
She only flies out by night, but hates and pursues mice because they make
such ugly holes.
The little bird, too, is very unwilling to let himself be seen, because he
is afraid it will cost him his life if he is caught. He steals about in the
hedges, and when he is quite safe, he sometimes cries, “I am King,” and for
this reason, the other birds call him in mockery, “Hedge-King.”
No one, however, was so happy as the lark at not having to obey the
little King. As soon as the sun appears, she ascends high in the air and cries,
“Ah, how beautiful that is! beautiful that is! beautiful, beautiful! ah, how
beautiful that is!”

ONE-EYE, TWO-EYES, AND THREE-EYES

T here was once a woman who had three daughters, the eldest of
whom was called One-Eye, because she had only one eye in the
middle of her forehead, and the second, Two-Eyes, because she
had two eyes like other folks, and the youngest, Three-Eyes, because she
had three eyes; and her third eye was in the centre of her forehead.

Now, as Two-Eyes saw just as other human beings did, her sisters and
her mother could not endure her. They said to her, “You, with your two
eyes, are no better than common folk. You do not belong to us!”
They pushed her about, and threw old clothes to her, and gave her
nothing to eat but what they left, and did everything that they could to make
her unhappy.
It came to pass that Two-Eyes had to go out into the fields and tend the
goat, but she was still very hungry, because her sisters had given her so
little to eat. She sat down on a ridge and began to weep, and so bitterly that
two streams ran down from her eyes.
And one day, when she looked up in her grief, a woman was standing
beside her, who said, “Why are you weeping, little Two-Eyes?”
Two-Eyes answered, “Have I not reason to weep, when I have two eyes
like other people, and my sisters and mother hate me for it, and push me
from one corner to another, throw old clothes at me, and give me nothing to
eat but the scraps they leave? To-day, they have given me so little that I am
still very hungry.”
Then the Wise Woman said, “Wipe away your tears, Two-Eyes, and I
will tell you something to stop your ever suffering from hunger again; just
say to your goat:
“‘Bleat, bleat, my little Goat, bleat,
Cover the table with something to eat!’

and then a clean well-spread little table will stand before you, with the most
delicious food upon it, of which you may eat as much as you are inclined.
And when you have had enough, and have no more need of the little table,
just say:
“‘Bleat, bleat, my little Goat, I pray,
And take the table quite away!’

and then it will vanish again from your sight.”
Hereupon the Wise Woman departed.
But Two-Eyes thought, “I must instantly make a trial, and see if what
she said is true, for I am far too hungry,” and she said:
“Bleat, bleat, my little Goat, bleat,
Cover the table with something to eat!”

and scarcely had she spoken the words than a little table, covered with a
white cloth, was standing there, and on it was a plate with a knife and fork,
and a silver spoon; and the most delicious food was there also, warm and
smoking as if it had just come out of the kitchen.
Then Two-Eyes said a little prayer she knew, “Lord God, be with us
always, Amen,” and helped herself to some food, and enjoyed it. And when
she was satisfied, she said, as the Wise Woman had taught her:
“Bleat, bleat, my little Goat, I pray,
And take the table quite away!”

and immediately the little table and everything on it was gone again.
“That is a delightful way of keeping house!” thought Two-Eyes, and
was quite glad and happy.
In the evening, when she went home with her goat, she found a small
earthenware dish with some food, which her sisters had set ready for her,
but she did not touch it. Next day, she again went out with her goat, and left
the few bits of broken bread which had been handed to her, lying
untouched.

The first and second time that she did this, her sisters did not notice it,
but as it happened every time, they did observe it, and said, “There is
something wrong about Two-Eyes, she always leaves her food untasted. She
used to eat up everything that was given her. She must have discovered
other ways of getting food.”
In order that they might learn the truth, they resolved to send One-Eye
with Two-Eyes, when she went to drive her goat to the pasture, to watch
what Two-Eyes did while she was there, and whether any one brought her
things to eat and drink. So when Two-Eyes set out the next time, One-Eye
went to her and said, “I will go with you to the pasture, and see that the goat
is well taken care of, and driven where there is food.”
But Two-Eyes knew what was in One-Eye’s mind, and drove the goat
into high grass and said, “Come, One-Eye, we will sit down, and I will sing
something to you.”
One-Eye sat down, and was tired with the unaccustomed walk and the
heat of the sun, and Two-Eyes sang constantly:
“One-Eye, wakest thou?
One-Eye, sleepest thou?”

until One-Eye shut her one eye, and fell asleep. As soon as Two-Eyes saw
that One-Eye was fast asleep, and could discover nothing, she said:
“Bleat, bleat, my little Goat, bleat,
Cover the table with something to eat!”

and seated herself at her table, and ate and drank until she was satisfied.
Then she again cried:
“Bleat, bleat, my little Goat, I pray,
And take the table quite away!”

and in an instant all was gone.
Two-Eyes now awakened One-Eye, and said, “One-Eye, you want to
take care of the goat, and yet go to sleep while you are doing it! In the
meantime, the goat might run all over the world. Come, let us go home
again.”

So they went home, and again Two-Eyes let her little dish stand
untouched, and One-Eye could not tell her mother why she would not eat it,
and to excuse herself said, “I fell asleep when I was out.”
Next day, the mother said to Three-Eyes, “This time you shall go and
watch if Two-Eyes eats anything when she is out, and if any one fetches her
food and drink, for she must eat and drink in secret.”
So Three-Eyes went to Two-Eyes, and said, “I will go with you and see
if the goat is taken proper care of, and driven where there is food.”
But Two-Eyes knew what was in Three-Eyes’ mind, and drove the goat
into high grass and said, “We will sit down, and I will sing something to
you, Three-Eyes.”
Three-Eyes sat down and was tired with the walk and with the heat of
the sun, and Two-Eyes began the same song as before, and sang:
“Three-Eyes, are you waking?”

but then, instead of singing,
“Three-Eyes, are you sleeping?”

as she ought to have done, she thoughtlessly sang:
“Two-Eyes, are you sleeping?”

and sang all the time,
“Three-Eyes, are you waking?
Two-Eyes, are you sleeping?”

Then two of the eyes which Three-Eyes had, shut and fell asleep, but the
third, as it had not been named in the song, did not sleep. It is true that
Three-Eyes shut it, but only in her cunning, to pretend it was asleep too. But
it blinked, and could see everything very well. And when Two-Eyes thought
that Three-eyes was fast asleep, she used her little charm:
“Bleat, bleat, my little Goat, bleat,
Cover the table with something to eat!”

and ate and drank as much as her heart desired, and then ordered the table
to go away again:
“Bleat, bleat, my little Goat, I pray,
And take the table quite away!”

and Three-Eyes had seen everything.
Then Two-Eyes came to her, waked her and said, “Have you been
asleep, Three-Eyes? You are a good caretaker! Come, we will go home.”
And when they got home, Two-Eyes again did not eat, and Three-Eyes
said to the mother, “Now, I know why that proud thing there does not eat.
When she is out, she says to the goat:
“‘Bleat, bleat, my little Goat, bleat,
Cover the table with something to eat!’

and then a little table appears before her covered with the best of food,
much better than any we have here. When she has eaten all she wants, she
says:
“‘Bleat, bleat, my little Goat, I pray,
And take the table quite away!’

and all disappears. I watched everything closely. She put two of my eyes to
sleep by using a charm, but luckily the one in my forehead kept awake.”
Then the envious mother cried, “Do you want to fare better than we do?
The desire shall pass away!” and she fetched a butcher’s knife, and thrust it
into the heart of the goat, which fell down dead.
When Two-Eyes saw that, full of sorrow, she went outside, and seated
herself on the ridge of grass at the edge of the field, and wept bitter tears.
Suddenly the Wise Woman once more stood by her side, and said,
“Two-Eyes, why are you weeping?”
“Have I not reason to weep?” she answered. “The goat, which covered
the table for me every day when I spoke your charm, has been killed by my
mother, and now I shall again have to bear hunger and want.”

The Wise Woman said, “Two-Eyes, I will give you a piece of good
advice. Ask your sisters to give you the entrails of the slaughtered goat, and
bury them in the ground in front of the house, and your fortune will be
made.”
Then she vanished, and Two-Eyes went home and said to her sisters,
“Dear Sisters, do give me some part of my goat. I don’t wish for what is
good, but give me the entrails.”
Then they laughed and said, “If that’s all you want, you may have it.”
So Two-Eyes took the entrails and buried them quietly, at evening, in
front of the house-door, as the Wise Woman had counseled her to do.
Next morning, when they all awoke, and went to the house-door, there
stood a wonderful, magnificent tree with leaves of silver, and fruit of gold
hanging among them, so that in all the wide world there was nothing more
beautiful or precious. They did not know how the tree could have come
there during the night, but Two-Eyes saw that it had grown up out of the
entrails of the goat, for it was standing on the exact spot where she had
buried them.
Then the mother said to One-Eye, “Climb up, my Child, and gather
some of the fruit of the tree for us.”
One-Eye climbed up, but when she was about to lay hold of one of the
golden apples, the branch escaped from her hands. And that happened each
time, so that she could not pluck a single apple, let her do what she might.
Then said the mother, “Three-Eyes, do you climb up. You with your
three eyes can look about you better than One-Eye.”
One-Eye slipped down, and Three-Eyes climbed up. Three-Eyes was
not more skillful, and might search as she liked, but the golden apples
always escaped her.
At length, the mother grew impatient, and climbed up herself, but could
grasp the fruit no better than One-Eye and Three-Eyes, for she always
clutched empty air.
Then said Two-Eyes, “I will go up, perhaps I may succeed better.”
The sisters cried, “You, indeed, with your two eyes! What can you do?”