The Book of German Folk- and Fairy Tales. 1845-53.

1845

1 The Birth of Fairy-Tale

2 Of the Valiant Little Tailor

3 The Tale of the Seven Swabians (the expanded version of 1853, followed by that of 1845)

4 Of the Swabian who Scoffed the Liver

5 The Tests of the Master-Thief’s Skill

6 The Enchanted Princess (the superior version of 1853, followed by that of 1845)

7 Queen of Roses

8 All Hell’s Let Loose, or the Tale how the Devil Invented Spirits

9 The Smith of Juterbog

10 The Steaks of Wrath

11 Hansel and Gretel

12 The Partridge

13 Gold-Mary and Pitch-Mary

14 Millet-Thief

15 The Devil’s Godson

16 The Hunt of Life

17 The Golden Roebuck

18 The Nut-Twig

19 The Old Wizard and his Children

20 Godfather Death

21 The Starling and the Bathtub

22 The Two Ball-shaped Millers

23 The Judge and the Devil

24 Hans in Luck

25 The Seven Ravens

26 The Three Feathers

27 The Little Jug of Tears

28 Of Johnny and Maggie, who Went for Red Berries

29 The Fair Young Bride

30 The Ears of Corn

31 Of Pullet and Cockerel

32 The Three Wedding-Guests

33 The Tale of the Man in the Moon

34 The Royal Children

35 The Courageous Flute-player

36 God Is Everywhere

37 The Hare and the Fox

38 The Hare-Keeper and the King’s Daughter

39 Little Thumbling

40 The King in the Bathhouse

41 Table-Set-Yourself, Donkey-Stretch-Yourself, Cudgel-Out-the-Sack!

42 Husband and Wife in the Vinegar-Jug

43 The Magic-Contest

44 The Three Gifts

45 The Little Shepherd’s Providential Dream

46 Goldie

47 The Shepherd and the Snake

48 The Three Musicians

49 The Three Nuts

50 The Miller and the Nixie

51 Flipperty Flapperty

52 The Kitten and the Knitting-Needles

53 The Fox and the Crab

54 The King’s Minster

55 The Dog’s Distress

56 The Seven Little Kids

57 The Tale of The Land of Cockaigne

58 The Little Tale of the True Liar

59 Pearl Queen

60 Snow White

61 The Monk and the Bird

62 The Seven Swans

63 Rosethorn

64 Of the Little Boy, the Little Girl, and the Wicked Stepmother

65 Swan, Stick On!

66 The Garden in the Well

67 The Three Dogs

68 Quaverling

69 Little Broomstick

70 Ash-Maiden

71 Sambar the Mouse, or the True Friendship among Animals

72 The Man and the Snake

73 The Cock and the Fox

74 The Life-story of Sambar the Mouse

75 Brother Saver and Brother Waster

76 The Boys with the Golden Stars

77 Helen

78 Goldcrest

79 The Tale of Knight Bluebeard

80 The Nun, the Miner, and the Blacksmith

81 The Three Stupid Devils (The superior 1845 version, followed by that of 1853)

82 The Grateful Beasts

83 The Three Brides

84 The Haughty Bride

85 The Four Clever Companions

86 Bird Holgott and Bird Mosam

87 Of Two Monkeys

88 Of the Wolf and the Mousers

89 The Cat and the Mouse

90 The Golden Egg

1853

(The Tale of the Seven Swabians) See no. 3

(The Enchanted Princess) See no. 6

91 Little Redcap

92 The Man without a Heart

93 Oda and the Snake

94 Sevenfair

95 The Witch and the Royal Children (a revision of no. 34)

96 The Race between the Hare and the Hedgehog

97 The Juniper Tree

98 The White Wolf

(The Three Stupid Devils) See no. 81

99 Rupert Sloth-Bear

100 The Shudders

1. The Birth of Fairy-Tale

Once upon a time, there was no such thing as a fairy-tale, and it was a grievous time for children, for their youthful paradise was bereft of its fairest butterfly. And in this time, there were two royal children who played together in their father’s magnificent garden. This garden was full of gorgeous flowers, and its paths, strewn with colourful stones and golden gravel, vied in brilliancy with the glistening dew on the flowerbeds. In the garden were cool grottoes with babbling springs, fountains spouting high towards the heavens, exquisite marble statues, and delightful benches for repose. In the reservoirs swam gold and silver fishes; in great golden aviaries fluttered the fairest birds, while other birds hopped and flew around at liberty and sang their songs in enchanting voices. The two royal children had these and saw these every day, and so they grew weary of the radiance of the stones, of the fragrance of the flowers, of the fountains and the fish, which were so mute, and of the birds, whose songs they did not understand. The children sat together in silence and were sad; they had everything a child could possibly wish for – kind parents, the most luxurious playthings, the loveliest clothes, delectable food and drinks, and they were able to play in the beautiful garden every single day – they were sad, although they did not know why, and they did not know what it was that they wanted.

Then their mother, the queen, a tall, beautiful woman with kind and gentle features, came to them, and she was worried because her children were so sad and merely gave her a wistful smile instead of gleefully flying into her arms; it grieved her that her children were not happy as children really ought to be, and as they can be, because they do not yet know care, and the sky of youth is mostly free from clouds.

The queen sat down with her two children, who were a boy and a girl, and wrapped a round white arm adorned with golden bangles around each of them, and asked most maternally and affectionately:

“What ails you, my beloved children?”

“We do not know, dear mother!” said the boy. “We are so sad!” said the girl.

“It is so beautiful here in this garden, and you have everything that can give you joy; does it then give you no joy?” asked the queen, and a tear welled up in her eye, from which there smiled a soul full of kindliness.

“What we have does not give us enough joy,” the girl replied to this question. “We wish to have something, and do not know what!” added the boy.

The mother lapsed into a concerned silence and pondered what the children could possibly wish for that could give them greater pleasure than the splendour of the garden, the finery of their clothes, the profusion of their playthings, and the consumption of choice food and drinks, but she could not divine what it was their thoughts were seeking. “Oh, if I could only be a child again!” the queen said quietly to herself with a soft sigh. “Then the things that make children happy would surely come to my mind. To be able to comprehend the wishes of children, one must be a child oneself. But I have wandered too far from that Land of Youth where golden birds fly through the trees of paradise, those birds which have no feet, for beings who never tire have no need of mortal rest. Oh, if only such a bird would come here and bring my dear children that which would make them happy!”

Behold – as the Queen made this wish there suddenly hovered over her in the blue skies a bird of wondrous splendour which emitted a radiance like flames of gold and flashing gems; it floated lower and lower, and it was seen by the mother, it was seen by the children. They could only cry “Oh! Oh!”, too astonished to find any other words. The bird was a truly marvellous sight as it, floating ever lower, descended from the sky, so shimmering, so gleaming, glittering with the colours of the rainbow, almost dazzling the eye and yet, every time, riveting the eye anew. It was so beautiful that the queen and the children shuddered softly with joy, especially now that they felt the wafting of its wings. And before they knew what was happening, the Wonderbird had alighted in the lap of the queen, the mother, and was looking at the children with eyes that were fashioned like the friendly eyes of a child; and yet there was something in these eyes that the children did not comprehend, something strange, something awful, and so they did not dare to touch the bird. Furthermore, they now saw that the strange bird of celestial beauty had some jet-black feathers under its shining coloured plumage which they had not noticed from a distance. However, the children had scarcely so long a time for the closer inspection of the beautiful Wonderbird as was needed to mention this observation, for the bird directly rose up, the Bird of Paradise without feet, soaring, shimmering, flying ever higher, until it seemed to be but a colourful feather swimming in the ether, then but a golden strip, and then it disappeared – yet up to that time, the Queen and the children watched it in amazement. But how wonderful! When the mother and children looked down again, how they were astonished anew! On the mother’s lap lay a golden egg, the bird had laid it, oh and it shimmered as golden-green and golden-blue as the most exquisite Labradorite and the loveliest pearl-oysters of the ocean depths. And the royal children cried with one voice: “Oh! The beautiful egg!” The mother gave a beatific smile, suspecting, full of a sense of gratitude, that this must be the jewel that was wanting for her children’s happiness; that the egg must contain, in its magically-coloured shimmering shell, a treasure that would grant the children that which is denied to age, contentment, and would still their longing, their childish sorrow.

The children did not weary of gazing at the magnificent egg, and they soon forgot, for the egg, the bird that had brought it; at first they did not dare to touch it, but at last the girl laid one of her rosy fingers upon it and suddenly exclaimed, a purple blush suffusing her innocent little face: “The egg is warm!” Now the King’s son tapped the egg cautiously and gently to test by touch if his sister had spoken true. Finally the mother also laid her soft white hand on the precious egg, and lo! – what came to pass? The shell fell asunder in two halves, and out from the egg came a being that was marvellous to behold. It had wings and yet was not a bird, nor a butterfly; not a bee nor a dragonfly; and yet had something of all of these, but was beyond description: in a word, it was the Joy of Being a Child, iridescent and with wings of many hues, a child itself, namely that of the Wonderbird Fantasy – the Fairy-Tale. And now the mother saw her children sad no longer, for from that time Fairy-Tale stayed with children always, and they did not grow weary of it all the time that they remained children; and once they had Fairy-Tale, then they grew all the fonder of gardens and flowers, arbours and grottoes, forest and groves, for Fairy-Tale brought everything to life, to the delight of all children, Fairy-Tale even lent children its wings and they flew far around in the measureless world and yet were always back home the very moment they so wished. Those royal children – they were mankind in his youthful paradise, and Nature was their beautiful, kind and gentle mother. She wished down from the heavens the Wonderbird Fantasy, which has such splendid golden feathers as well as some that are pitch-black, and it laid in her lap the golden egg of Fairy-Tale.

And as the children came to love Fairy-Tale dearly, for it embellished their childhood days, delighted them in a thousand different kinds of configurations and transformations, and flew over every house and hut, over every castle and palace, so it was also in the nature of Fairy-Tale to please even adults, and they drew delight from it who had carried something from the garden of childhood over into their years of maturity, namely the childlikeness of the heart.

2. Of the Valiant Little Tailor

Once upon a time there was a little tailor who lived in a town called Romadia, and one day, while he was working, he had an apple on the bench beside him, and as often happens in summertime, many flies had settled on it, attracted by the apple’s sweet scent. Incensed at this, the little tailor took a strip of cloth which he had been just about to drop into the hell[1] and struck the apple with it; and on inspection, he found that seven flies had been slain. Well, the little tailor thought to himself, what a hero you are! He immediately had a suit of shining armour made for himself, and on the breastplate he had written in letters of gold: Seven at a Stroke. After that the little tailor walked around the streets and alleys attired in his armour, and those who saw him thought that the hero had felled seven men with one stroke, and they feared him.

Now in this same land there was a King whose praises were sung far and wide, and the lazy tailor betook himself to this monarch, having hung up his needle, shears, and iron immediately after his heroic deed. He entered the courtyard of the royal palace, lay down on the grass there, and fell asleep. The court servants, as they passed in and out, saw the tailor in his rich armour and read the gold script, and greatly wondered what this bellicose man wanted, right now, in these times of peace, at the King’s court? It seemed to them that he was undoubtedly some great lord.

The King’s councillors having likewise seen the sleeping tailor, did inform Hs. Majesty, their most graceful King, of such, with the most humble observation that, should a martial conflict arise, this hero could prove to be a very useful man and render the land good services. The King was well pleased with these words, so he sent at once for the armoured tailor and asked him if he wished to join his service. The tailor replied that he had come for that very reason, and he asked His Royal Majesty, if His Highness were thinking of making use of him, to most graciously confer upon him the honour of service. The King promised the little tailor a position, ordained for him splendid lodgings and rooms, and gave him a good salary, which enabled him to live a life of luxury without having to do anything.

It did not take long for the King’s knights, who had but a meagre pay, to conceive a hatred against the good tailor, and they would dearly have liked him to go to the Devil; but at the same time they feared that, should they fall out with him, they would not be able to offer him sufficient resistance, for he would certainly strike seven of them dead with one stroke, otherwise the pack of knights would willingly have bitten him out; and so, every hour of every day, they thought of how they could rid themselves of the fearsome warrior. However, their wit and acumen being cut rather short, like their coats, they could not find a ruse to remove the hero from Court, and in the end they conferred together and decided to appear before the King all at the same time and request leave and discharge – and that is what they did.

When the good King saw that all his faithful servants wanted to leave him because of one single man, he was sadder than ever before and wished that he had never set eyes on the hero; yet he shrank back from sending him away, for he could not but fear that he, together with all his subjects, would be slain by him and afterwards his kingdom would be possessed by the stern warrior. Now as the King sought advice on what could possibly be done in this difficult matter to turn it to his advantage and bring everything to an amicable end, he at last devised a ruse with which he thought to rid himself of, and get away from, the warrior (whom no one reckoned to be a tailor). He sent at once for the hero and told him how he (the King) had been given to understand that never a stronger or more powerful hero was to be found under the sun than he (the tailor). Now in a nearby forest there lived two giants who were doing him inordinate harm, robbing, murdering, and roaming over the land with fire and flame, and no one could prevail over them either with weapons or in any other way, for they slew everyone; and if he would venture to kill the giants, and did indeed kill them, then he would receive the King’s daughter as his lawful spouse with half of the kingdom as dowry; also, the King was willing to supply him with a hundred knights to take along as help against the giants.

These words of the King put the tailor in excellent spirits, and it seemed to him a fine thing that he was to be a King’s son-in-law and receive half a kingdom as dowry; so he spoke boldly: he would willingly be at the King’s, his most gracious master’s, service and slay the giants, and he would surely be able to kill them without the help of the hundred knights. After this, he proceeded into the forest, told the hundred knights who had been made to follow him on the King’s command to wait at the edge, and walked into a thicket where he peered around to see if there were any sign of the giants. And in the end, after a lengthy search, he found them both sleeping under a tree and snoring so mightily that the branches of the trees rustled back and forth as if bent by a tempest.

The tailor did not hesitate long but, quickly filling his breast with the stones he picked up, he climbed up the tree under which the giants were lying and threw a rough stone at the breast of one of them. This giant instantly woke up, flew into a passion with his companion, and asked why he was hitting him? The second giant excused himself the best he could, saying he had not lashed out knowingly, it must have happened in his sleep. Now when they had fallen asleep again, the tailor took another stone and threw it at the second giant, who started up in a rage at his comrade and asked why he was throwing stones at him? And now it was the first giant who did not know what the other was talking about. Now when, after some squabbling, sleep had closed the eyes of both giants, the tailor once again threw a stone very forcefully at the second one, who could bear this no longer and hit out violently at his companion, whom he believed to have struck him; the other giant, in his turn, would not suffer this, and they both leapt to their feet, tore trees out of the earth – but fortunately they left alone the tree in which the tailor was sitting – and they thrashed each other with the trees so ferociously that they ended up beating one another to death.

When the tailor saw, from his tree, that the giants had killed one another, his spirits rose higher than ever before, and he cheerfully climbed down the tree, cut a wound or several in each giant’s body with his sword, and went out of the forest to join the knights. They asked him if he had discovered the giants or if he had not seen them anywhere. “Yes,” said the tailor – “discovered and seen and slain the two of them – that have I, and left them lying under a tree.” This was astonishing to hear for the knights, and being unable and unwilling to believe that one man could have come away from the giants so unscathed, and killed them as well, they now rode into the forest themselves to look at this wonder, and they found everything to be just as the tailor-hero had said. The knights were greatly amazed at this and felt a terrible dread; and their spirits fell even lower, for they feared that the victor would kill them all if he conceived an enmity against them; and they rode home and told the King what had happened.

Now when the tailor came to the King, personally reported his deed, and desired the hand of the King’s daughter along with half the kingdom, the King bitterly regretted the promise he had made to the unknown warrior, for the giants were now slain and could do no further harm; and he thought about how he could justifiably rid himself of the hero, having not the slightest intention of giving him his daughter. Therefore he told the tailor that in another forest there was, unfortunately, a unicorn which did great harm to his fish and his people, and he must capture it; if he accomplished this task, then the King would give him his daughter. The good tailor acquiesced again, and taking a rope, he went to that forest where the wild unicorn lived. He ordered his hunter allies to wait outside the forest, for he would enter alone and accomplish the feat alone, just as he had overcome the two giants alone and without any help. When the tailor had strolled around the forest for a while, he perceives the unicorn, and it runs towards him with its horn lowered, intending to kill him. But he did not want dexterity; waiting until the unicorn had come up close to him, he swiftly slipped behind the tree he had been standing right beside. And the unicorn, running at full gallop and unable to change its course, ran headlong into the tree, which it pierced right through with its sharp horn, and the horn was stuck fast and immovable. Then the tailor, seeing the uniform vigorously kicking at the tree, stepped out and tied the rope he had brought around its neck, bound it to the tree as tight as he could, went out of the forest to his hunting companions, and announced to them his victory over the wild unicorn. After that the tailor went to the King, humbly made mention of the happy fulfilment of the royal wish, and deferentially called attention to the twice-made royal promise. This made the King sad beyond measure, and he did not know what was to be done; the tailor craved his daughter, but he must not have her. And he desired one more thing of the warrior, namely to capture the terrible wild boar which was running free in a third forest and laying everything waste, and when he had accomplished this, then the King would give him his daughter forthwith; he would also assign to him all of his huntsmen as helpers.

The tailor, who was not particularly enthusiastic about the King’s new demand, went off to the forest with his companions, and once they reached the edge of the wood he ordered them to stay outside. The hunters were heartily glad and content to do this, for the wild boar had frequently given them such a reception that many of their number had never made the return journey, and not one of them felt any further desire to hunt it. So they thanked the tailor most sincerely for venturing into peril alone and leaving them back there out of harm’s way. The tailor had not been walking in the forest for long when the wild boar caught sight of him and rushed towards him, with foaming jaws and salivating tusks, intent on trampling him into the ground, so that his heart trembled and he looked swiftly around in search of salvation. Fortunately, there was a tumbledown old chapel in the forest, in which people had received indulgences in days of yore, and as the tailor was nearby, he espied the chapel and was inside it in one bound, then he was out again at the end opposite the door, a leap in the air taking him through a window with no remaining panes; and the wild sow had followed him straight away and was now crashing around in the chapel, while the tailor speedily ran around the little house, rushed up to the door and hurriedly slammed it shut, thus shutting the cruel beast up in the church. Then he went to his hunting companions and announced his feat to them; they came to see, found his account to be true and accurate, and rode home deeply astonished, where they made their report to the King. Now whether the news of the heroic warrior happily achieving yet another victory gave the King more joy or sadness may easily be surmised by anyone, even those of little understanding, for the King now had to give the tailor his daughter or fear that he would turn his heroic strength, of which he had given three such amazing proofs, against him. Yet there can surely be no doubt that the King, had he known for certain that the hero was a tailor, would sooner have given him a rope to hang him with than his daughter. Now, whether the King would give his daughter with a light or heavy heart, willingly or unwillingly, to a man of no background and no birth to speak of, other than that which his mother had given him, the little tailor asked very little, or not at all; he was proud and glad to have become the King’s daughter’s husband, and that was enough. So the wedding was celebrated with not the greatest enthusiasm on the royal side, and a tailor had become a King’s son-in-law – indeed, a King.

When some little time had gone by, the young Queen heard her lord and husband talking in his sleep, and she clearly heard the words: “Boy, make the jerkin, darn the trousers – make haste – or I’ll – hit you over the head with the yardstick!” This seemed astonishing to the young King’s spouse, who quickly realised that her husband was a tailor, and she reported this to her lord and father, asking him to deliver her from this man. The King was cut to the quick to hear that he had been obliged to marry his only daughter to a tailor, but he consoled her the best he could and told her to leave her bedroom door open that night, for several servants would be standing before it, and when they heard those words being repeated they would go in and kill the man without further ado. The young lady was satisfied and promised to do this. Now the King had at his Court an armour-bearer who was well-disposed towards the tailor, and on hearing the King’s faithless words he hurriedly betook himself to the young king and disclosed to him the severe judgement that had just that moment been issued and pronounced on him, and he besought him to make every effort to defend his life. The tailor-king thanked him warmly for his warning and told him that he knew very well what was to be done in this matter. Now when night had come, the young king repaired to his bed with his wife at the usual hour and soon pretended to be asleep. Then the lady secretly got up and opened the door, whereupon she silently lay down again. After a while, the young king began to speak as if in sleep, but in a loud voice that those outside before the door could clearly hear: “Boy, make the trousers – patch – the jerkin, or I’ll hit you over the head with the yardstick. I – have killed – seven at a stroke – I’ve struck dead – two giants – I’ve captured the unicorn – I’ve also captured the wild sow – should I fear those – those who stand outside the bedroom door?” When the servants outside heard these words they fled as if a thousand devils were hunting them, and none of them wanted to be the one who dared to face the tailor. And so the brave little tailor was and remained a king as long as he lived and up until his dying day.

3. The Tale of the Seven Swabians

1853 (expanded) version

Once upon a time there were seven Swabians who wished to be great heroes and wander all over the world in search of adventure. So that they might be well armed, they first made their way to the world-famous city of Augsburg and went at once to the most dexterous Master there in order to equip themselves with shield and sword. For they had nothing less in mind than slaying the colossal monster which, at that time, was wreaking terrible havoc in the Lake Constance region. The Master was somewhat astonished when he saw the seven, but he immediately opened his armoury, which offered the brave companions a splendid selection. “By God!” cried the Allgauer. “Are these supposed to be spears? One of them would do me fine as a toothpick. For me, a spear the length of seven men isn’t long enough.” – At this, the Master, for his part, gave him a look that almost put the Allgauer out of temper. For he returned the look with grim eyes, and they were within a hair of starting something when Thunder-Swabian interposed at just the right time. “By Thunder!” he cried, “you’re right, and I see what you’re thinking: Just as all seven for one, so one spear for all seven.” The Allgauer could not quite get his head round this, but it seemed to be just the very thing for the others, so he said, “Aye”. And the Master manufactured the spear that measured the length of seven men in less than an hour. But before they left the workshop, each one of them bought himself something distinctive: Knoeple-Swabian a skewer, the Allgauer a casque with a feather on the top, while the Yellowfooter bought spurs for his boots, observing: Such things were good not only for riding but for kicking out behind as well. When Lake-Hare had at length chosen a breastplate for himself, Mirror-Swabian wholeheartedly agreed with his exercising such caution, but thought it would be better to put the breastplate on his back instead of on his front. And he bought himself an old barber’s basin from the Master’s lumber-room, big enough to cover his lower back parts. “Look here: if I have courage and I go forwards, I don’t need any armour; but if we have to beat a retreat and my courage falls by the wayside, my armour is in the right place.” And after the Seven Swabians had properly paid for everything to the last farthing like honest men, and had heard mass at St. Ulrich’s as good Christians, and had, last of all, bought a supply of good Augsburg sausages from the butcher at Göppingen Gate, they passed out of the gate and continued on their way.

All seven of them held the spear and walked in single file, looking for all the world like larks on a spit. At the front was Herr Schulz, the Allgauer, as the manliest among them; then came Jackli, called the Lake-Hare; after that Marli, called the Lace-Swabian, who was followed by Jergil, called the Thunder-Swabian; afterwards went Michel, also called Mirror-Swabian, then came Hans, the Knoeple-Swabian, and last of all came Veitli, who was the Yellowfooter. There was a good reason behind every one of these epithets. Herr Schulz was called the Allgauer because he was Allgau-born; the Lake-Hare had resided by the shores of Lake Constance; the Lace-Swabian bore this name because he had laces instead of buttons on his trousers, and was nearly always holding the latter up with his hand as a result of the laces oftimes having torn off. The Thunder-Swabian was so called because he was accustomed to use the phrase, “By Thunder!” The Mirror-Swabian had the habit of invariably wiping his nose on the front of his jacket, which took therefrom a certain glassy gleam that procured him this neat name. Knoeple-Swabian was a man who knew how to cook good knoeple or spaetzle, that is Knötel in Bavarian German and Klöse in Saxon German. The Yellowfooter, finally, came from down Bopfingen way, whose inhabitants are called Yellowfooters by their neighbours for the following reason: once, they wanted to cram a cartload of eggs, which they had to take to their duke as a tax, as full as possible, and to this end they trod on the eggs so firmly that the eggs were rather a little smashed and the Bopfingers’ feet were yellowed.

Now the seven set out with their spear, in good spirits every one, and at dusk one day in the haymaking month[2] they were walking over a green meadow when, no great distance away from them, a hornet rose up with a hostile buzzing from behind a briar hedge and flew past. This gave Schulz, the Allgauer, a mighty shock, and he began to sweat a cold sweat, almost lost his grip of the spear, and yelled to his comrades-in-arms, “Hark! Hark! The enemy’s drumming!” Then Jackli, who was walking close behind Schulz, smelt a foul odour and cried, “Indeed! Indeed! Something’s near at hand! I can smell the powder!” Then Herr Schulz took to his heels, letting the spear fall to the ground, and leapt over a fence, but he happened to land on the teeth of a rake, and the handle sprang up into his face giving him a mighty clout. Schulz, thinking that the Devil was pitching into him, yelled out, “Have mercy! I surrender!” The other six had jumped over the fence after him, and when they heard their leader yelling in this way, they all yelled, “If you surrender, I surrender too! If you surrender, I surrender too!” But there was no one around who wanted to take the Seven Swabians captive, and when they realised this, they were ashamed of their scant courage, and they swore not to breathe a word to anyone of this first heroic exploit of theirs.

After this, the Seven Swabians’ campaign brought them to a narrow pass, and as they marched towards it as brave as you please, they did not notice that an enormous bear was lying in the way until the Allgauer almost bumped his nose against it. When he saw the bear, he was frantic with fear, he stumbled, and unable to stop himself, thrust the spear straight at the bear, and yowled to high heaven, “A bear! A bear!” He thought his last loaf had been baked and eaten. Yet the bear did not stir, from being stone dead. Delighted at this, the Allgauer looked around at his brethren, and was horrified anew to see them all lying on the ground dead quiet, and apparently quietly dead; he thought he had stabbed them to death with a backwards thrust of the spear, and he started to wail. When those lying on the ground realised that the bear had not devoured the Allgauer – for they had only tumbled down from shock – they cautiously looked up, and seeing that the bear was dead, they got up, hale and hearty, walked around the bear and over it, and would have investigated the depth of the wound that the spear had inflicted on him – but they could not find one, and the Thunder-Swabian said, “By Thunder! The bear has snuffed it and been dead a long time!” – “Indeed,” said Jackli, “I thought I smelt a rat.” They all agreed to remove the bear’s skin and carry it with them as a token of victory but to leave the carcass lying where it was. “May the sheep now eat the bear, as he formerly ate the sheep!” said one of them, and so they continued on their way with their bearskin and their spear.

They now happened to enter a forest and went deeper and deeper into the thicket until they got stuck. In the end, the trees were so dense that there could be no thought of progressing; and at last, the Allgauer stepped before a massive trunk, raised the spear, and roared like a lion, “By God! This must get through!” And with these words he ran the spear into the ground with such force that Knoeple-Swabian was jammed in between the tree and the spear, like a wedge, and could neither shift nor stir. And that was no laughing matter, for now the procession came to a dead stop and could neither go on nor go back. To be sure, the companions made several mighty attempts to pull Knoeple-Swabian out of his fix, but they strove in vain: Hans sat fast and did not budge. Then suddenly it was as if a great thought had arisen in the Allgauer’s mind: looking around him, he exclaimed, “By God! May the Devil take me if this help wasn’t sent from God!” And crying, “Hie on, ox!” he seized the tree with powerful hands and tore it out, root, stump and branch. Knoeple-Swabian, more dead than alive, sprang out just like a ball from a racket, flew six fathoms heavenwards, and landed with a thud that shook the earth. But the five others looked at the Allgauer with deep reverence, for it now dawned on them what a find they had made in Herr Schulz.

A little further on, it was once again made manifest that the Allgauer did not keep a tight rein on his courage, for when the seven had extricated themselves from the thicket, a brewer from Munich came walking up, driving a herd of pigs before him, and you could tell at a hundred paces which region’s child he was. He stopped, his arms akimbo, when he caught sight of the seven with the spear and made a face as if to laugh at the valiant fellows. At once Thunder-Swabian was standing before him, testily asking, “What’re you looking at, friend? Have you never seen a Schwabe (Swabian) before?” – “Oh, plenty of them,” returned the other, “back at my malt-kiln, there are thousands of them running around.” He meant, by way of mockery, the black beetles which also go by this name (Schwabe), no living soul knows why. That was enough to raise Thunder-Swabian’s hackles, for at times he was as bilious as a May-frog. He went at the Bavarian and speedily gave him a slap that made his eyes flash sparks and his ears buzz just like a large hornet. The Bavarian, wasting no time, stretched his arms out wide to give the Swabian a remembrancer; and it would have been one that stayed in his mind for the rest of his days. But Thunder-Swabian being a pint-sized little fellow, he turned upon one leg seven times, having learned nothing so well during his life as how to take to his heels. So it came about that the Bavarian gave the air a tremendous blow, turned round and round like a spinning top, stumbled, and crashed to the ground like a hay-pole. That was the start of his undoing; Thunder-Swabian fell upon him like an allotment-holder and grabbed him by the throat, while the others held his hands and feet and lustily pummeled him. But he would still have mastered them in the end, for he was a big, strong fellow, had the Allgauer not also fallen upon him like a two-hundredweight sack of corn. Then he had to make his apologies, whether he liked it or not, for the troop would not loose and liberate him otherwise.

And then it happened that the boon companions continued their journey till they came to a wide blue lake, as it seemed to them – for the light had grown somewhat dim by this time – whose waves billowed in the wind; and the Seven Swabians stood at the top of its slope and looked down, seeking the quickest way to cross this lake. However, there was no water down below, but a field full of flax, which was just then in its fullest, bluest bloom.

“By Thunder!” cried Thunder-Swabian. “What’s to be done here? We must get across the wild water!”

“Allgauer, you carry us over, as St. Christopher erstwhile carried the pilgrims!” said Lake-Hare. – “By God!” the Allgauer replied, “I’d go into the water all right, if it went no higher than my neck.” Lace-Swabian grasped the waistband of his trousers with one hand, holding on to the noble garment to keep it from slipping off while he was swimming with the other hand; to Knoeple-Swabian, this was by no means a matter of indifference: he looked closely to see if there were any sharks, whales, or crocodiles churning the water; and the others stood there too, quite at a loss what to do, until Thunder-Swabian slipped around the back of them and pushed a few of them down, crying out, “He who dares, swims!” As they did not go under, Yellowfooter took heart and hopped down, Thunder-Swabian and Lace-Swabian followed him with more confidence, and last of all the Allgauer rode down on the spear; and down below, they flopped one on top of the other, until they realised that they had fallen flat on their faces into a field, and one by one they picked themselves up, with rather crushed ribs, and strode onwards with the spear once again.

Up to this hour the seven had held to the spear in harmony, neither devilry nor dissension arising among them. Then the Evil One came and sowed discord in between Thunder-Swabian and Mirror-Swabian. It came to pass in the following way. When the troop had walked a good distance further, it was night and the moon was beginning to rise. Then Mirror-Swabian was overcome with a curious feeling, just as if he were at home, and he said, “We’ve reached it now, Memmingen isn’t far off.” Thunder-Swabian looks at him in amazement and asks how he could know that. Mirror-Swabian laughed knowingly, “Why, I think I know the Memmingen Moon when I see it.” At this, the other laughed so hard that the tears ran down his cheeks, and he exclaimed: “By Thunder! Friend, how can you be so thunderingly stupid!” Now Mirror-Swabian had a thick skin, he had been the butt of hard words many times in his life, but he could not bear to be thought stupid. That just happened to be his sensitive spot. No sooner were the words spoken than Thunder-Swabian had his ears boxed. Now the two went for one another just like a pair of butcher’s dogs, vying to see who could thrash the other the harder, to the entertainment of the rest, until at last Lake-Hare asked the Allgauer to make peace. Not needing to be asked twice, he quickly grabbed Thunder-Swabian by the waistband and held him up in the air, like a frog, struggle as much as he might. In the meantime, Mirror-Swabian did not cease pounding Thunder-Swabian’s backside; so the Allgauer seized him as well and held him by the waistcoat under the throat so hard and fast that he stood there as stiff as a poker, unable to budge an inch. “By God!” cried Herr Schulz. “I’ll teach you manners, you blasted strawheads!” He shook the one and throttled the other ever more forcibly until they finally promised each other to be good friends again, and such did they remain, from that time on, until their dying day.

It soon became evident that Mirror-Swabian had by no means been so stupid as Thunder-Swabian had chiefly believed, for when they had walked for another two quarters of an hour they duly arrived at Memmingen, as the former had prophesied from the moon. However, as if this very town was fated to bring Mirror-Swabian nothing but misfortune on this day, so did it soon come to pass once again that the poor fellow was to be punished in skin and hair.[3] “Let’s not go through Memmingen,” he had said, and when he had been asked the reason for this, he had shaken his head and remarked, He should know best! Therefore they walked around the town walls, the seven, to regain the military road at the other end. But then, striking proof was once again afforded that man cannot escape his destiny. For before Mirror-Swabian knew what was happening, a woman bounded out of a hop-garden towards him, a real harridan, and shrieked in a voice that went through bone and marrow: “Are you back here at last, you rascal? Where have you been gadding about all this time, you gallows bird?” Mirror-Swabian’s head began to swim and he thought his end had come, for the old woman was none other than his beloved other half, whom he had walked out on without so much as a by-your-leave when setting out on his travels with the other companions. Here, quick thinking was of the essence, so in a flash he was over into the hop-garden with one bound, to the great merriment of the others, who were splitting their sides with laughter. But the old woman, as swift as a wagtail on her spindly legs, was hot on his heels, and there would without doubt have been a fierce battle between the two had Mirror-Swabian not thought of a knavish trick in the nick of time. He had nothing to carry but the bearskin, and that now did him good service. Hurriedly throwing it over his head and swiftly slipping his hands into its paws, he ran on all fours, exactly like a real live bear; and he ran growling up to his wife, clasped her with his sharp claws and squeezed and hugged her until she nearly lost her senses. The old woman was glad to escape the prankster, who now joyfully left that place with the others. From that hour dates the custom of bad-tempered husbands very frequently being described as “like a bear with a sore head” by their other halves.

“Joy after sorrow!” cried the Allgauer, and he pointed to Leutkirch Gate, where there was a inn, and over its door could be read: “Here we serve March-Beer!” As there was no one among the seven averse to being served a pot of beer, they turned their steps towards the inn in a trice and reached the entrance hall with their spear at the same moment as the fat brewer stepped out the door to cast an eye over the weather. When he caught sight of the band with the fearsome spear, it did not exactly warm the cockles of his heart; however, he quickly doffed his cap and politely asked them what they wanted. “We want to taste a tipple of your beer,” said the Allgauer, and he made a beeline for the tap room with his companions. Then the innkeeper understood that the delegation with the spear had been sent by the Swabian Provincial Government, as happens from time to time, to taste the beer and assay if it is worth its price. So he ran at full gallop to his cellar and fetched up a keg of his best, such as he brewed only for himself and his family. The keg was empty in a twinkling, the second one in even less time, and when the seven had drunk almost a firkin in less than two hours, the innkeeper remarked, He could see that they liked it. But Thunder-Swabian, who was always quick with his tongue, said, “It could be better, if there weren’t too little malt and hops in it.” – “That isn’t true,” replied the innkeeper, who was a wag, “There isn’t too little hops and malt in it - there’s too much water.” Then Thunder-Swabian realised that he had met his match, so he drank another pot and then recited this poem, which came into his mind:

“In Langensalz, in Langensalz,

(‘In Memmingen,’ I could have said)

They brew three beers all from one malt:

The first is called The Cream of the Crop,

The burgomasters’ favourite drop;

The second brew’s called Middle-Beer,

Served to the common people here;

Swipes[4] is the final brew,

Zounds, drink it! – That’s for you!

Then they all went on their way, and the Memmingen innkeeper swears blind to this day that the band were none other than the Memmingen District Chief Beer Inspectors.

“Joy after sorrow!” the Allgauer had said without reflecting that this wise adage proves well-founded far more often when it is reversed. The adventurous journey of the seven companion was simply destined to proceed under sunshine and rain in turns, so it was really no surprise that the poor company very soon got into another pickle. Their heads were still spinning and whirling from the March-beer they had drunk so excessively when they found spiteful Fate lying in wait. Just as they were passing by Kronburg, the stern Squire looked out of his window. He perhaps felt somewhat uneasy at the sight of the merry troop, who were not, to all outward appearance, passing on their way in all too respectable a manner. Therefore he called for his bailiff and said, “Look to the vagrants over there – a rum crew, I’d say.” The bailiff took seven bulldogs with him, each one of them big enough to fight a bear at a pinch, and went down to give chase to the luckless Swabians. He soon caught up with them, and Thunder-Swabian being his usual snappish self, Herr Holdfast made short work of it and took the band back with him. The Allgauer, it was true, was unwilling to go along so compliantly, but when the dogs snarled ferociously, he lowered the spear and let his ears droop and trotted along at the back. They were now all led in a body before the Squire of Kronburg, who began a strict examination. Lake-Hare acted as the spokesman for the group and truthfully related: How a terrible beast was dwelling in the Lake Constance region, and so they had joined forces from all districts in Swabia, as brave compatriots and upstanding men, to free the land from the monster.

But the Squire did not believe this, rather holding to his opinion that they were vagabonds and thieving riff-raff, and he had them put into the “House,” that is, into prison.

“You’ll see in Schnutzleputz’s House,

Many a singing, dancing mouse,

Many a barking snail in the House”[5]

sang Thunder-Swabian in the House, but very quietly, like a mouse. Only the day before, when he had been plagued with the gout, the Squire had formed the commendable resolve to found a House of Correction to the terror of all scoundrels and idlers, to the benefit of the citizenry, and to the enlightenment of the common people. So to his mind, the Seven Swabians came as if called for. Otherwise he was a very pious and gentle lord who did not even fleece his own peasants for more than he needed to keep himself warm in winter. And so he ordered that the prisoners be given food, as much as they needed. However, Mirror-Swabian, who was well-acquainted with him and knew that he kept Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard and, no doubt, an angry butler,[6] thereupon laid a plan which he imparted to his companions. So when the bailiff brought a large pan filled with small dumplings, which they call Milk-spaetzle, at midday, Thunder-Swabian said to Knoeple-Swabian, “They must be for you.” The bailiff said there was surely enough for everyone. But Knoeple-Swabian said he’d see if this sufficed for him, and sitting himself down, he ate the pan clean on his own, leaving neither scrap nor crumb. The bailiff was alarmed and ran to the Squire, saying they would have to cook a whole brewer’s copper of spaetzle at one time for the vagrants, and even that, he thought, would scarcely be enough. So the Squire of and at Kronburg did some hard thinking, and he decided that he did not owe the Swabian Government and mankind so great a sacrifice as to starve himself in his own castle for the sake of a few vagabonds. The seven were set at liberty forthwith – only, the Squire gave them a testimonial to carry with them on the road, to dutifully warn other magistrates and turnkeys of Knoeple-Swabian’s great gluttony.

After more than one further adventure which would be too long to tell, the Seven Swabians arrived at a real large lake, and Lake-Hare, who recognised it at once, said, “That’s Lake Constance.” On its banks, so the legend went, there lived a dangerous monster, which the seven brave Swabians had firmly resolved to fight and to slay. Now when they set eyes on the lake and, at the same time, the forest in which the monster had its home, they did not know if it was a dreadful lindworm or a fire-spitting dragon, so their hearts sank into their boots, they made a halt, and they lit a fire so that Knoepfle-Swabian could prepare a final meal (for who could tell but that the monster would devour them to a man – skin, bones and all – with or without their spear) of knoepfle and spaetzle, and while eating they contemplated death. “Aye,” said the Allgauer, fetching a sigh from the bottom of his heart, “It’s a rum do, to think we’re eating our midday meal for the last time in our lives.” And once more he sighed and said, “It’s a rum do!” and Knoeple-Swabian began to quietly blubber to himself, without however forgetting his food. But when the Allgauer fetched a dreadfully deep sigh and said, “It’s a rum do!” for the third time, then they all began to blubber and howl so piteously that it would have moved a savage heathen to pity. Only Lace-Swabian was not grieved to the heart at the thought of death, for, he said, “My mother’s often told me that my hour would never ever come.” Yet he howled along with the company, out of goodwill. But when, at last, they could howl no more, it occurred to them that it was time to arrange their order of battle; which caused all kinds of strife and discord. The Allgauer said that up to now he had always been the foremost, it was time for him to be the hindmost for once, and Thunder-Swabian should lead the way. But that man said, “I’ve courage enough in my body, but not body enough for my courage and that beast of a monster.” Mirror-Swabian wiped his nose on his sleeve and made the suggestion that it would be better, he hoped they would agree, if one of them died for all, and he thought Knoepfle-Swabian could do them this small favour; who screamed blue murder, as if the monster already had him by the scruff of the neck. And so they prattled on and bandied words a while longer, until they came to an amicable agreement and strode swiftly forwards with their spear, straight for the forest where the beast was said to dwell. Before they reached it, they came to a slope where a hare was sitting squat upon its tail, and it stretched its long ears up high, which was a fearful sight for the Swabians; so they checked their pace, took counsel, and deliberated if they should advance and rush upon the monster with their spear stretched far out in front of them, or if they should take to flight; yet every one of them kept a firm grip of the spear. Now as Veitli, being at the back, was the furthest out of harm's way, this went to his head, and he cried to Schulz, who was at the front:

“Thrust hard, in every Swabian’s name,

Or may your limbs go limp and lame!”

Hans, the man in front of Veitli Yellowfooter, the Knoepfle-Swabian, ridiculed Veitli’s courage, saying:

“By God, but you’re a fine one to prattle;

You’re right at the back when we do battle!”

Michel’s courage had caused his hair to stand to end, and he did not look towards the monster but spoke with his face averted, while he raised his sleeve to his face:

“As sure as eggs is eggs, I swear

That it’s the very Devil there!”

Jergli looked in Michel’s face and also did not look towards the raging monster, while he faint-heartedly agreed:

“By Jove! If not him, it’s his mother,

Or the Devil’s own stepbrother!”

Marli the Lace-Swabian, who was quite close to the front of the spear with which the Swabians walked, did not like his place, and he had a good idea; he turned around, as he saw no need to look at the monster, and called to Veitli:

“Go, Veitli, go, you lead the way,

I’ll follow you, as night does day!”

But Veitli pressed his hands against his ears and pretended not to hear; whereupon Marli said to Jackli,

“Go Jackli, go, you be the first!

You’re wearing boots, you’re wearing spurs,

The dragon’s teeth can do their worst!”

But Jackli took comfort in the Allgauer being at the point of the spear, at the head of the Seven Swabians, and at the forefront of the adventure to be undergone, and he said:

“It’s fitting Herr Schulz be our van,

An honour due that very man.”

Schulz the Allgauer took heart and spoke boldly, as it was now simply a case of unavoidable danger:

“Then forward, with stout hearts, to battle,

That’s how the world knows men of mettle!”

And then they were off in God’s name, rushing at the double and at the monster, and Schulz’s heart was thumping so much that he could not fight off his fear, and he yelled, “Hoy heydeehoy! Hoy! Hoyhoy!” The hare was startled and turned tail double quick, running across country as hard as he could. Now Schulz the Allgauer cried out with joy:

“’Sblood, Veitli, look, look, see that there?

The monster’s nothing but a hare!”

“Did you see it? Did you see it?” the others now asked one another. “By Thunder! A creature as big as a calf!” cried Thunder-Swabian. Lace-Swabian swore his strongest curse: “By your leave! May a mouse bite you! A beast like a fattened ox!” – “Oho!” cried Knoepfle-Swabian, “An elephant is a mere cat beside that monster.” – “By God,” the Allgauer returned, “if that wasn’t a hare, then I can’t tell Three-Men-Wine from Revenge-Powder!”

“Now, now!” Lake-Hare mediated. “Hare or no hare! A lake-hare is simply greater and grimmer than all the hares in the Holy Roman Empire.” – “Just as the Lake-wine is sourer and tarter than all the wines in the Holy Roman Empire,” Yellowfooter scoffed at the back, and Lake-Hare was close to giving him a slap or two for this taunt, for it deeply wounded him that Veitli should ridicule Lake Wine, which he had savoured from the cradle. With regard to Lake Wine, the facts are as follows: it comes in three kinds, the first of which is Sorrel; it tastes just a little better than vinegar and contorts your mouth only a bit, particularly when you have grown used to it. The second type is called Three-Men-Wine; in taste, it ranks ten levels below vinegar, and it was so christened because, it is said, the man condemned to drink it must be held by two others while a third man pours it down his throat. The third sort is Revenge-Powder; it has the laudable property of expelling phlegm and everything else, but at the same time it is needful that the man who lies down to sleep with this wine inside him have himself woken up during the night so he may turn over, otherwise the Revenge-Powder might eat a hole in his stomach.

Now as the Seven Swabians had come through the Adventure of the Monster so successfully, they all agreed to henceforth have a rest from their exploits and peacefully return home. Before that, however, it was necessary to raise a victory monument that would proclaim their triumph to their contemporaries and to posterity till the end of time. Now as it was impossible to do as valiant knights had done in days of yore by hanging a dragon-skin up in a church, no dragon having brought its fell to market and the hare having escaped with its pelt intact, so the boon companions all agreed to donate their bearskin and their spear as a trophy to the nearest chapel, which was afterwards called the Chapel of the Swabian Saviour. The spear doubtless hangs there still today, but moths have eaten the bearskin, and sparrows have borne its hairs to their nests.

1845 version

Once upon a time there were seven Swabians who wished to be great heroes and wander all over the world in search of adventure. And so that they might be well armed, they had a spear made for themselves that was the length of seven men, and the seven of them took hold of it and walked in single file, one behind the other. At the front was Herr Schulz, the Allgauer, as the manliest among them; then came Jackli, called the Lake-Hare; after that Marli, called the Lace-Swabian, who was followed by Jergil, called the Thunder-Swabian; afterwards went Michel, also called Mirror-Swabian, then came Hans, the Knoeple-Swabian, and last of all came Veitli, who was the Yellowfooter. There was a good reason behind every one of these epithets. Herr Schulz was called the Allgauer because he was Allgau-born; the Lake-Hare had resided by the shores of Lake Constance; the Lace-Swabian bore this name because he had laces instead of buttons on his trousers, and was nearly always holding the latter up with his hand as a result of the laces oftimes having torn off. The Thunder-Swabian was so called because he was accustomed to use the phrase, “By Thunder!” The Mirror-Swabian had the habit of invariably wiping his nose on the front sleeves of his jacket, which took therefrom a certain glassy gleam that procured him this neat name. Knoeple-Swabian was a man who knew how to cook good knoeple or spaetzle, that is Knötel in Bavarian German and Klöse in Saxon German. The Yellowfooter, finally, came from down Bopfingen way, whose inhabitants are called Yellowfooters by their neighbours for the following reason: once, they wanted to cram a cartload of eggs, which they had to take to their duke as a tax, as full as possible, and to this end they trod on the eggs so firmly that the eggs were rather a little smashed and the Bopfingers’ feet were yellowed.

Now the seven set out with their spear, in good spirits every one, and at dusk one day in the haymaking month they were walking over a green meadow when, no great distance away from them, a hornet rose up with a hostile buzzing from behind a briar hedge and flew past. This gave Schulz, the Allgauer, a mighty shock, and he began to sweat a cold sweat, almost lost his grip of the spear, and yelled to his comrades-in-arms, “Hark! Hark! The enemy’s drumming!” Then Jackli, who was walking close behind Schulz, smelt a foul odour and cried, “Indeed! Indeed! Something’s near at hand! I can smell the powder!” Then Herr Schulz took to his heels, letting the spear fall to the ground, and leapt over a fence, but he happened to land on the teeth of a rake, and the handle sprang up into his face and gave him a mighty clout. Schulz, thinking that the Devil was pitching into him, yelled out, “Have mercy! I surrender!” The other six had jumped over the fence after him, and when they heard their leader yelling in this way, they all yelled, “If you surrender, I surrender too! If you surrender, I surrender too!” But there was no one around who wanted to take the Seven Swabians captive, and when they realised this, they were ashamed of their scant courage, and they swore not to breathe a word to anyone of this, their first heroic exploit.

After this, the Seven Swabians’ campaign brought them to a narrow pass, and as they marched towards it as brave as you please, they did not notice that an enormous bear was lying in the way until the Allgauer was almost upon it. When he saw the bear, he was frantic with fear, he stumbled, and unable to stop himself, thrust the spear straight at the bear, and yowled to high heaven, “A bear! A bear!” He thought his last loaf had been baked and eaten. Yet the bear did not stir, from being stone dead. Delighted at this, the Allgauer looked around at his brethren, and was horrified anew to see them all lying on the ground dead quiet, and apparently quietly dead; he thought he had stabbed them to death with a backwards thrust of the spear, and he started to wail. When those lying on the ground realised that the bear had not devoured the Allgauer – for they had only tumbled down from shock – they cautiously looked up, and seeing that the bear was dead, they got up, hale and hearty, walked around the bear and over it, and would have investigated the depth of the wound that the spear had inflicted on him – but they could not find one, and the Thunder-Swabian said, “By Thunder! The bear has snuffed it and been dead a long time!” – “Indeed,” said Jackli, “I thought I smelt a rat.” They all agreed to remove the bear’s skin and carry it with them as a token of victory but to leave the carcass lying where it was. “May the sheep now eat the bear, as he formerly ate the sheep!” said one of them, and so they continued on their way with their bearskin and their spear.

And then it happened that the boon companions continued their journey till they came to a wide blue lake, as it seemed to them – for the light had grown somewhat dim by this time – whose waves billowed in the wind; and the Seven Swabians stood at the top of its slope and looked down, seeking the quickest way to cross this lake. However, there was no water down below, but a field full of flax, which was just then in its fullest, bluest bloom.

“By Thunder!” cried Thunder-Swabian. “What’s to be done here? We must get across the wild water!”

“Allgauer, you carry us over, as St. Christopher erstwhile carried the pilgrims!” said Lake-Hare. – “By God!” the Allgauer replied, “I’d go into the water all right, if it went no higher than my neck.” Lace-Swabian grasped the waistband of his trousers with one hand, holding on to the noble garment to keep it from slipping off while he was swimming with the other hand; to Knoeple-Swabian, this was by no means a matter of indifference: he looked closely to see if there were any sharks, whales, or crocodiles churning the water; and the others stood there too, quite at a loss what to do, until Thunder-Swabian slipped around the back of them and pushed a few of them down, crying out, “He who dares, swims!” As they did not go under, Yellowfooter took heart and hopped down, Thunder-Swabian and Lace-Swabian followed him with more confidence, and last of all the Allgauer rode down on the spear; and down below, they flopped one on top of the other, until they realised that they had fallen flat on their faces in green grass, and one by one they picked themselves up, with rather crushed ribs, and strode onwards with the spear once again.

After more than one further adventure which would be too long to tell, the Seven Swabians arrived at a real large lake, and Lake-Hare, who recognised it at once, said, “That’s Lake Constance.” On its banks, so the legend went, there lived a dangerous monster, which the seven brave Swabians had firmly resolved to fight and to slay. Now when they set eyes on the lake and, at the same time, the forest in which the monster had its home, they did not know if it was a dreadful lindworm or a fire-spitting dragon, so their hearts sank into their boots, they made a halt, and they lit a fire so that Knoepfle-Swabian could prepare a final meal (for who could tell but that the monster would devour them to a man – skin, bones and all – with or without their spear) of knoepfle and spaetzle, and while eating they contemplated death. And after this they began to arrange their order of battle, which gave rise to all manner of tension and discord. The Allgauer said that up to now he had always been the foremost, it was time for him to be the hindmost for once, and Thunder-Swabian should lead the way. But that man said, “I’ve courage enough in my body, but not body enough for my courage and that beast of a monster.” Mirror-Swabian wiped his nose on his sleeve and made the suggestion that it would be better, he hoped they would agree, if one of them died for all, and he thought Knoepfle-Swabian could do them this small favour; who screamed blue murder, as if the monster already had him by the scruff of the neck. And so they prattled on and bandied words a while longer, until they came to an amicable agreement and strode swiftly forwards with their spear, straight for the forest where the beast was said to dwell. Before they reached it, they came to a slope where a hare was sitting squat upon its tail, and it stretched its long ears up high, which was a fearful sight for the Swabians; so they checked their pace, took counsel, and deliberated if they should advance and rush upon the monster with their spear stretched far out in front of them, or if they should take to flight; yet every one of them kept a firm grip of the spear. Now as Veitli, being at the back, was the furthest out of harm's way, this went to his head, and he cried to Schulz, who was at the front:

“Thrust hard, in every Swabian’s name,

Or may your limbs go limp and lame!”

Hans, the man in front of Veitli Yellowfooter, the Knoepfle-Swabian, ridiculed Veitli’s courage, saying:

“By God, but you’re a fine one to prattle;

You’re right at the back when we do battle!”

Michel’s courage had caused his hair to stand to end, and he did not look towards the monster but spoke with his face averted, while he raised his sleeve to his face:

“As sure as eggs is eggs, I swear

That it’s the very Devil there!”

Jergli looked in Michel’s face and also did not look towards the raging monster, while he faint-heartedly agreed:

“By Jove! If not him, it’s his mother,

Or the Devil’s own stepbrother!”

Marli the Lace-Swabian, who was quite close to the front of the spear with which the Swabians walked, like a bevy of larks on a spit, did not like his place, and he had a good idea; he turned around, as he did not find it necessary to look at the monster, and called to Veitli:

“Go, Veitli, go, you lead the way,

I’ll follow you, as night does day!”

But Veitli pressed his hands against his ears and pretended not to hear; whereupon Marli said to Jackli,

“Go Jackli, go, you be the first!

You’re wearing boots, you’re wearing spurs,

The dragon’s teeth can do their worst!”

But Jackli took comfort in the Allgauer being at the point of the spear, at the head of the Seven Swabians, and at the forefront of the adventure to be undergone, and he said:

“It’s fitting Herr Schulz be our van,

An honour due that very man.”

Schulz the Allgauer took heart and spoke boldly, as it was now simply a case of unavoidable danger:

“Then forward, with stout hearts, to battle,

That’s how the world knows men of mettle!”

And then they were off in God’s name, rushing at the double and at the monster, and Schulz’s heart was thumping so much that he could not fight off his fear, and he yelled, “Hoy heydeehoy! Hoy! Hoyhoy!” The hare was startled and turned tail double quick, running across country as hard as he could. Now Schulz the Allgauer cried out with joy:

“’Sblood, Veitli, look, look, see that there?

The monster’s nothing but a hare!”

“Did you see it? Did you see it?” the others now asked one another. “By Thunder! A creature as big as a calf!” cried Thunder-Swabian. Lace-Swabian swore his strongest curse: “By your leave! May a mouse bite you! A beast like a fattened ox!” – “Oho!” cried Knoepfle-Swabian, “A helifant is a mere cat beside that monster.” – “By God,” the Allgauer returned, “if that wasn’t a hare, then I can’t tell Three-Men-Wine from Revenge-Powder!”

“Now, now!” Lake-Hare mediated. “Hare or no hare! A lake-hare is simply greater and grimmer than all the hares in the Holy Roman Empire.” – “Just as the Lake-wine is sourer and tarter than all the wines in the Holy Roman Empire,” Yellowfooter scoffed at the back, and Lake-Hare was close to giving him a slap or two for this taunt, for his national pride was wounded.

Now as the Seven Swabians had come through the Adventure of the Monster so successfully, they all agreed to henceforth have a rest from their exploits and peacefully return home. Before that, however, it was necessary to raise a victory monument that would proclaim their triumph to their contemporaries and to posterity till the end of time. Now as it was impossible to do as valiant knights had done in days of yore by hanging a dragon-skin up in a church, no dragon having brought its fell to market and the hare having escaped with its pelt intact, so the boon companions all agreed to donate their bearskin and their spear as a trophy to the nearest chapel, which was afterwards called the Chapel of the Swabian Saviour. The spear doubtless hangs there still today, but moths have eaten the bearskin, and sparrows have borne its hairs to their nests.

4. Of the Swabian who Scoffed the Liver

When our Dear Lord and Saviour yet walked the earth from one town to another, preaching the Gospel and performing many miracles, a good, simple-minded Swabian came to him one day and asked: “My fellow traveller, where are you going?” “Our Lord replied to him: “I am travelling around and saving people.” Then the Swabian said, “Will you let me go with you?” “Yes,” Our Lord replied, “if you will be pious and pray with fervour.” The Swabian promised this. Now as they walked together, they passed in between two villages in which bells were being rung. The Swabian liked to chatter, so he asked Our Lord: “My fellow traveller, why are they ringing those bells?” Our Saviour, to Whom all things were known, replied: “In one village bells are ringing for a wedding, in the other bells are tolling for the funeral of a dead person.” “You go to the dead person!” said the Swabian. “And I’ll go to the wedding.”

After that our Lord entered the village and brought the dead person back to life, and He was given a hundred thalers. The Swabian bestirred himself at the wedding, helping to pour the wine for one guest after another, and also for himself; and when the wedding was over, he was given a kreutzer. The Swabian was well satisfied with that, so he hit the road and came back to Our Lord. The moment the Swabian saw Him in the distance, he held his little kreutzer up high and shouted: “Take a gander, my fellow traveller! I’ve got money; now what have you got?” and he boasted on and on about his little kreutzer. Our Lord laughed at him and said, “Oh, I think I have more than you!” and He opened His sack to show the Swabian the hundred thalers. The Swabian was not slow off the mark: swiftly throwing his miserable little kreutzer in among the hundred thalers, he cried: “We’ll share, we’ll share! We’ll share everything with one another.” Our Lord let it be.

Now as they walked on together, it so happened that they came upon a flock of sheep, and Our Lord said to the Swabian: “Go, Swabian, to the shepherd, bid him give us a lamb, and cook us the pluck or offal for a meal.” “Alright!” said the Swabian, and he did as the Lord had bid him, went to the shepherd, was given a lamb, skinned it, and prepared the pluck for eating. And while it was boiling, the liver kept floating to the top; the Swabian pushed it down with a spoon, but it would not stay at the bottom, and this vexed him beyond measure. So he took a knife, cut off the liver – for it was done – and ate it. And so, when the food was placed on the table, Our Lord asked what had become of the liver. But the Swabian had an answer ready at hand: the lamb had not had one. “Well!” said our Lord, “and how could it have lived without a liver?” But the Swabian solemnly swore: “By God and all the Saints, it didn’t have one!” What was our Lord to do? If he wanted the Swabian to keep silent, he had to leave it at that.

Now it came to pass that they were walking together again when, once more, the bells rang out in two villages. The Swabian asked: “My friend, why are the bells ringing?” “In one village they are tolling bells for a dead person, in the other they are ringing for a wedding,” said Our Lord. “Fine!” said the Swabian. “Now you go to the wedding and I’ll go to the dead person!” (thinking he too would earn a hundred thalers). He further asked the Lord: “My friend, what did you do to raise that man from the dead?” “Well,” replied the Lord, “I said to him, rise in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost! Then he rose.” “Very well, very well!” cried the Swabian, “Now I know how to do it properly!”, and he went to the village where the dead man was being borne along towards him. When the Swabian saw this, he cried out in a loud voice: “Hold it! Hold it! I’ll bring him back to life, and if I don’t bring him back to life then hang me without judgement or sentence.”

The good people were happy, promised the Swabian a hundred thalers, and set down the bier on which the dead man lay. The Swabian opened the coffin and began to speak: “Rise in the name of the Holy Trinity!” But the dead man would not rise. The Swabian became anxious, he spoke his blessing a second and a third time, but the dead man not arising, he cried out in fury: “Well then, lie there in the name of a thousand devils!” When the people heard these profane words and saw that they had been deceived by the nincompoop, they left the coffin where it was, seized the Swabian, and soon hastened with him to the gallows, where they threw up the ladder and led the poor Swabian up it.

Our Lord made His way there nice and leisurely, for He well knew how the Swabian would fare, yet He was curious to see how he would conduct himself. Now He came to the place of judgement and cried, “Oh good companion, whatever have you done? What kind of figure is this I see you cutting?” The Swabian was incandescent and began to curse: the Lord had no taught him the blessing correctly. “I taught you correctly,” said the Lord, “but you did not learn and do it correctly; yet be that as it may. If you will tell me what became of the liver, I shall save you!” “Oh!” said the Swabian, “the lamb really did not have a liver! What are you accusing me of?” “Well, you just don’t want to say it!” said the Lord. “Come now, admit it, and I shall bring the dead man back to life!” But the Swabian began to yell: “Hang me, hang me! That way, I’ll escape this torment. He will press me about the liver, even though I’ve clearly told him that the lamb didn’t have one! Just hang me straight off!”

When our Lord heard this – that the Swabian would sooner let himself be hanged than confess the truth – He commanded that he be let down and now brought the dead man back to life Himself.

Now when they departed from that place together, our Lord said to the Swabian: “Come here, we shall share the money we have made and then part from one another, for if I had to save you from the gallows here, there, and everywhere, it would be too much for me.” So he took the two hundred thalers and divided them into three shares.

When the Swabian saw this, he asked, “Hey, my friend, why are you making three shares when we’re only twain?” “You see,” our dear Lord replied, “this share here is mine, the second share is yours, and the third share is for the man who scoffed the liver!” When the Swabian heard this, he joyfully exclaimed: “Then by God and all the Saints, I did scoff it!” So he spoke, and he pocketed the third share as well; and so he took his leave of Our good Lord.

5 The Tests of the Master-Thief’s Skill

In a village there lived a couple of very poor old people, as alone as alone can be, in a shabby little cottage which stood very far out, and this very cottage marked the end of the village. Both the old folks were upright and industrious, but they had no children. They had had a son, only the one, but he had been a degenerate knave who had secretly upped and gone, and from that day to this there had been neither sight nor sound of him, so that both the old ones believed their only child was long since dead and in the good keeping of God.

Now one day the old couple were sitting before their front door – it was a holiday – when there drove into the village a magnificent coach, drawn by six handsome horses, with a single gentleman sitting inside and a servant standing at the back whose hat and jacket simply bristled with gold and silver. The coach drove through the entire village, and the farmers, who were just coming out of church, well-nigh believed that it was a duke or even a king driving by, for the nobleman who lived up there in the old castle could not put on such a splendid display. Then the coach suddenly halted in front of the last house, and the servant leapt from the box-seat to open the door for the gentleman seated inside. This gentleman alighted and rushed towards the old couple, who had risen from their bench in utter astonishment. He warmly gave them good day and shook their hands, asking if he might not eat a dish of Potato Servems (dumplings) with them? The mother was most amazed at this, but the handsome young and very elegantly dressed gentleman promptly put a stop to her surprise by saying that no cook had as yet been able to make these servems to his satisfaction, so he wished, just the once, to eat it prepared by country folk, as in the days of his youth. Then the old couple cordially invited the young nobleman, for such they took the stranger to be, into their hut, and he had the coach with coachman and servant drive in the meantime to the inn. The mother hurriedly fetched potatoes up from the small cellar of the cottage, peeled, scraped, and pressed them, put water to the boil, made the dumplings into balls, adding some lard, and put them in the oven, and blessed this food with the pious phrase: “God preserv’em.” That is why, in many places in South Thuringia, dumplings are called “servems”. In the time when the old woman was preparing the meal, her husband had gone with the stranger into the front garden where he liked to potter with the trees he had planted shortly before, and he had a look to see if the stakes to which the trunks were bound with withies still held fast, and if the wind had torn any withies away; and wherever it had, the old man bound the trunk fast again. Then the young stranger came out with a question: “Why do you tie up these small trunks three times?” – “Aye!” said the old man, “Because it has three crooks, I tie it up so it will grow straight.” “That’s right, old man!” said the stranger. “But there you have a crooked old gnar of a tree! Why don’t you tie it to a stake too, that it may become straight?” “Ho ho!” the old man laughed. “Old trees, when they are crooked, never become straight again. If you will have them straight, you must tend them well when they’re young.” “And do you have children?” the stranger asked next. “Oh dear God, Your Grace!” the man replied. “I’ve had a boy, he was an arch good-for-nothing who played wild and wicked pranks, and in the end he ran away from me and has never once returned in all his days since. Who knows where the dear Lord has led him – or the Evil One.” – “Then why didn’t you bring your son up to be straight in good time, like these here, your little trees!" the stranger asked in a distressed and reproachful voice. “If he became an ill-bred, crooked gnar and wild stock, then it’s your fault. But if he were to come before you now, would you recognise him, do you think?” – “Don’t really know, dear Sir!” replied the peasant. “He’ll have shot up, no doubt, if he’s still alive; but he had a birthmark on his body, I would know him by that, if need be. But he won’t come back home until two Sundays come together.” Then the stranger took off his jacket and showed the old man a birthmark; he clapped his hands over his head and cried, “Lord Jes’s! You’re my son – but no – you’re so terribly noble. Have you then become a Count, or even a Duke?” – “Not that, father,” the son said quietly, “but something quite different – I’ve become a rogue because you did not bring me up straight. Yet never mind about that, I’ve studied my art thoroughly, I’m not one of those lousy bunglers that are thick on the ground.”

The old man was struck quite dumb with horror and with delight, and he led his son by the hand into the house and to the mother, who was serving the dumplings she had just got ready, and told her everything. Then the mother embraced her son and flung her arms around his neck, kissed him and wept and said: “Thief or no thief, you’re still my dear child, who I bore in my womb, and my heart leaps high in my breast to see you again in my old age! Oh, what will your godfather say, up there in the nobleman’s castle!” – “Yes!” said the father while all three were stoutly tucking in to the dumplings, “Your godfather won’t want to know you with your circumstances such as they are; in the end, he’ll have you kicking on the gallows.” “Well, I’ll visit him nonetheless – that godfather of mine!” replied the son, and he had his coach hitched up and drove up to the castle.

The nobleman was delighted to see his godson, the poor child he had stood sponsor to out of the goodness of his heart, appear before him again in such splendid state, once he had disclosed his identity. But he was not in the least pleased when his young godson, upon the enquiry as to what he had become in the world, replied that he had become an arrant rogue. So he quickly began to rack his brains for a good way to rid himself of such a dangerous character sooner rather than later.

“Well now!” the nobleman said to his godson. “We shall see if you have thoroughly learned your trade and became a thief so great that it is no dishonour to allow you to run free, or one so minor that you will be hanged from the nearest gallows. The latter I shall do to you without fail in my jurisdiction if you do not pass the three tests I shall enjoin on you!” – “Just let me have them, gracious godfather! I’m not afraid of any kind of work.”

“The nobleman pondered a little while, then he said: “Listen! These are the three tests. For the first one: steal my personal horse from its stable, which I have well guarded by soldiers and stable hands ready to kill anyone who makes a move to force their way inside. For the second one: steal, when I am lying in bed with my wife, the sheet away from under our bodies, and steal my wife’s wedding ring from her finger; but know this, that I have loaded pistols at hand. For the third and last one – and mark, this is the most difficult task: steal the priest and schoolmaster from the church and hang both of them, alive, in a sack in my chimney. The castle gates and doors shall stand open to you for this.”

The master-thief gave cordial thanks to his godfather for setting him such simple little tasks, and he went on his way, to carry out the first task the very next night. The nobleman took every measure to have his personal steed well guarded. His first groom had to sit on it, while a second servant had to hold its bridle, and a third its tail; and the lord appointed a military watch before the door. The soldiers kept watch and kept watch, turned blue and turned the air blue, for it was cold and they were all thirsty – when a tired little old grandma appeared, carrying a little barrel in a basket, coughing badly and wheezing her way into the castle courtyard. The barrel aroused in the soldiers’ minds exceptionally alluring thoughts, viz. there might possibly be spirits inside and spirits are a specific against night-frost and bad vapours. So they called the little old grandmother over to the fire to warm herself and inquired about the contents of the barrel. Just as they thought! There were spirits inside, and refined ones too, Double-Orange liqueur, Purl-Royal, or some such kinds. Also, the barrel was not spitefully payed and bunged up but had a spigot, and the woman was offering – this was the best thing of all – the spirits for sale. So the soldiers bought one goblet after another and shouted to the guards in the stable that out in the courtyard their ship had come in; and the old woman had her hands full with pouring, so that the barrel was soon all but empty. But the old woman was none other than the arch-thief, who had disguised himself well and mixed a barbaric sleeping-draught into the spirits. In no time at all, one soldier after another fell asleep, and the guards in the stable could not keep their eyes open; and it was a good job the thief was already in the stable beside the horse, for he could catch the groom in his arms as he tumbled off the horse, and he softly set him down astride the barrier, tying him with a little bit of rope so the good man might not fall down and come to harm. To the Coachman in Ordinary, who held the bridle and was snoring in a corner, the thief lent a halter to hold, while the stable lad received a straw rope in place of the horse’s tail. Then he took a horse blanket, cut it into pieces, wrapped them around the horse’s feet, vaulted into the saddle, and in the blink of an eye he was out the stable and out the still open castle gate.

When it was broad daylight, the nobleman looked out of his window and saw a fine figure of a rider galloping along on a no less fine figure of a horse which seemed very familiar to him. The rider stopped and bid good morning up to the castle window. “Good morning, godfather! Your horse is worth its weight in gold” – “Oh, may all the devils in Hell take you!” cried the nobleman, when he saw that the horse was his own dappled mount. “You are a cunning thief! G-g-go on! Show some more of your art!” The nobleman took his riding whip and went to the stable in a rage; but when he saw the peculiar groups of the still sleeping guards, he could not help bursting out into laughter. Yet he soon said in his heart: when the scoundrel comes to steal my sheet tonight I’ll blow his brains out, for I do not like to have such a dangerous character near me.

Now when night had drawn near, the nobleman went to bed with his wife, and he laid a loaded pistol and various other arms and weapons by his side; and he did not fall asleep, but remained watchful, listening and hearkening in case anything should stir. For a long time all stayed silent, but at last, when it was quite dark, it seemed that a long ladder was set against the wall, and soon afterwards there could be seen at the window the figure of a man who was going to climb in. “Fear not, wife!” the nobleman quietly uttered as he took the pistol, aimed true, discharged its load, and shot the robber right between his eyes. The robber swayed, and directly afterwards a heavy fall could be heard down below. “He won’t get up again,” said the nobleman, “but as I’d like to avoid any fuss, I’ll quickly climb down the ladder rather than make a noise in the house, and get rid of the body.” That was fine by the noblewoman, and her husband did as he had said. A while later he came back up and said to the woman: “He’s as dead as a doornail, but before I throw the poor devil into his grave I want to shroud him in a linen sheet, and as he had to lose his life for the sake of your ring, let us slip it on him; give me the ring and the bedsheet also.” The woman handed both over, and he hurriedly climbed down again. However, it was not the nobleman but the master-thief, who, to execute his task, had cut a freshly-hanged man down from the first gallows he had come to (at that time there were still many gallows on all the roads in Germany) and then humped him onto his shoulder before climbing up the ladder. When the shot was fired inside he let the corpse plunge to the ground, rapidly climbed down the ladder, and hid himself. And when the nobleman came down and busied himself with the man he supposed he had shot dead, the master-thief whisked up into the wife’s room and, imitating his godfather’s voice, demanded the ring and the bedsheet.

The next morning the nobleman again looked out of his window, as was his wont, and down below a man was walking up and down who had, so it seemed, linen for sale; at least, he was carrying a folded bundle over his shoulder, and holding a beautiful ring so that it flashed and glittered in the morning sun. All of a sudden the man cried up: “Top o’ the morning to you, godfather! I trust that you and my godmother slept very well!” – The nobleman was thunderstruck when he saw his godson, whom he had shot dead with his own hand and thrown into a grave with the same hand the previous night, standing there in the flesh, and he hastily asked his wife for her ring and the sheet. “Why, you demanded them from me last night!” the lady replied. “Satan did! But not I!” the nobleman raged – yet he soon calmed down again by considering that the bold thief might have taken even more. He shook his fist out the window at his godson and cried: “Arch-villain! The third! The third task will surely bring you to the gallows!”

On the night after this, something strange came to pass on God’s acre. The schoolmaster, whose house was adjacent, was the first to become aware of this, and he reported it to the priest. Small burning lights were wandering with unsteady movements over the graves. “Those are the Holy Souls, Schoolmaster!” the priest whispered, horrified. Suddenly a large black figure appeared on the churchdoor steps and cried in hollow tones:

“Come here to me, come one and all,

For Judgement Day is set to fall!

O sons of Man, pray silently!

The Dead their bones are taking back!

Who wants to enter Heaven with me,

Needs only creep into this sack!”

“Shall we?” the schoolmaster asked the priest, his teeth chattering. There’s just time before the gate shuts. The Holy Apostle Peter is calling us, there’s no doubt about it. But travelling-money?” “I have scraped together twenty crowns,” the schoolmaster whispered. “I have put away a hundred French thalers for a rainy day!” said the priest. “Let’s fetch it and take it with us!” they both cried, and they did so; then they approached the black figure in fear and trembling. This was the master-thief; he had bought crabs and stuck burning night lights to their backs, and they were the Holy Souls; he had a monk’s beard and a monk’s habit, and a hop-sack into which he received the two Blackcoats after having relieved them of their savings. Now he tied up the mouth of the sack and dragged it behind him through the village and through a pond, when he cried: “Now we’re going through the Red Sea!”; then through a stream: “Now we’re going through the Kidron River”; then over the entrance hall of the castle, where it was cool: “Now we’re going through the Valley of Josaphat”; then up the stairs: “Here we are at Jacob’s Ladder”; finally, he hung the sack on a hook in the chimney on which hams were smoked, stirred the fire underneath it to make a thick smoke, and cried in a terrible voice: “This is the fire of Purgatory! This lasts some years!”, then he cleared off. The priest and schoolmaster screamed blue murder, causing all the household servants to run together there. But the master-thief walked boldly up to the nobleman: “Godfather, my third test is also accomplished. The priest and the schoolmaster are hanging in the chimney, and if you so please, you yourself can watch them wriggle and hear them scream!” – “Oh you arch-prankster and arch-scoundrel, you arch-villain and master-thief of master-thieves!” exclaimed the nobleman, and he at once gave the order to release the two from Purgatory. “You have defeated me, get you gone from here! There’s a gold coin. Get you gone from here, don’t let me set eyes on you again, and get yourself hung for your money, wheresoever you wish.”

“Thank you so very much, gracious godfather, I’ll do that!” the rogue replied. “But do you not wish to redeem the pledges which I honestly acquired? Your personal horse for two hundred crowns, your wife’s wedding ring and the bedsheet for a hundred crowns, the priest’s and schoolmaster’s money for a hundred and twenty crowns! If not, I shall leave here with them.” The nobleman was flabbergasted; he said, “Dear godson, why, that was all just a joke, you won’t want to keep these goods for yourself; after all, I’m sparing your life.” “Well then, I’ll go and bring everything here to you!” said the master-thief. He went and had his horses put to his coach, and his old father and his mother seated inside; he himself sat on the nobleman’s horse, put the splendid ring on his finger, and sent the nobleman only the bedsheet with a note, in which was written:

“Give the priest and the schoolmaster their money back, or your wife will be stolen from you by

Your obedient godson and master-thief.”

The nobleman was gripped with dread, so he bore his loss, wanting only to never hear about his godson ever again; nor did any news of him reach his ears, for he had moved with his parents into a distant land and become an honest and respected man.

6. The Enchanted Princess

1853 version (completely rewritten by Bechstein)

Once upon a time there was a poor craftsman who had two sons, a good one called Hans and a bad one called Helmerich. However, as seems to be the way of the world, the father was fonder of the bad one than the good one.

Now it came to pass that one year was an unusually expensive one and the master’s purse became empty. Well! he thought, one must do what it takes to stay alive. As your customers have come to you so many times, now it is your turn to show them courtesy by bestirring yourself to go to them. – No sooner said than done. Early in the morning he set out and knocked on many a grand door; but as it just so happens that the grandest gentlemen are not the best payers, no one felt inclined to settle his bill. So the craftsman returned faint and weary to his hometown that evening, and he gloomily sat down before the door of the tavern, all alone, for he neither had the heart to chat with his fellow tipplers nor looked forward to seeing his wife’s long face. But as he sat there lost in thought, he could not help listening to the conversation being held inside. A stranger who had just arrived from the capital was telling the company how the beautiful Princess had been placed in confinement by a wicked sorceror and would have to stay in her prison for the rest of her life unless someone could be found who would complete the three tasks the sorceror had set. If such a one were to be found, then the Princess would be his, as would all of her magnificent castle with every one of its treasures. The master heard this with half an ear at first, then with a whole one, and at last with both of them, for he thought: My son Helmerich has a quick brain, he could trim a billy-goat’s beard were he told to – what are the odds he completes the tasks and becomes the husband of the beautiful Princess and lord over land and people? For so had the King, her father, let it be proclaimed. – He returned home straight away, all his debts and customers driven from his mind by the latest news, which he hastily imparted to his wife. On the very next morning he told Helmerich that he would equip him with horse and arms for the journey – and how soon Helmerich set out! When he took his leave, he promised his parents that he would, in next to no time, have them and his stupid brother Hans fetched in a coach and six, for he imagined himself to be King already. As he rode arrogantly away, so did he vent his spite on everything that crossed his path. The birds, who sat on the branches and praised God the Father with song in their own wise, he scared away from the boughs with his riding crop; and no creature crossed his path without his unleashing some malicious prank on it. And first of all he came upon an anthill; he had his horse trample it down, and when the enraged ants crept up on to his horse and so on to Helmerich himself, biting horse and man, he smote or crushed every one of them to death. Afterwards, he came upon a clear pond in which twelve ducks were swimming. Helmerich lured them to the bank and killed eleven of them, only the twelfth one escaping. Finally, he came across a lovely beehive, and he did to the bees as he had done to the ants. And so it was his pleasure to torment and destroy innocent creatures, not to his own advantage, but from sheer malice.

Now when Helmerich reached, with the setting sun, the splendid castle in which the Princess was spellbound, he knocked violently on the locked gate. All was silent; the rider pounded ever more thunderously. Finally a sash window opened and an old woman with a face the colour of cobwebs looked out; she crossly asked what he wanted. “I want to free the Princess,” cried Helmerich, “be quick and open up for me.” – “More haste, less speed, my son,” said the old woman. “There’s always tomorrow; I’ll expect you here at nine o’clock.” And she slid the window shut.

At nine o’clock the next morning, when Helmerich came back, the old woman was there ready for him with a little cask full of linseed, which she scattered over a beautiful meadow. “Pick up the seeds,” she said to the rider. “When I return in an hour, the task must have been completed.” – But Helmerich thought it was a silly practical joke and not worth bending his back for; he went for a stroll the while, and when the old woman returned the cask was as empty as before. “That is not good,” she said. Then she took twelve golden keys from her pocket and threw them one by one into the deep, dark castle pond. “Fetch the keys up,” she said. “When I return in an hour, the task must have been completed.” Helmerich laughed and did as before. – When the old woman returned and this task was not completed either, she exclaimed twice, “Not good! Not good!” Yet she took him by the hand and led him up the steps into the Great Hall of the castle; three females were sitting there, each one covered with a thick veil. “Choose, my son,” said the old woman, “but take care to choose correctly. I shall come back in an hour.” Helmerich was no wiser when she came back than when she had gone away; but in his arrogance, he cried out at random, “I choose the one on the right.” – Then all three threw back their veils; in the middle sat the fair Princess, on the right and on the left two hideous dragons – and the one on the right seized Helmerich in its claws and cast him out of the window into a deep abyss.

A year had gone by since Helmerich had set out to rescue the Princess, and still no coach-and-six had arrived at his parents’ house. “Ah!” said the father, “if only our clumsy Hans had set out instead of our best boy, our loss would be the lesser.” –“Father,” said Hans, “let me go, I want to have a try too.” But the father was unwilling, for if the clever son had failed, what chance of success was there for the clumsy son? As his father refused him horse and arms, Hans started out in secret and went on foot for three days, more or less, down the same road that his brother had ridden in one. But he was not afraid, and at night he slept on the soft moss under green branches as peacefully as under his parents’ roof; the birds of the forest did not fear him but sang him to sleep with their finest melodies. Now when he came to the ants, who were busy completing their new anthill, he did not disturb them but rather wanted to be of help; and the little animals which crept up him, he picked off without killing, even when they bit him. He too lured the ducks to the bank, but to feed them crumbs; for the bees, he threw down the flowers he had picked on the way. So he happily arrived at the King’s castle and tapped bashfully at the window. The door opened immediately and the old woman asked for his wish. “If I am not too lowly, I too would like to try to free the beautiful Princess,” he said. “Try it, my son,” said the old woman, “but if you do not pass the three tests, it will cost you your life.” – “Very well, Mother,” said Hans, “tell me what I’m to do.” The old woman now gave him the task with the linseed. Hans was no sluggard at stooping, but it had already struck three-quarters past the hour and the cask was still not half full. He was just about to abandon hope when black ants suddenly appeared, in more than sufficient number, and in a few minutes there was not a single seed left on the meadow. When the old woman came, she said, “That is good!” and threw the twelve keys into the pond, which he was to fetch up within the hour. But Hans brought no keys up from the depths; however deep he dived, he could not reach the bottom. In despair he sat down on the bank; then the twelve ducks came swimming up, each one with a golden key in its beak which they threw into the moist grass. So this task was also accomplished when the old woman returned to lead him into the hall, where the third and hardest task awaited him. Hans lost heart as he looked at the three identical veiled figures – who could help him here? Then a swarm of bees came flying in through the open window; they circled through the hall and droned around the mouths of the three veiled forms. But they quickly flew back from the ones on the right and on the left, for the dragons smelt of the pitch and brimstone that they lived on; the bees all circled around the figure in the middle and softly hummed and buzzed, “The middle one, the middle one.” For the aroma of their own honey, which the Princess loved to eat, had wafted towards them. Therefore, when the old woman returned after an hour, Hans said quite confidently, “I choose the middle one.” And then the evil dragons flew out the window while the beautiful Princess threw off her veil, delighted to be set free and to have such a handsome bridegroom. And Hans sent the most express messenger to the Princess’s father, and a golden carriage drawn by six horses to his parents, and they all lived in the lap of luxury; and if they have not died, they will be still alive today.

1845 version (submitted to Bechstein)

Once upon a time there was a simple handicraftsman, and he had two sons who were called Hellmerich and Hans; one day, he left his little village to go to the nearby town and transact business of various kinds. On his way home that evening, while he was sitting in the outer tavern having a fortifying drink, his attention was drawn to a highly animated conversation that several tippling young men were having; he listened, all ears, for those people were talking about nothing less than a magnificent castle, with vast amounts of gold and valuables, being there for the winning. In this castle a fair princess was pining to be delivered from her enchantment, which Princess would give her royal hand to the happy man who set her free by punctually accomplishing the three tasks that would be imposed on him, raising him to be her husband. However, the man – this was the rider – who did not complete the three tasks would have to lose his life, for having desired the Princess, and would never return.

Absorbed in thought, with his heart racing, the honest master walked over the twilight-woven fields of his homeland towards his little village. In his mind’s eye he already saw his eldest son, Hellmerich, whom he loved immeasurably more than his other son, Hans, in the Royal Castle, and the fair Princess as his highly esteemed daughter-in-law.

At home, he imparted the golden news to his beloved wife and his sons, and they were all lost in wonder at the tale. The father lost no time in ordering his favourite son, Hellmerich, to make his preparations and undergo the daring deed; the matter brooked no delay; for Hellmerich to gain possession of the beautiful castle and win the Princess, the work would have to be speedily undertaken and executed, for the clever master saw it as being a matter of course that many others could and would make the venture. And Hellmerich was so enraptured and eager, and already so certain of victory in his prideful heart, that he eyed the petty world around him with haughtiness and contempt, and awaited with impatience the hour when he should fly away on his handsomely bridled steed and rush into the arms of the fortune that had been appointed to his lot. At last the longed-for hour struck. As he departed, Hellmerich, sensible of his royal dignity and full of inexpressible graciousness and goodness, promised his poor parents, who had converted their entire fortune into the proud steed, that he would have them fetched in a coach-and-six, along with his stupid brother Hans, as soon as he had delivered the Princess.

Hans wept, for he felt very badly neglected and hurt. However, he worked faithfully – and soon, happily again – to support his dear parents.

Hellmerich journeyed in style from place to place, while the flower-covered fields of summer spread out ever more delightful and refreshing before his eyes; the nearer he approached his glorious goal, the more enchanting and magnificent did nature show herself: rustling forests and cosy streams, sweet-scented meadows, gleaming ponds, charming heights and waving cornfields variously appeared in the most pleasant manner; here everything seemed to paradisaical that Hellmerich entertained no doubt of having already entering the royal realm to be won. And indeed, at length there shone in the sunlit distance a golden point. At the sight, Hellmerich’s heart trembled with a wild joy. He exulted aloud and lashed out all around with his riding-crop. Thus did he trot up to the edge of a green deciduous forest and scare the little birds, the golden-feathered, innocent songsters, off the branches. Soon he came to a large anthill which lay in his path, and he wilfully had his horse stamp and trample on it; so the incensed creatures crept onto his horse and onto Hellmerich himself and wreaked their vengeance with dolorific bites until he furiously crushed and stamped them all to death. And further on, he came to a silvery pond in which twelve little white ducks were swimming. Wicked Hellmerich lured them to the bank and trampled them to death; only one single duck escaped. Then he came to a beautiful beehive and killed, from sheer wanton malice, the industrious little artists also. Thus did he vent the spite of a malevolent heart on everything that fell in his way.

The Royal Castle rose ever more majestic in the distance; the roof was gilded, and brightly gleaming flags fluttered on the elegant towers. The edifice was constructed of marble, its high windows flashed like flaming mirrors, and around it there rustled shade-giving myrtle trees and there blossomed the most gorgeous flowers and rosebushes. Yet the silence that stretched over this enchantment became ever more mysterious.

Hellmerich now stood at the tall gate and knocked impatiently until an old woman, with a face the colour of cobwebs and fearsome spectral attire, appeared and reluctantly asked what we wanted. “Why, I want to free the Princess,” was Hellmerich’s impudent reply, “tell me what I should do, old biddy.” – “Then you’ll have to come back at nine tomorrow morning,” said the old woman, “when I’ll be waiting for you’re here, and we’ll go through the rest.”

Hellmerich presented himself at the time appointed; the old woman appeared carrying a little cask full of linseed, which she shortly scattered over a lovely meadow, saying to Hellmerich: “Gather up all of these seeds so that none of them is missing, when I return in an hour, my son, this task must have been completed.” But arrogant Hellmerich did not want to bend over in his fashionably tight-fitting garments, and he treated the ‘silly task’ with scorn. He strolled up and down until the old woman came back and regarded the empty cask with sneering mien. Now she had twelve golden keys, which she threw into the nearby gleaming pond, and she said to Hellmerich: “You must fetch these keys back out so that not a single one is missing; when I return in an hour, my son, this task must have been completed.”

Hellmerich peered into the water, he cut off branches and angled around, but he did not bring up a single key. He even entered the water and could come back to the bank only with difficulty, without having found a key. The old woman came, and Hellmerich had not completed his task. Then she led him up the beautiful marble steps and opened the tall golden doors of the castle, then she strode on ahead through stately rooms and halls until they finally entered a charming chamber where three veiled women were sitting in deep silence. Each one was dressed the same as the others. “Now choose one of these women for yourself,” said the old woman, “two of them are evil and one is good; if you choose the good one, you will be happy ever after, but if you choose an evil one, then commend your poor soul to God. When I return in an hour, my son, this task must have been completed.”

Now Hellmerich stood vacillating and irresolute until the hour struck twelve and the old woman walked in. Then he hastily pointed to the one on the right. The enchanted figures rose to their feet and their veils rustled to the earth. The middle one was a lovely maiden; full locks fell in waves around her fair lily-white neck, her hands and breast were decorated with coruscating jewellery, and on her head she wore a golden crown. Her wistful, weeping look was fixed on Hellmerich’s countenance for a brief minute, then she lowered her teary eyes and the veil softly sank back over the delicate fair figure. But the two on the right and left were horrible furies; their eyes cast out fiery bright flames, they ground and gnashed their teeth, and horns grew on their heads and loathsome claws on their hands. They rushed at the unhappy youth with diabolical glee and hurled him out of the window, where he disappeared for ever in a dark abyss. And then everything else – castle, princess, and enchanted grove – also disappeared.

A year has passed by, and Spring’s rosy blossoms adorned the earth once more, but no coach-and-six had yet come to the poor handicraftsman, nor had any news of the Princess being set free. The parents sorrowfully gave their son Hellmerich up. And Hans felt in secret an ardent desire to give his luck a try, although he carefully concealed this intention from his parents. On a bright moonlit night he crept away, without horse or money for the journey, and he wandered cheerfully through country and city. He fed upon forest-berries and herbs, drank from pure springs, sang with the pious birds, and slept carefree and innocent on the soft moss of the dark forest. So did Hans wander happily onwards until, one noon-tide, he came to a shady deciduous forest; there the realm of the enchanted castle began. With what bliss did his heart beat when he looked over this paradisaical land. Transfigured by a damask shimmer, it lay spread out before his eyes, and its powerful magic charm took so strong a hold of him that he fell to his knees, his senses enraptured. A sweet slumber encompassed Hans, and he dreamt a long while, resting on the cool forest-moss. A fair lady, in a brightly shimmering, billowing gown, came down to him and handed him a bowl filled with sweet water, which he drank, and which refreshed him like ambrosia; and further golden glories opened up before his dreaming eyes: charming maidens in floral gowns danced around him and bore him up onto a golden throne, where the fair lady was sitting, and smilingly, with a look blessed by love, she presented him with a sparkling crown.

In this way was Hans’s good and pious heart refreshed by a dream of felicities.

When he awoke, the morning sun emerged with a roseate glow from the dark portals of night; he quickly left that place and soon came to a large anthill, which lay on the path half crushed and torn to pieces, and he mused as he watched the industrious little creatures, how they busily collected and worked on their construction.

He wanted to help them; but the little creatures crept onto him and bit him. So he picked them all off and put them down, not killing any.

Wandering on, he came to a lovely pond, and once again twelve little ducks were swimming on it; their feathers shone like silver. And they swam to the bank, and he scattered feed for them, and so took delight in them.

Soon he also came to a large beehive, and he rejoiced at the industry of the little creatures and at their art. Observing in silence, he praised the might, the wisdom, and the goodness of the loving Creator.

The wondrously majestic castle now lay before him in golden clarity; his eyes were scarcely able to bear the glare that radiated all around it. Hesitantly he walked towards it, losing all hope that he would realise his bold intention; yet the thought of his wondrous dream fortified him immensely, and it drove him forward although he shivered and shook. Then he stood at the castle gate and knocked softly until the old woman appeared and asked him what he wanted. He humbly said, “O Mother, do you think that I can free the Princess? You see, I’m a poor serving-lad, if you think that I’m too lowly, I’ll just look at the beautiful castle then go back home.” But the old woman cordially took the youth’s hand and brushed the locks from his cheek with her cold, bony fingers, and scrutinised his fair figure and modest clothes. “If you pass three tests,” she said, “the Princess and the beautiful rich castle are yours, and you will be King over this fair land. If you do not pass them, having desired her will cost you your life.”

With the courage of a pure heart, Hans looked up and said, “Very well, Mother; tell me what I must do.” And the old woman brought the little cask full of linseed and scattered it all over the virescent meadow, and said: “Gather up all the seeds so that none are missing; when I return in an hour, my son, this task must have been completed.”

With boundless industry did Hans pick the seeds up from the meadow; but it struck three-quarters past the hour and the cask was not half full. He was on the verge of despair, yet he awaited the stern sentence with submission. But behold – suddenly an army of black ants crept up, and they carried all the grains into the cask, so that in a few minutes it was as full as before. The old woman came; oh, how joyfully did Hans carry the cask to her! Then she threw the twelve keys into the nearby pond and said, “You must fetch these keys back up so that not a single one is missing; when I return in an hour, my son, this task must have been completed.” Now Hans took the greatest pains, but he did not bring a single key up out of the depths. He sat in despair on the bank and could already see the terrible judgement falling on him. And behold – twelve little silver-white ducks came swimming up, and every one of them was carrying a golden key in its beak, and they cast them onto the fresh-green bank. – Hans elatedly carried the golden keys to the old woman and silently sent a prayer of thanksgiving up to Heaven for the wonderful help that had fallen to his lot.

“Now comes the last test, my son, but it is also the hardest,” said the old woman, and she led the youth into the enchanted castle and through high and luxurious halls and rooms until they reached the chamber of the three veiled women. “Now choose one of these women for yourself,” the old woman said, “two of them are evil, and one is good; if you choose the good one you will be happy ever after, but if you choose an evil one then commend your poor soul to God. When I return in an hour, my son, this task must have been completed.”

How Hans shivered and shook as he looked at the three silent enchanted figures! Each one sat as quiet and mysterious as the others. – His sight darkened, his soul hovered between mortal fear and rapturous hope. Then he fell to his knees and prayed. A quiet buzzing around his head – broke the fearful deadly silence, there were strange whispers, like spirit voices, around him. Then he looked up and saw innumerable bees circling round his head, and from every bee’s mouth came the words, very softly buzzed, “The middl’un, the middl’un, the middl’un.” Then the old woman walked in and Hans pointed to the enchanted figure in the middle.

The womens’ veils fell rustling to the ground. On both sides stood the horrible furies, with the lovely maiden in their midst. A thunderclap shook the air and made the earth quake; and the hideous furies pitched themselves howling out of the window into the terrible abyss.

The inexpressibly charming Princess embraced the happy youth and whispered euphorically, “Thank you, dear youth! You see, your pure, devout heart has freed me, and only a pure, devout heart could free me. You are now mine and I am yours, my sweet bridegroom!”

Then Hans was delighted, and he could not wait to send a golden carriage drawn by six horses to his home to fetch his parents. And they all lived happily in the enchanted castle until the end of their days.

7. Queen of Roses

Once upon a time there was a King who lived very happily with his beautiful, virtuous wife; Heaven had gifted them a single son, and he was the delight of his parents. Yet peace reigned not only in the King’s noble family, but in his whole realm; everywhere, even in the tiniest hamlet, there was profit and prosperity, and the people were content and amiable. From a wise and gentle government there blooms order, order brings prosperity, prosperity satisfaction and amiability.

However, the good King had to suffer a most bitter fate; his beloved wife died and left him alone, with the now motherless Prince. Deeply did the King grieve, and the whole land with him. The Prince’s pious little child’s heart was also sunk in sorrow, for he had clung to his mother with all of a child’s love. On her deathbed she had blessed him, and while departing this life had exhorted him to all that is good, to a true faith in God, and to love and gentleness towards all men.

“And when you have become a young man,” were her last words, “then choose only a maiden of a good and pious heart for your wife, and honour the memory of your mother and her last words.” This had made a deep impression on the soft heart of the boy; the Prince constantly remembered his dying mother, and it often seemed to him that she were floating around him and smiling at him beatifically. So the Prince grew up with pious habits and became a handsome, blooming young man.

But the King his father’s royal eyes had been blinded by a princely, artful lady who, in next to no time, had so slyly fettered the ruler with her affected charms that he yielded to her and she had complete control over him. Soon the dazzling wedding-feast took place. The aged King, formerly so good and gentle, had become an old fool, and had chained his life to an artful, evil snake’s heart; all too soon did he have to taste the bitter fruits of his folly. The wicked wife instigated conflict on all sides, inciting the father against the son and the son against the father, and the master and mistress against the servants; and she continued to practise her iniquitous captivating arts, so that the hearts of men young and old were inflamed with love for her. A short while later, and the King’s rueful life was at an end. The Prince became King and ruled the people with the prudence and gentleness which always foster the true weal of a land. And the wicked stepmother practised her arts on him in vain; he secretly despised her and always sought to keep a salutary distance from her.

Then the people of the realm wished that the youthful King take a wife; he too, deep inside, bore a silent desire to share his fortune with a worthy woman, yet the one he would choose would be graced not with rank and riches or a crown but with a good, pious heart, as his dying mother had wished. And he had found such a heart, one that, it was true, belonged only to a poor, simple gardener’s-girl, but was full of pure love and pious thoughts. Soon the King’s son and the maiden were such intimate friends that the young man fell at her feet and swore everlasting love and fidelity to her. Tenderly and in tears did the charming girl snuggle into the youth’s breast and whisper: “Ah, remember that you can’t take me to wife, don’t you see I’m poor, I’m no Princess?” – “Be at ease, dear heart,” said the youth, “you shall be my wife, my Queen, you and no other.”

The wish for the King to be married grew louder and more pressing; from all sides the fathers of princely daughters began to make suggestions to the King. The wicked stepmother, imagining the so youthful King to be entirely under her control, presumed to choose a wife for him. She ordained dazzling festivities to which many princesses were invited, and they showed up richly adorned and full of hope. The feast had already lasted eight days and the King had still not chosen a Princess for his bride, and he had ignored all of his stepmother’s suggestions. On the ninth and final day of the feast the decision was to be made – so the King himself had promised. The stepmother had every confidence that the King would concur in her choice, for she had chosen for him a royal Princess, ugly of face and figure, to be sure, but unspeakably rich in money and means. A dazzling ball was to conclude the feast, and on this occasion every Princess was doubly laden with jewellery and gems, as each of them believed she would gain the victory. But as they were all awaiting the King in the most eager anticipation, the leaved doors opened and the King walked in, smiling, with his charming gardener’s-girl, who appeared so modest and demure dressed in a white frock without any jewellery at all. Then did many eyes in the circle of Princesses flash with anger and fury, but those of the stepmother rolled the most wildly, and they hurled wrathful flashes at the happy pair of lovers. Now these two approached the royal stepmother, who stood in the middle of the hall, surrounded by spitefully smiling Princesses; and the King spoke gently and affably: “Royal, revered mother, here I bring you my beloved, pious bride, and ask with her for your blessing.” But the lady spoke, filled with rage and fury: “King, are you then so forgetful of your honour as to wed a common maidservant? O shame on you, for grieving me so deeply and asking for my blessing for a lowly maid.” And she turned her back on him and strode, full of wrath and malice, into a side chamber. But the King followed her and spoke with a severe, threatening solemnity: “Woman, those words will lie heavily on your conscience. Truly, I shall show you that this poor girl is more worthy to be called Queen than you and every vain Princess under the sun. I once learnt an art from an old hermit: how to enchant people and test their hearts to see if they are good or bad. Swear, noble lady, to choose for me the fairest, once all the maidens here have been enchanted in the form of a flower, and I shall be obedient to you. But if your choice lights upon my poor gardener’s-girl, then the magic will fall on you, and you shall find yourself in its tangles forever.” – The King fell silent; and the proud lady grinned, full of confidence in her victory. “Oh, my noble artist,” she replied, “go ahead and enchant all the maidens here present, I shall choose the fairest for you; and I am certain that I shall not fall a party to your threat. This strange whim of yours will be a delightful jest to me.”

And she sat down on a velvet armchair and awaited the things to come.

Then the royal youth spread out a large white cloth, silently led one Princess after the other into the side chamber and covered them with the cloth, whereupon they all instantly fell asleep. Then he cut the heart out of each one of them, and last of all out of his dear gardener’s-girl. The ballroom changed into a viridescent flower-garden, enclosed by a golden fence, through which singing birds fluttered. Then the youth buried the hearts and said to every one:

“Blossom, blossom, blossom

Out of the earth!

If you are devout,

Fair blooms from you will sprout;

But if your heart is wicked,

Then let wild thorns shoot out.”

Soon little branches and leaves put out shoots and sprouted up. Wild thornbushes grew apace out of the earth; only here and there did a colourful flower open.

But in the middle of the garden was a flower-stalk whose delicate calyx unfolded to show a splendid rose, a Queen of Roses. Glistening dew trickled down from her, and the green leaves tenderly nestled into the flowers. Now a flock of nightingales came flying up, and they circled around the Rose-Queen and sang,

“Pretty rose, pretty rose,

Noble Queen of Flowers!

You, the fairest of them all,

You, the purest of them all,

Shall the whole world overpower

With a heartfelt love divine,

Noble Queen of Flowers!”

But around the thorn-bushes, black ravens flew and cawed their song:

“Wild thornbushes, wild thornbushes,

Black as our nocturnal garment.

You, with claws that grow pell-mell

In their thousands, please us well.

You shall feed the fires of Hell

Down in everlasting torment,

Black thorn-bushes, night-time garment.”

Then the King led the proud lady into the garden that she might choose the fairest of the flowers for him, and when she saw the enchantingly beautiful rose and heard the nightingales singing as they fluttered over it in a circle, when she heard the charming ditty – then she stood there so ashamed, and was moved and touched by the magical power of the rose; she seemed to feel a sensation of warm love, and at this moment she recalled with remorse the malicious deeds and intrigues she had perpetrated. And then, when she saw the thorn-bushes, over which the black ravens cawed a song of Hell, she was seized with fear, a dread of death, and she said: “My Prince, I must choose the sweet rose for you, it is the fairest.” At once, the branches and leaves and flowers of the rose stirred and softly blended into the body of a charming girl who was none other than the pious gardener’s-daughter. And she looked even lovelier and more modest than ever.

The other flowers and thornbushes formed themselves back into Princesses, who awoke as if from a heavy dream. But the King’s stepmother had sunk down from shame and remorse and lay in a stupor. And the black ravens pecked out her heart, and she turned to stone, entwined with wild thorns. The Princesses hurried fearfully away but became better and more humble in their hearts.

And the King lived a happy and pious life with his spouse, the gardener’s daughter, and Heaven’s blessing was upon them.

8 All Hell’s Let Loose, or the Tale how the Devil Invented Spirits

Once upon a time two sovereigns had a border dispute; on both sides their were witnesses who asserted their lord’s right, and among these were two who had learned the Black Arts from the Devil in exchange for signing away their souls.

One night, each one of these two intended to place false boundary stones, to mark the border line that he claimed; and they were going to use black magic to make the stones look as if they had been standing there for many, many years. So they both went up, as Fire-Spirits, to the summit of the mountain. And when one of them reaches the top, the other is already there. But neither knew anything of the other’s having had the same thought as him.

So one asked the other: “What are you doing here?”

“What’s that to you? First tell me what you’re here for.”

“I’m going to place boundary stones, making the border line as it really should be.”

“I’ve already done that myself, and there are the stones, and that’s how the border line runs.”

“That’s not right, and the border line runs like this. My master has told me that I’m right and I should not yield.”

“And who is your master? A fine monsieur, no doubt!”

“The Devil is my master! Do you have respect now?”

“That’s not true, he is my master, and my master has told me that I’m right and I should not yield. Clear off this instant, or it’ll be the worse for you!”

And so the two of them went after each other, and in the end one Fire-Spirit gave the other such a slap on the chops that his head flew off and rolled all the way down the mountain. And the Fire-Spirit without a head ran after his fiery head, wanting to catch it and put it back on his neck. But he could not catch up with it before he was down in a ditch at the very bottom.

Now that one man had given the other a slap on the chops, and the other had run after his head, there suddenly appeared a third Fire-Spirit, and he asked the man who remained on the summit: “What have you just done?” “What does it have to do with you, and who are you to give orders to me? Clear off out of here this instant, or I’ll do to you precisely what I did to the other one.”

“Scoundrel! Have you no respect for me any more? Don’t you know that I am your master, the Devil?”

“And if you were the Devil himself ten times over, I really couldn’t care less; as far as I’m concerned, you can go to Hell!”

“I’ll do you that favour, but you’re coming with me.”

And then the Devil began to beat him to hell, so that the flaming demons flew around all over the mountain crest.

But while he was beating him to hell, our Fire-Spirit saw the opportune moment, reached out and caught the Devil by the scruff of the neck, kept a firm grip, and said to him:

“Now you’re in my power; now you shall see that you’re in the hands of a man! All your life, you’ve twisted the necks of plenty of poor people, now you yourself shall find out how it feels to have your neck wrung!”

And he began to wring the Devil’s neck. When the Devil saw that the Fire-Spirit was in earnest, he resorted to pleading and gave him the best words under the heavens, adding that he should really let him go and should not twist his neck; he would do anything that he demanded of him. Then the man said to him: “Because you are wailing so miserably, I will let you go; but first you must return to me my bond in which I signed my soul away to you; and you must also promise me, no, in fact you must swear to me by your grandmother, that you will never have any part of me, and also that you will never, as long as you live, make another person sign his soul away to you.”

Whether the Devil liked it or not, he was in a jam, and if he wanted to get free and did not want to have his neck twisted, he would have to swallow the bitter pill, so he gave the man his bond back and promised him, swearing by his grandmother, that he would never want any part of him, and he would never again, as long as he lived, make any person sign away his soul to him. When he had done all this, the man let him go.

But once the Devil was free again, he sprang back, so the man could not catch him unawares this time, and stood up straight, and said: “Well, now I’m free again; and even if I have given you your bond back, you jackanapes, and have promised and sworn to you never to have any part of you, yet I did not promise not to wring your neck once I became free again. And you shall die right here, right now, for having taken me by the throat and tried to wring my neck!”

And with these words the Devil rushed at the man, hell-bent on settling his hash for good, but he scampered off and into the forest, with the Devil ever in pursuit. Finally the man cast his eyes about him and came to an old beech tree that was hollow and had a hole at its bottom. He crawled swiftly inside, to hide himself from the Devil. But he had not crawled in far enough and his toes were still sticking out. And because he was on fire all over, his toes shone through the night, and the Devil descried where the man had hidden himself, and he came up there, ready to catch him by the toes.

But the man in the tree heard the Devil come lolloping up to reach out and grab him, so he pulled all of himself in and made his way further up the tree. Then the Devil crawled inside too, and the man kept climbing up the inside of the tree, with the Devil coming ever after him. At last, the man came up to a broad knothole at the top of the tree and crawled out. And when he was outside, he took something and wedged the knothole he had climbed out of shut, then he climbed rapidly down the tree and wedged shut the hole at the bottom, and he used black magic to make the stoppages so tight that the Devil himself, with his grandmother and the whole of Hell, could not get them open again. This done, he went on his way.

And so there was the Devil stuck in the old beech tree, and he could not get out, and there was no help for it but he had to stay stuck there. And he was in there for a long time, and it often happened during that time, when people took the road over that mountain, that they heard him bleating and grunting in his beech tree. But finally, when tree-felling reached this mountain, the beech was chopped down. At last he came out and was free again, the Devil. Now that he was released, he set out homewards for Hell to see how it was looking. But everything there was empty, like a church on a weekday, and there was neither sight nor sound of a soul. Since the time that the Devil had gone away and failed to return, with no one knowing what had become of him, not a single soul had arrived in Hell. And his grandmother had died of heartache, and once she was dead all the poor souls who lived in Hell in those days packed up and started and cleared out, going all together into Heaven. So there he stood, all on his tod, in Hell, not knowing for the life of him how to set about getting new souls, for he was no longer allowed to do this, and he had had to swear by his grandmother that he would not make any more people sign their soul away to him – and at that time, he did not get people into Hell in any other way. So there he stood, seeing no end to his anguish and ready to tear his horns from his head from sheer mortification and misery. – Then all of a sudden he had an idea.

When he had been inside the old beech tree, unable to escape, time had eventually come to hang heavy on his hands, so he had mused over all sorts of things, and had conceived and created spirits. This came to him right now in the midst of his misery, and he thought that it would surely be an artful restorative for bringing poor souls to Hell once again. And he packed up on the spot and left Hell to itself, and went to Nordhausen and became a distiller and made spirits round the clock, and gave them to the world. And he showed all the people of Nordhausen at once how schnaps is made, and promised them great wealth and worldly goods if they learned the trade and distilled spirits. And the people of Nordhausen did not need to be told twice, and they all became distillers and made spirits and gave them to the world. From that time derives the huge quantity of spirits that is distilled in Nordhausen, more than in any other place in the whole wide world, up to this very day.

And as the Devil had thought, so did it come to pass. Once people had a drop of strong spirit in their stomachs, they began to curse and to swear, and they cursed and swore their souls to the Devil, so he got them after they died, and he did not need to serve them for this as he had formerly had to do whenever he had wanted to possess a poor soul. And once they had guzzled their fill of spirits and were drunk out of their minds, then they started to squabble, and came to blows, and broke their necks, so the Devil did not even need to take the trouble to wring them. And whereas the Devil had formerly been able to get, with great toil and travail, only one poor soul into Hell every week, now they came in by the dozen and by the three score every day, and before a year was out Hell had become too small and the Devil was no longer able to accommodate all the souls, and he had to have a brand new extension built for Hell.

And in short, since the Devil got out of the old beech tree, since that time have spirits come into use; and since spirits are in the world, it really, truly can be said that: “All Hell’s let loose!”

9. The Smith of Juterbog

In the little town of Juterbog there once lived a smith, of whom both young and old tell a wondrous tale. This smith was once a young fellow who had a very strict father but faithfully observed God’s commandments. He made lengthy journeys and underwent many adventures, and he was exceptionally dexterous and capable in his trade. He had a tincture of steel which made any armour or hauberk that was coated with it impenetrable, and he joined the army of Emperor Frederick II, where he became the Imperial Armourer and took part in the campaign against Milan and Apulia. There he captured the carroccio of the city, and finally, after the Emperor had died, he returned to his home with great riches. He saw good days, and then evil ones, and passed his hundredth year.

One day, he was sitting in his garden under an old pear-tree when a little grey man came riding along on a donkey; this little man had previously proved, on several occasions, to be the smith’s guardian spirit. He lodged with the smith and had his donkey shod, which the smith did willingly and without requiring payment. Thereupon the little man told Peter that he should make three wishes, but in so doing he should not forget the best thing. Then the smith, because thieves had often stolen his pears, wished that no one who had climbed the tree would be able to come back down without his consent; and because he had also had things stolen from his parlour many times, he wished that no one would be able to enter there without his permission, unless it be through the keyhole. After each of these foolish wishes the little man warned, “Don’t forget the best thing!” And then the smith made his third wish, saying, “The best thing is a good schnaps, so I wish that this flask will never be empty!” “Your wishes are granted,” said the little man; and after passing his hand over some iron bars which were lying around the forge, he mounted his donkey and rode away. The iron had been turned into shining silver. The smith, who had fallen into poverty, was now rich again, and he lived on, and on, in good health, for the cordial drops in the flask which never ran dry were, unknown to him, an elixir of life. At length, Death came knocking, having seemingly forgotten him for so long; the smith seemed ready and willing to go with him, and requested only that he be so good as to provide him with a slight refection, by fetching a few pears from the tree, which he could no longer climb himself on account of his great infirmity. Death climbed up the tree, and the smith said, “Stay up there!” for he had a mind to live awhile yet. Death ate all the pears on the tree, and then his fasts began; and from hunger he consumed himself, hide and hair, which is why he is such a hideously skinny skeleton today. But no one died any more on Earth, neither man nor beast, and this brought great disaster; so in the end, the smith went out to rattling Death and came to an accord with him that he would leave Peter in peace hereafter, then he let him come down. Death fled away in a fury and began to make a clearance on Earth. As he could not wreak revenge on the smith, he set the Devil on him, that he might fetch him away. The Devil set out directly, but the crafty smith could smell the brimstone coming, so he locked his door, then he and his journeymen held a leather sack to the keyhole; and when His Sable Majesty passed through it, this being the only way he could enter the smithy, the sack was tied up at the mouth and carried to the anvil, and then the heaviest hammers were used to thump away on the Devil, with no mercy whatsoever, until sight and hearing left him, he became thoroughly tenderised, and he forswore ever returning. Now the smith lived a great while longer in peace until, all his friends and acquaintances having predeceased him, he grew tired and weary of this earthly life. So he set out and went to Heaven, where he humbly knocked at the gate. Then Saint Peter looked out, and Peter the Smith recognised him as his patron saint and guardian spirit, who had often manifestly delivered him from danger and difficulty, and had at the last granted his three wishes. But now Saint Peter said, “Get you hence! Heaven shall remain locked to you, for you forgot to request the best thing: Salvation!” At this answer, Peter turned round and decided to try his luck in Hell; and he walked back down, soon finding the straight, broad, and much-trodden road. But when the Devil heard that the Smith of Juterbog was approaching, he slammed the gates of Hell in his face and placed Hell in a state of high alert against him. Now, as the Smith of Juterbog could not find refuge either in Heaven or in Hell, and the world could no longer afford him pleasure, he went down to the Kyffhäuser Mountains to be with Emperor Frederick, whom he had formerly served.[7] The old Emperor, his lord, was pleased to see that his armourer Peter had come, and he immediately asked him whether the ravens were still flying around the tower of the Kyffhäuser castle ruins? When Peter answered in the affirmative, Barbarossa heaved a sigh. But the smith remained in the mountain, where he will strike shoes for the Emperor’s led-horse, and the horses of the Princess, and those of the riding ladies, until the hour shall strike of the Emperor’s redemption, which will also be that of his own. And that will happen, so tradition tells us, on the day when ravens no longer fly round the mountains, and when an old, withered, and dead pear-tree will once more begin to bud, grow green, and blossom. Then the Emperor will come forth with all his men-at-arms, fight the great battle of deliverance, and hang his shield on the reverdant tree. After this, he and all his companions will go to everlasting rest.

10. The Steaks of Anger

Once upon a time there was a knight who had, besides abundant wealth and land, a bad wife whom he never could manage to master, and a worse wife was hardly to be found on this earth. He, however, was honourable and of a gentle disposition. They had an only daughter, and the mother raised her in her own wicked ways, imprinting her with her own stamp, so that she became whingy and stingy and vicious and malicious. Nevertheless, God had fashioned the girl into a beautiful maiden, so everyone who saw her thought her a picture of lovely goodness, but anyone who became more closely acquainted with her soon perceived her wickedness and gave her a wide berth. Now the maiden was eighteen years old and would have liked to take a husband, but no man came who desired her as a wife.

This worried her father tremendously, and one day he spoke to her: “Daughter, your mother’s ways and her bad advice have ensured that you remain without a husband, or, if a man takes you who does not, like I do, have a mind to bear with patience a woman’s wicked wiles, then you will be beaten more often than there are days in the year, and you will regret all the more having followed and obeyed your mother in every particular.”

The daughter of the pious knight was very loath to hear this, and she said angrily, “Well, pater! You may talk a great deal before a single word of yours pleases me! You have also given my mother much too much good guidance, which she does not thank you for. You know what? Do what seems good to you, and let me be. For even if a suitor were to come tomorrow desiring my hand in marriage, I would always have to be the one who carried the longer knife in wedlock.”

“Oh my daughter!” the knight replied. “I do not think it good for you to have such thoughts. You should set your mind to being better than your wicked mother, or it may well come to pass that you end up with a husband who is so upright and pious that he will use force on you, and in the end you will have to yield, dishonoured and disgraced.”

“Well, really!” replied the daughter. “Talk is cheap. Buy me some before the market closes”[8] – and more such nasty satirical remarks were made to her father, so that he cried out in fury, “Oh, you wicked Kriemhild![9] As you will not follow your father, so will your back take its fill of blows! Whoever wants your hand, be he knight or be he servant, he shall have you, and shall educate you as he pleases!”

“Or I him as I please!” the daughter defiantly replied, and other words ensued until this quarrel came to an end.

Now some three miles away from the castle of this good knight was the seat of another knight who was rich in wealth and estates and had thoughts of going courting; and his countenance was handsome and his manners courteous. He made enquiries and heard word of how beautiful, and how ugly at the same time, his neighbour’s daughter was, and he thought: “I shall venture to turn her nature towards virtue, and make her good; if not, then I will take her for her beauty’s sake, for better or for worse.” Then he rode with his kinsmen to the maiden’s father and asked him for his daughter’s hand. This knight revealed to the young suitor what kind of manners his daughter had, and he replied, “Yes, I’ve heard about that, but just give me her to wife! If God so wills that we live together for just one year, you shall see how good she will become!” – To which the future father-in-law replied, “May God protect you from her ill temper! Be on your guard, for if she follows in her mother’s footsteps, then however long she lives, you will never know a happy day with her.” But the suitor persisted in his resolve, and an agreement was entered into, and marriage articles, to the effect that the young knight would, as soon as he returned, take the maiden back with him to his home.

The mother knew of these negotiations neither more nor less, but nothing at all; and when she learned that her daughter was engaged to be married, her wrath was extreme, and she summoned her daughter and said, “Daugther, know this, that my curse shall strike you if you do not resist your husband as I have your father, with contention and sharp words, always and everywhere. Listen to what I’m telling you: I was a small girl when I came to your father, much smaller than you, for you are fully-grown. For three whole weeks your father beat me every day, making me ill, and refreshed me with water, and yet I won the struggle and have constantly maintained my rights to this day!”

“Mother!” the excellent daughter replied, “I tell you, that even if I have to live a thousand years, I’ll make my husband a laughing-stock.”

In the meantime, the day arrived for the bride to be conducted to her husband’s home; the knight rode up on a beautiful, valuable steed, bringing with him a slim greyhound and carrying on his hand a majestic falcon. He received the maiden without further ado, placed her behind him on his horse, sent away all of his servants so that none would ride with the two of them, and directly took leave of the father of his bride. The father spoke moving words at parting: “God’s grace be with you, O daughter! May He give you happy contentment and a more peaceable heart than I have found in my wife!”

No sooner were these words spoken than the mother raised a racket and shouted after her daughter, “Hear my words! As long as you live, you should be just as subservient to your husband as I have taught you!” and the daughter cried back, “Yes, my mother, it shall be so, according to your teaching.”

And so they both rode together on their way, quite alone, but thinking of his bride’s wickedness, the knight avoided the highway and rode down an uncomfortable, steep and narrow side-road, a good league in length, yet he rode swiftly and so covered half a league of the rugged, untrodden stone path in a short while. Then they came to an eyot fringed with bushes, and the falcon, true to its nature, began beating its wings and desiring to leave the knight’s hand, for it wished to swoop down on the herons. The knight said, “Let that be enough beating of wings, or I’ll tear your head off.” Shortly afterwards the falcon saw a crow flying past, and he wanted to go in pursuit; again, the knight spoke: “You are deluded, if you think you can strive to cause vexation and show yourself unwilling to be still, and so I shall do justice to you this instant. Die, as you will not follow my will!” And he throttled the falcon like a hen. The maiden was alarmed at these words and the violent deed, and she began to fear the knight. Now the path became ever narrower, stonier, and thornier, and the greyhound’s feet began to hurt, and it was no longer able to keep up at the horse’s side. The knight, who was leading it on the end of a leash, had to keep dragging it after him, and because this incommoded him, he scolded the greyhound: “You wicked Hovawart – take care, your wrenching my arm like this will bring disaster down upon you!” But the poor dog simply could not follow, and so the knight drew his sword and struck its death blow.

The maiden suppressed a cry of displeasure, but the blood in her veins ran cold, she was sick at heart, and she thought: Dear Lord, what a brute this man is! Was it the Devil who brought me to him? -The knight kept the naked sword in his hand and now began to scold his steed: “What’s with the snorting? Why don’t you amble or trot? You want to ride only over level plains, I suppose? You must die!” Now as the poor horse could not go at an ambling trot, a gait he had never been taught, the knight said, “Wife, dismount!” She said, “I do as you command me.” Then the knight also dismounted and hewed the horse’s head from its trunk, saying, “If you had followed my will, you would not have been given to death. Wife, you have seen how things turned out. The horse began to vex me sorely, like the greyhound and the falcon. Now, it is an unfamiliar and arduous thing for me to go by foot, and I am not used to it. I shall now ride you!” and he began to put the bridle and straps on her, then he made to buckle the saddle on. She said, “Master, I shall have quite enough to carry with you, leave the saddle and the headgear, dearest master of mine, I shall carry you better and the more smoothly without it.”

“Why, wife, how would it become me to ride you without saddle and bridle?” the knight asked severely. “You have bad manners, making so bold as to contradict my will!” And then she submitted to his saddling and bridling her on the spot, like a horse, and placing the bridle bit in her mouth, and giving her the stirrups in her hands to hold them tight; then he mounted and rode her thus a short while, some three spear-throws in distance, until the heavy burden made her feel faint.

Then the knight dismounted her and said, “Wife, are you gasping for breath?” – “Oh no, lord!” she replied. He said further, “This is a pretty field, here you can go at ambling-pace.” She said, while crawling onwards on her hands and knees, “I shall do it willingly. Many horses run around my father’s courtyard, and I’ve learnt ambling-pace from them.”

“So will you do everything I want?” asked the knight, and she replied, “And if I should live a thousand years, I would do whatever pleased you!” Then he bid her stand up and took her gently by the hand and courteously led her home to his castle, where his friends were assembled; they greeted her with reverence and escorted her to her chamber. All was done with great joy, and the woman was the most delightful wife, respectable and well-bred, without cunning or deceit, faithful, quiet, gentle – no virtue was wanting in her. She received her guests cordially and cheerfully, and she carried out the wishes of her lord and husband without hatred or resentment, as a worthy wife should.

Now when six weeks had passed, the young wife’s father and mother visited their daughter to see how she was faring and how she was comporting herself. Soon enough did the mother learn what had happened, and how her daughter obeyed her husband; and she scolded her angrily, shouting at her: “Oh, a curse upon you, unhappy woman! What I have had to see and hear makes me doubt that you are my child. What? You let your husband be your master?” And with these words the wicked mother struck her daughter in the face, and then everywhere else she could, took her by the hair and tore at it, and beat and chid, kicking up a terrible row. The young wife wept and yelled, “If you have come here to scold, at least wait until you have found cause! I have the best of all men and he is good and honest, but if anyone does not do his will, he goes for the jugular in his wrath. Therefore, mother, show good sense and take care not to speak ill of him, for he is so irascible that everything which goes against his will he adjudicates and annihilates in his fury.”

“Oho! Tomorrow is another day!” jeered the mother. “However bad your husband may be, it does not cause me the slightest concern! I don’t give a fig for him! You silly goose! The Devil must have got inside your head for you to dare to threaten me, your mother, with your husband!”

“Mother, I’m not threatening you!” the daughter said in self-defence. “I’m just telling you the truth; I really must advise you to give my husband a better greeting, for if you intend to do to him as to my father, then he will beat your back black and blue, and although you don’t have much hair left, there’s still enough of it for him to tear out!”

“That would be a master-stroke!” the mother angrily replied. “I don’t fear him, even were he as big as a mountain; I fear him no more and no less than your father! Where has he got with me these twenty years? To this day, I haven’t yielded an inch to him!”

While the elder woman was speaking these contumelious words, the father-in-law and the daughter’s husband were standing in a secret place, where they heard every word, and the old man said quietly to his son-in-law: “I am profoundly pleased that you have vanquished my daughter’s intransigent spirit, and I’ll happily leave you and her my worldly goods when I depart this life.” The son-in-law expressed his gratitude for his father-in-law’s friendly intention, and the latter then said, “Do advise me what to do with your mother-in-law, who constantly opposes me and sours and embitters my life! If it could only be brought about that she were at least to relent her harshness a year or so before her death, I would feel the most particular delight, and all my suffering would have an end!”

Thereupon the son-in-law promised to change the mother-in-law for the better after his own fashion, if the father-in-law did not forbid him. The latter said, “I shall forbid you nothing; if you boil or roast her, I’ll bring wood for the fire.”

The knight at once secretly gathered four strong, quick servants, assumed an intense anger, and went to the boudoir where the old woman was still sitting, railing incessantly at him and her daughter. When she saw him coming, she greeted him derisively: “Welcome with God, welcome, Lord Inexorable!” – “Thank you so much, Lady Deplorable!” resounded his counter-salute, and he walked up to her with resolute steps, saying, “Lady, have done with your frowardness, I beseech you, towards your lord and mine. He should deal you countless strokes on your back with an oaken yardstick until the pain smarts so much that you become a good wife.”

“Well!” she said, “I have indeed heard that you have slain a good number in such wise, dear Sir Cuckoo! However, I have held on to my hide and hair up to now, and hope to wear them for some time longer! Now tell me, what have I done to you?”

“You scold my lord, your husband, every day, and make his own house a misery to him!” replied the young knight; but she had an instant riposte at hand: “In my house I am called Shrew! I can be his master there, as I am my own, and God shall never, so long as I live, give him a single day more of happiness!”

“And if God grants me good fortune,” said the son-in-law, “I shall see to it that, before the two of us part, you will have given up your shrewish tricks and antics.”

“Be careful you do not fail!” she cried. “Or you will gain from it, by the Great God of Schaffhausen,[10] nothing but derision and disgrace!”

“I know what makes you so crazy and mad and bad,” said the knight. “You have two anger-steaks here, one at each hip, and that is the reason why you have such bad habits; if someone were to cut them out for you, that would be splendidly done, for you would then be happier than wife has ever been, and it would be no less good for your husband.”

“Oh! I am pleased you are such a good doctor, but teach your art to my daughter!” was her reply. “Do you also have bartram going cheap, and hellebore? You mix mugwort into a potion, no doubt?”

“Ha! Your scorn is great!” cried the knight. “But it will cost you very dear; as soon as we have your anger-kidneys and anger-steaks, you will become better and more docile than a child!”

“Enough of your yelping, you yapper!” scolded the woman. But on the knight’s signal the servants seized her and threw her down, and the son-in-law whetted a large, sharp knife, put it to one of her hips, and cut a long, deep wound through gown and shift, making her scornful laughter die quite away; then he said, throwing a lump of flesh into a dish, “You see, woman, you have been a bad wife for many a year, and that was the fault of your anger-steaks – I can allow you to keep them no longer.” She lay there, miserable and screaming, “I didn’t know that about myself, but I know which devils you have consulted about me!”

“Yes, you have one anger-steak left,” said the knight, “in your other leg – it too must come out!”

“Oh,” she wailed, almost in tears, “it is really small, it does not do me too much harm! God help me! The one you have already cut out, it was to blame for all the harm. I am free of all anger, and will be quiet, just leave the other one uncut.”

Then the daughter cheerfully said to her husband, “Consider carefully what you do; I fear, if the other anger-steak does not also come out, then all the hard work on the one will be wasted, for in the end the other anger-steak will have young, if you do not cut it out too.”

“No, no, dear daughter!” cried the mother. “Talk him into leaving me unscathed, you know I’ll be good!”

“Mother,” the young wife replied, “you advised me to fight with my husband, to not be subservient to him; for that and because she treated my father so ill, just cut her anger-steak out!” And the knight took hold of the other hip, but she cried out, “No, no! It’s too much! Daughter, remember that I carried you in my womb, and help me make my peace with your husband! I swear to be good from now on, and may the gentle and just Lord keep me from anger. The knight has taken the greater anger from me, and the lesser one is not worth a fig!”

“Well then,” said the knight, “if she desires peace, I shall leave her alone, but let her swear this instant that, at any time when she does not eschew anger, she will submit to being cut.” Hereupon she was raised up and her wound dressed.

And the woman cast all strife and discord form her, became a good, demure wife, and forsook her violent temper; and when the next day came, she took leave with her husband of her son-in-law, and he wished that God might protect her from all evil.

Now when, after this, she nevertheless spoke a little word or two to her husband that he was sorry or sad to hear, he only had to say, “I cannot help it, I must send for our son-in-law,” and she would turn red with fear and say, “There is no need for that, his coming would be no boon to me. I have, as you know, the mind and the will to do what pleases you, and I advise all women to declare to their husbands what I have now declared to mine, that is, if they wish for a peaceful life.”

And that is the end of this tale, and every man and every woman is free to draw whatever moral they like from it. But the ancient poet who tells this tale also gives the following advice:

If you have an evil wife,

Get her quickly out your life,

Give her to the knight instead

And lay her on a sled,

Buy a beard for her, and now

Hang her from a little bough.

And on the same tree

Hang two wolves or three.

More atrocious wretches on

A gallows couldn’t be seen –

Unless you caught the Evil One

And hung him up in between.

11. Hansel and Gretel

Once upon a time there was a poor woodcutter who lived with his wife and two children in a miserable hut in the forest. The children were called Hansel and Gretel, and as they grew up, so were the poor people in ever greater want of bread. Also, the times became harder and harder, and all provisions more expensive, causing both parents heavy care. One evening, when they had sought their hard bed, the husband sighed, “Oh wife, how on earth are we to provide for the children when winter is approaching and we have nothing for ourselves!” And the mother replied, “I don’t know any other way than your taking them into the forest – the sooner the better – giving each of them a piece of bread, lighting them a fire, commending them to the good Lord, and leaving them.” “Oh, Lord! How could I do that to my own children, wife?” asked the woodcutter, quite distressed. “Fine then, forget it,” snapped the wife. “Then you can make a coffin for all four of us and watch the children starve to death!”

The two children, whom hunger had kept awake in their little beds of moss all this time, listened along to what their mother and father said to each other, and the sister began to weep; but Hansel comforted her, saying, “Don’t weep, Gretel, I’ll help us, you’ll see.” He waited until their parents were asleep, whisked out of the hut, looked for white pebbles in the moonlight, hid them well, and crept back in, whereupon he and his sister soon fell asleep.

In the morning, what the parents had discussed came to pass. The mother gave a piece of bread to each child and said, “That is all for today; eat it sparingly.” Gretel carried the bread, Hansel secretly carried his pebbles, the father had his wood-axe tucked under his arm, and the mother locked up the house and followed with a water-jug. Hansel shifted behind his mother so that he brought up the rear, and he often peeked back at their house; and when he did not see it, he dropped a pebble straight away, and then another one a few steps further on, and so forth.

Now they were all in the heart of the deep forest, and the father lit a fire while the children brought over lots of brushwood to feed it; and the mother said to them, “You must be tired, now lie down by the fire and sleep, and in the meantime we’ll fell trees, then we’ll come back to fetch you afterwards.”

The children slumbered a little, and when they awoke the sun was at its meridian height, and the fire had burned down; and Hansel and Gretel being hungry, they consumed their pieces of bread. They did not come – they being the parents. And later, the children fell asleep again until it had grown dark, and they were still alone; and Gretel began to cry and to feel afraid. But Hansel comforted her with the words, “Don’t be afraid, sister, remember that the good Lord is with us, and soon the moon will rise, then we’ll go home.”

And the moon did indeed rise in its full splendour soon afterwards, and it shone for the children on their way home and illumined the silver-white pebbles. Hansel took Gretel by the hand, and so the children walked on together without fear and without mishap, and when the day began to dawn they saw their father’s roof gleaming through the bushes; and they walked up to the little house in the forest and knocked. When their mother opened the door, she was thoroughly startled to see the children, and she did not know whether to scold them or be glad; but their father was glad, and so both children were let back in to the house and bid heartily welcome.

It was not long, however, before concern was again voiced aloud, and that conversation, and the decision to take the children into the forest and leave them there alone and in Heaven’s keeping, reoccurred. Again the children listened along to the melancholy discussion, heavy of heart, and clever Hansel got up from his bed to search for shining stones once more, but the door of the house was securely locked, for the mother had noticed it was unlocked and closed it fast. Yet Hansel comforted his weeping little sister once again, saying, “Don’t weep, dear Gretel, the good Lord who knows all ways, He’ll lead us on the right one, you’ll see.”

They all had to get up at dawn the next morning to walk into the forest again, and the children were given bread again, but the pieces were even smaller than before; and the path led even deeper into the forest. Hansel secretly crumbled the bread in his pocket and scattered crumbs, in place of stones, over the path, thinking to safely find his way back with his sister later. And now everything happened as it had before: a large fire was lit and the children had to sleep, and when they awoke they were alone, and their parents never came back. And midday came, and Gretel shared her little piece of bread with Hansel, because he had crumbled all of his and scattered it over the path, and then they fell asleep again to awake in the evening alone and forsaken. Gretel wept but Hansel was full of faith in God, and thinking to find the way easily by means of the breadcrumbs, he waited until the moon had risen then took Gretel by the hand and said to her, “Come, sister, now we’re going home.”

But when Hansel looked for the crumbs, there were none of them left, for the birds of the forest had pecked all of them, all of them up and eaten them with a good appetite. And so the children wandered through the forest all night long, and they soon strayed from the path, lost their way, and became despondent. Finally, they fell asleep on some soft moss and woke up hungry as day was dawning, for they did not have a bite of bread left, and they had to still their thirst and hunger with the lovely forest berries they found here and there. And as they were wandering around like this in the forest, finding neither highway nor byway, behold – a snow-white bird came flying, and it flew ever before them, as if it wished to show the children the way, and they happily followed the bird. All of a sudden they saw a little house, onto whose roof the bird flew; it pecked at the roof, and when the children had come up close to the house their delight and surprise knew no bounds, for it was made of bread, or its walls were, while the roof was covered with pancakes and the windows were slabs of transparent rock candy. That was just what the children needed, and they ate some of the little house’s roof and some of a broken window-pane. Then a voice from inside was suddenly heard, crying out:

“Nibble, nibble, little mouse,

Who’s that nibbling at my house?”

To which the children replied:

“It’s only the breeze

That blows through the trees”

and kept on eating, for they had been very hungry, and the taste was quite delicious.

Then the door of the little house opened and an ancient, hunchbacked, rheumy-eyed little woman stepped out, of no slight ugliness, with a face and forehead full of wrinkles and, in the middle, a large, large nose. She also had grass-green eyes. The children were not a little startled, but the old woman was very friendly, saying, “Well, dear children, come on in to my little house, come on in! There are much tastier cakes inside!”

The children readily followed the old woman, and inside she served them up a real treat. It was a case of, ‘Take your pick.’ Biscuits and marzipan, sugar and milk, apples and nuts, and exquisite cakes. And while the children ate and ate and were happy, the old woman prepared two little beds with pillows of fine down and lily-white linen, and she settled the children in them ready to sleep; thinking themselves in Heaven, they piously said their evening prayer and fell asleep directly.

However, with regard to the old woman, the case was as follows, and it was terrible. She was a wicked and nasty witch who ate the children she lured with her Bread-and-Cake house once she had fed them up nice and fat. This was her intention with Hansel and Gretel too. When day broke the old woman was already standing before the beds of the children, who were still sweetly asleep, and rejoicing at her catch; and she tore Hansel out of bed, took him to the goose coop, with its narrowly-barred door, and stopped up his mouth so he would not cry out. Then she violently woke poor Gretel and raucously yelled at her: “Get up, you lazy maid! Your brother’s in the coop, we must cook him a good meal so he gets fat and makes a good roast for me!”

Gretel was scared to death, and she wept and bawled, but it was all to no purpose: she had to obey and get up, and help to cook a meal, and she had to carry it to the coop herself, where she wept with her incarcerated brother. She herself was held in very scant regard by the witch. Things continued thus for a time, during which the old woman would often creep to the coop and order Hansel to stick a finger through the bars so she could feel if he were fat yet. But Hansel always stuck out a scraggy little bone, and she was amazed that the boy stayed so skinny in spite of all the good food he ate. At length she grew weary of this and told Gretel, “In short, he’ll be roasted today,” and she made a mighty fire in the oven that stood next to the little house, and then she shoved in some bread, so she would have something freshly-baked to eat with her roast. Gretel was at a complete loss for what to do; at last, the old witch bid her sit on the loader and have a look in the oven – she would push her in just a little so that Gretel could see if the bread was brown. But her real intent was to roast the poor girl inside.

But then the snow-white bird flew by, singing, “Take care, take care, watch out!” And Gretel’s eyes were opened, so that she saw through the old woman’s wicked ruse and said, “First show me how it’s done, then I’ll do it.” At once the old one sat down on the oven-board and Gretel pushed the handle, and she pushed her into the oven as far as the handle was long, and then bang! she slammed the iron door of the oven shut and shot the bolt across, and as the oven was still astoundingly hot the old witch had to sputter and spit inside and die a dog’s death as reward for her misdeeds. Gretel ran to Hansel and let him out of the goose coop, and he came out and delightedly flung his arms round the neck of the truest of sisters, and they kissed, wept tears of joy, and thanked God.

And then the white bird was back again, with many, many other birds of the forest, and they flew on to the cake-roof of the little house where there was a nest, and each bird took a colourful gem or a pearl from it and brought it to the children, and Gretel held up her apron to catch all the rain of jewels. The snow-white bird sang,

“For the crumbs of bread,

Pearls and gems instead.”

Then the children realised that the birds were grateful for the breadcrumbs Hansel had scattered on the path, and now the white bird flew before them again to show them the way out of the forest. Soon they came upon a mighty river and they stood there bewildered, unable to go on or go over. But suddenly a large, beautiful swan came swimming by, and the children called out to it, “Beautiful swan afloat, will you be our boat?” And the swan bent its head and paddled to the bank, and it carried the children, one after the other, across to the far bank. The white bird had already fluttered over, and it flew on, ever on, before the children until they finally came out of the forest and were back at their parents’ little house.

The old woodcutter and his wife were sitting sad and silent in the narrow parlour, in deep grief over the children, and they regretted abandoning them a thousandfold; and they sighed, “Ah, if only Hansel and Gretel could come back, only just the one more time, never again would we leave them alone in the forest” – and at that very moment the door opened without anyone having knocked, and there walked in Hansel and Gretel in the flesh. What joy there was! And once the valuable pearls and gems the children had brought with them were produced, there was rejoicing all over, and from that time on, all want and all care were at an end.

12. The Partridge

Once a rich Jew was travelling through a kingdom and he carried a large treasure of money and goods. As his way was to take him through a large forest, he was afraid of losing his life there for the sake of his money; and so he went to the King of the land, proffered him a gift, and requested that the King give him a trustworthy man to bring him through the forest and then across the rest of his kingdom. So the King commanded his cupbearer to act as escort, and the latter did as he was ordered, and conducted the Jew.

Now when the two men were in the forest, the cupbearer, who coveted the Jew’s treasure, came to a halt on the path and said to him: “You go first!” The Jew was startled; suspecting the cupbearer’s evil intention, he refused to go on ahead. The cupbearer straightaway drew his sword and cried: “Jew, you must die here by my hand!” “Oh, dear cupbearer, don’t do it!” cried the Jew, “such a murderous deed done to me would not remain hidden! Even when a murder is executed in secret, unseen by human eyes, it will be revealed by the birds which fly under Heaven!”

While the Jew was saying these words, a partridge flew up in the forest, over their heads and away. Then the cupbearer fleered and said scornfully: “Take heed, Jew – that partridge will, I am sure, inform the King that I murdered you here.” And so the cupbearer murdered the Jew in the forest, took all the money and valuables on his person, buried him secretly, and returned to Court.

And a whole year had passed since the cupbearer’s perfidious deed, when it so happened that the King was made a present of partridges; the cupbearer gave them to the cook to have them well dressed, and brought them to the table. And as he put the partridges down on the table before the King, he thought of the Jew he had murdered, and of his last words about birds, and he could not help laughing. The King saw this and asked what he was laughing about? But the cupbearer gave the King an untrue reason for his laughter.

Some four weeks later, it came about that the King held a banquet for his officers and servants, and the cupbearer was there also; and the King himself was very cheerful and merry, and jocular and jovial, and he had so much wine and so many fine spirits served up that several of his servants became drunk. And when they were all in this merry mood, the King spoke to his cupbearer: “Dear cupbearer, now tell me honestly and truthfully, what the reason was for your laughing of late, when you served me partridges; for you did not give me a truthful account at the time!” The cupbearer was intoxicated, and when the wine is in, the wit is out, so he said: “Well, my Lord King, when the Jew cried out that the birds which fly under Heaven would reveal that he had been secretly murdered, at that very moment a partridge flew up into the air; I could not but remember that, and I had to laugh at it.”

The King kept silent after these words, seemed not to mind them, and made as if his merriment were not disturbed. But the following day he consulted with his privy council, speaking to them thus: “What does the man deserve who was to conduct a traveller safely though the realm in the name of the King, but who personally murdered and robbed his charge?” The councillors answered with one voice: “He deserves the gallows!” Thereupon the King presided over a public trial and appointed a prosecutor to accuse the cupbearer; and as the accused had, while inebriated, related his deed before witnesses, so he had to confess it before the court, and he was condemned to the gallows. And so, by means of partridges, the clandestine murder was made manifest and known.

13. Golden Mary and Pitch Mary

Once upon a time there was a widow who had two daughters, her own daughter and a step-daughter; both were called Mary. Her own daughter was neither pious nor good, but the stepdaughter, conversely, was a modest, demure girl who nevertheless had to endure untold insults and slights from her mother and sister. Yet she was always affable, did the kitchen chores without wearying, and only at times did she weep secretly in her bedroom, when her mother and sister had been particularly unjust to her. However, she always soon regained her cheerfulness and lively spirits, and she would say to herself, “Be at peace, the good Lord is sure to help you.” Then she diligently did her work, making everything nice and clean. To her mother’s mind, she never worked enough; one day she was even told, “Mary, I can’t keep you at home any longer, you work little and eat much, and your mother did not leave you any fortune, nor did your father, it is all mine, and I can’t and won’t support you any longer; therefore, you must go away and seek service with a gentleman.” And she baked a cake of milk and ashes, filled a little jug with water, gave these to poor Mary, and turned her out the house.

Mary was sorely distressed at this hard-hearted treatment; yet she strode spiritedly through the fields and meadows, thinking: “There is bound to be someone who will engage you as a maid, and strangers may be kinder than your own mother.” When she became hungry, she sat down in the grass, took out her ash-cake and drank from her little jug, and many birds flapped by and pecked at her cake; and she poured water into her hand and let the lively birds drink. And then, without her noticing it, her ash-cake turned into a tart, her water into exquisite wine. Fortified and glad of heart, poor Mary walked on, and she came, as it was growing dark, to a strangely built house with two gates before it, one of which looked black as pitch while the other shone with pure gold. Mary humbly passed through the less lovely gate into the courtyard and knocked at the front door. A man with a dreadfully savage appearance opened the door and brusquely asked what she wanted. Trembling, she said, “I only wished to ask if you might perhaps be so kind as to accommodate me for the night?” and the man growled, “Come in!” She followed him and trembled all the more when she could see and hear nothing in the room but cats and dogs and their abominable howling. Apart from the wild Torschman (such as the name of this being), there was no one else in the entire house.

Now Torschman growled to Mary, “Whom will you sleep with, with me or with cats and dogs?” Mary said, “With cats and dogs.” But she had to sleep right next to him, and he gave her a lovely soft bed, so Mary had a sound and splendid sleep. In the morning Torschman growled, “Whom will you breakfast with, with me or with cats and dogs?” She said, “With cats and dogs.” Then she had to drink with him, coffee and sweet cream. When Mary was ready to depart, Torschman growled once more, “Which gate will you go out by, the Golden Gate or the Pitch Gate?” and she said, “The Pitch Gate.” Then she had to go out by the golden one, and as she passed through, Torschman sat on top and shook the gate so strongly that it swayed, and Mary was covered, from top to toe, with the gold that fell down on her from the Golden Gate.

Now she went back home, and when she entered the parental house her hens, which she had always fed, came joyfully flying and running towards her, and the cockerel crowed, “Cock-a-doodle-do, here comes Golden Mary! Cock-a-doodle-do!” And her mother came down the stairs and curtseyed so reverently to the golden lady, as though she were a Princess who was paying her the honour of a visit. But Mary said, “Dear mother, do you really not know me any longer? Why, it’s me, Mary!”

Now her sister also appeared, quite astonished and lost in wonder like the mother, and they were both filled with envy; and Mary had to relate the wondrous adventure that had befallen her, and how she had come into the gold.

Her mother now received her well, and treated her better than before, and Mary was honoured and loved by all; and she soon found herself a worthy young man, who took her home as his wife and lived with her in perfect happiness.

But envy grew in the other Mary’s heart, and she resolved that she too would go abroad and return covered with gold. Her mother gave her a sweet cake and wine to take on the journey, and when Mary partook of them and birds came flying up to join the feast, she angrily chased them away. But her cake changed, without her noticing it, into ashes, and her wine into cloudy water. In the evening, Mary likewise came to Torschman’s gates; she walked proudly in by the golden one and knocked at the front door. When Torschman opened and asked what she wanted, she pertly said, “Well, I want to pass the night here.” And he growled, “Come in!” Then he asked her, “Whom will you sleep with, with me or with the cats and dogs?” She quickly said, “With you, Mr. Torschman!” But he took her to the room where the cats and dogs slept and locked her in. The next morning, Mary’s face was horribly scratched and bitten. Torschman growled again, “Whom will you drink coffee with, with me or with cats and dogs?” – “Why, with you,” she said, and then she had to drink with the cats and dogs. Now she wanted to be off. Torschman growled once more, “Which gate will you go out by, the Golden Gate or the Pitch Gate?” and she said, “By the Golden Gate, naturally!” But it was immediately locked and she had to go out by the Pitch Gate, and Torschman sat on top, jerking and jolting the gate so that it tottered, and so much pitch fell down over Mary that she was covered up to the ears.

Now when Mary returned home, full of fury at her ugly appearance, the clucking cockerel crowed at her, “Cock-a-doodle-doo, here comes Pitch Mary! Cock-a-doodle-doo!” And her mother turned from her in abhorrence and could no longer let her ugly daughter be seen by anyone; and so she paid a heavy price for being so greedy for gold.

14. Millet-Thief

In a town there lived a very rich merchant whose house had a large and splendid garden, a portion of which was sown with millet. Now one day, when the merchant was strolling around in his garden – it was springtime, and the seedlings were looking fresh and strong – he saw, to his great annoyance and irritation, that a patch of his millet-seedlings had been torn up by some impudent thieving hand the night before, and this particular plot of his garden, in which he sowed millet every year, was especially dear to him, as people sometimes have an exclusive predilection for one thing. He decided to catch the thief and then punish him severely, or give him over to justice. Therefore he summoned his three sons, Michael, George, and John, and said, “Last night there was a thief in our garden and he tore up a patch of my millet seeds, which vexes me greatly. This trespasser must be caught, and he’ll pay for it! You, my sons, shall now keep watch through the night, one after another, and whoever catches the thief shall receive a handsome reward from me.” The eldest, Michael, kept watch the first night; he took with him several loaded pistols and a sharp sabre, as well as some food and drink, wrapped himself in a warm cloak, and sat down behind a blooming elder bush, where he soon fell into a deep and sound sleep. When he awoke to broad daylight, an even larger patch of millet seeds had been torn up than on the previous night. And so when the merchant came into the garden and saw this, and realised that his son, instead of keeping watch and catching the thief, had slept all night, he became even angrier, and scolded and mocked him as a fine watchman, who might have been stolen himself, together with his pistols and his sabre, for all he cared!

On the second night, George kept watch; together with the weapons his brother had worn on his person the night before he took along a cudgel and strong cords. But the good watchman George also fell asleep and found the next morning that the millet-thief had been lustily pulling up once again. The father was absolutely furious and said, “When the third watchman has done sleeping, the millet seed will all be gone to the Devil, and then there’ll be no more need to watch!”

On the third night it was John’s turn. In spite of all persuasion, he took no weapons with him, yet he had secretly furnished himself with tried-and-tested weapons against sleep: he had sought out thistles and thorns, and that evening, when he proceeded to his watching-place, he heaped them up before him. Whenever he began to nod off, the thorns pricked his nose and he woke up at once. When midnight came, he heard a tramping, which came nearer and nearer, then reached the millet-seedlings, and John heard a very vigorous grazing. Stay there, he thought, I’ll catch you! and taking a rope out of his bag, he softly pushed back the thorns and carefully crept towards the thief. When he came up to him – who would have thought it? – the thief was – a delightful little pony. John was highly delighted; he had no difficulty in catching the thief, and the animal willingly followed him to the stable, which John securely fastened. And now he could leisurely lie down in his bed and sleep his fill. Early the next morning, when his brothers rose ready to go down into the garden, they were astonished to see John lying sound asleep in his bed. So they woke him and mocked him with all kinds of taunts, saying that he was the best watchman, who had not even lasted the night at his post. But John said, “Just hold your peace, I’ll show you the millet-thief, I warrant.” And his father and his brothers had to follow him to the stable, where the marvellous pony was standing, and no one could say where it had come from or whom it belonged to. It was delightful to behold, of a delicate and slender build, and silver-white all over. The merchant was overjoyed and gave his valiant John the pony as his reward, and John accepted it with joy and named it Millet-Thief.

Soon after this, the brothers heard that a beautiful Princess was enchanted in a castle on the summit of a glass mountain, which was so slippery that no one could clamber up to the top. But the man who could successfully ride up the mountain, and then around the castle three times, would free the beautiful Princess from the spell and receive her to wife. No end of suitors had already tried the mountain ride, but every one had precipitated down and they now lay dead all around.

This wondrous tale resounded throughout the land, and the three brothers were also seized with the desire to try their luck, to ride to the glass mountain, and – if possible – to win the fair Princess. Michael and George bought themselves strong young horses and had their hooves properly roughshod, while John saddled his little Millet-Thief, and so they set out on their ride for fortune. They soon reached the glass mountain, and the eldest rode first, but alas! – his steed slipped, tumbled down with him, and both horse and man did not rise again. The second rode, but alas! – his steed slipped, tumbled down with him, and both horse and man did not rise. Now John rode, and with a clip clop clip clop clip clop – they were up at the top, and again clip clop clip clop clip clop and they had gone three times around the castle, as if Millet-Thief had ridden this dangerous path a hundred times before. Now they were before the castle-door; it opened and the beauteous Princess stepped forth; she was dressed all in silk and gold, and she joyfully stretched out her arms towards John. And he swiftly dismounted from his pony and rushed to embrace the fair Princess and, with her, his exceedingly great good fortune.

And the Princess turned to the pony, caressed it, and said, “Well, you little rogue, why did you run away from me, preventing me from enjoying the single hour of the night that was allowed me to tarry down below on the green earth? For you were not here to carry me down the glass mountain and back up again. Now you shall never leave us more.” – And so John became aware that his little Millet-Thief was the enchanted pony of his divinely beautiful Princess. His brothers recovered from their fall, but they did not see John again, for he lived happily, and removed from all earthly cares, with his angel in the enchanted castle on the glass mountain; and not a single soul ever again found the way to this mountain, for the spell was broken and the Princess released from her enchantment through her clever little steed, which had borne to her the right liberator and consort.

15. The Devil’s Godson

Not far from a little town there lived in a wretched hut a poor but honest fisherman, who barely managed to feed himself and his family, a wife and nine children. It was the first of May, a lovely sunny day, when the fisherman went out on the shining lake; no cloud disturbed the bright blue of the sky, and the nightingale and other small birds, rejoicing in the spring, sang amidst the beautiful blossoms of the willow and alder hedges near the strand. The man fished peacefully until evening came down and the glowing sun sank behind the mountains that encircled the lake; then he rowed homewards and stepped out of his boat just as the evening star was rising in the blue vault of the heavens. Now when he entered the lowly hut, he found his wife to be delivered of a tenth child, a son. The fisherman was greatly delighted, and only one small worry clouded his happy soul. He said: “Dear wife, pray tell me, who shall we ask to stand godfather? We have but few friends; it was difficult enough to find godfathers for the previous nine children, now how will it be with the tenth? Who will want to stand sponsor to such a poor fisherman’s child?” After he had revolved the matter in his mind, he said: “Early tomorrow morning I’ll walk down the highway and the first man I meet, I shall ask to be the godfather.”

With this resolve he lay himself down to rest, and as soon as day dawned he ran out onto the highway which passed in front of his hut and began to walk down it with a spring in his step. He had not gone far when a richly adorned rider on a black horse came trotting along towards him; but not daring to make his petition to the rider, he ran along beside him, looking at him entreatingly. Finally the rider spoke: “My dear man, I can tell that you would like to speak with me; what do you want? Pray, speak freely and openly.” Then the fisherman said, “As you have commanded me, so shall I tell you: yesterday my wife was delivered of my son, and not knowing to whom I should offer the godparenthood, I finally determined to approach the first man I would meet on the road to stand godfather to my little son; now, I saw you, my dear Sir, but did not dare to speak out.” When the man had finished speaking, the gentleman said: “You shall hear my answer right now. On account of necessary transactions, I cannot come in person to stand sponsor to your son, but send for a deputy, that will do just as well as my being there myself, and the child will be my godson and will remain so. On the evening of the day of baptism I shall call on you. But when will he be baptised?” The fisherman replied, “Tomorrow! But by your leave, I am a poor fisherman and will not be able to give the hospitality suited to your station.” “There is absolutely no need to worry,” replied the rider, “I shall attend to everything and arrange all the dishes for the meal.” After the fisherman had expressed his gratitude many times, he happily turned for home; but he had not gone far before the rider came racing up to him and cried: “I forgot one thing – when baptised, the child shall be given the name Hans!” Then he turned about to the left and rode away at full gallop. The fisherman was inexpressibly delighted; he stood still for a while, looking after the rider until he disappeared from his sight and all that could be seen was the cloud of dust raised by the haste of the horse’s hooves. When he returned home, he told his wife what had occurred; she shook her head and said anxiously, “Oh husband, what a foolish thing you have done! You know, do you not, the forester who lives over in the wood – this gentleman also stood sponsor to a son of his; later the scales fell from the forester’s eyes and he realised that it was the Devil; and he had the son given the name Hans.” The man comforted her, saying, “Don’t you be so anxious, just wait and see; this gentleman may well be someone quite different.”

Now the child was baptised on the following day, and everything was done as the unknown gentleman had ordered. Yet when evening arrived, at which time he was to present himself, the parents were not in good spirits. Suddenly the door opened and the gentleman whom the fisherman had met walked in, accompanied by two servants, who served the most sumptuous dishes without anyone being able to see where the food came from. Later, when they brought the noblest wine in sparkling goblets, the parents finally became merry – although the mother only appeared to be so. She had looked at the gentleman’s feet and had perceived a cloven hoof sticking out, every now and then, from under his long breeches, and all her joy and all her hopes disappeared. When the bell in the nearby town struck eleven, the hollow strokes resounding through the raven-black night, the gentleman spoke: “Soon, dear people, I must part from you; so raise your son as befits good parents and look after him until his fourteenth year, when I shall come to take him away with me and put him to some trade that will feed him well, and take care of him in other ways.” No sooner had it struck twelve than the stranger cried farewell to the honest fisherman, swung himself onto his black horse, and tore away at a roaring gallop while howling tempests blustered at his side. But the fisherman’s hair, and his wife’s, stood on end, and the wife cried out through her tears: “Oh, if only God had protected us! Our beloved child is in the Devil’s claws; when he is small, he will give us only trouble and pains; and when he is grown up, and should be our pleasure, then the Devil will fetch him and we may never see him again as long as we live.”

Their life together went on as before, the father plying his fisherman’s trade and the mother performing her domestic duties. In the meantime the son grew up to the pleasure and satisfaction of his parents. They sent him to school, where he learnt very diligently and showed signs of a powerful intellect. Now when he had accomplished his thirteenth year, he said to his father one day (it was the very day on which he had left school): “Father, I am big enough now, and I want to learn something that will give me the foundation to earn an honest living in the future.” “What do you really want to do?” asked the father. “Truth be told,” replied the son, “I want to be a hunter.” The father approved and gave his consent, and took his son to the forester who lived in a wood not far from his hut. There, with the forester, he became so skilled a marksman that no game, neither deer nor hare, could escape him. Soon he would complete his fourteenth year.

Then one day he visited his parents, and they revealed to him everything that had occurred on the days of his birth and baptism, which they had hitherto concealed from him for certain reasons. But the son was not frightened by this; his face shone with courage, and he said, “If it’s nothing worse than that, dear parents, then I shall soon settle the matter! When my birthday on which the Devil is to fetch me comes round, I shall come to you, father, and row with you out to the lake, and there I shall await him.”

Now when the first of May arrived, the young hunter went to his father early, before dawn had begun to break, and rowed out on the lake with him. It was still dark, but soon the sun shone forth in radiant splendour, reddening the waters. This day was just as lovely a day as the one on which the fisherman had fished the whole day long and then, in the evening, found his newborn son in the hut. Nothing had changed around the lake, the birds sang as charmingly as they had then, and the willow-hedges were blossoming with new life around the lake as they had been at that time. Only in the fisherman’s spirits had a considerable change taken place, for fourteen years before he had been cheerful and free from care, but now he was melancholy and full of care for the life of his son. Now when they had rowed hither and thither on the lake for a while, the gentleman with the black horse appeared on the bank and signalled to the fisherman with his hand. The hunter promptly snatched the tiller from his father and rowed, for all that the latter strenuously resisted, towards the gentleman. When he had almost reached the bank, he stopped the boat. Then the gentleman said, “So how are you, my son?” But the hunter answered, “That’s no concern of yours!” Then the gentleman spoke again, “And have you learnt anything?” The hunter replied, “I’m a hunter! But why do you ask?” The gentleman said, “Come with me, I shall teach you a better sport!” “I won’t go with you!” said the hunter. To which the gentleman said, “Why do you speak to me so familiarly? I am your Godfather, after all: just you come nearer!” Now the hunter rowed towards him, and when he had almost reached the bank he gave the Devil such a thump on the head with the tiller that the latter was momentarily stunned and fell into the water, where he swam around. The hunter now steered the boat into the middle of the lake, while the Devil, who realised that he was defeated, dragged himself up on to the bank, leapt on to his black horse, and galloped away. Yet he thought about how he could punish the mischievous knave, and he soon had an idea. While the hunter was still following the Devil with his eyes, he was suddenly seized by so powerful a whirlwind that he could not stay in the boat but was whipped up into the air and driven away, until at last, after an hour or so, he fell to the ground on the summit of a mountain. Walking hither and thither to investigate the area, he discovered that the mountain was as sheer as a cliff. How can I get down, he thought; but before he could devise a means of salvation the wind seized him anew and drove him far away again, until at last, thrown over a high wall, he fell down into a beautiful garden. There he lay, made weary by his rapid journeys through the air, and fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke from this, refreshed and thoroughly invigorated, he walked around the garden to explore it. What a wonderful garden it was! He walked through the daintiest arbours, flowerbeds and bushes, while above and around him sang birds of wondrous beauty, the likes of which he had never before seen nor heard, and every one of them was so tame that they all but flew onto his hands. There were flowers of incomparable beauty and the sweetest fragrance all around, seasoning the air, and crystal-clear springs and streams trickled coolly through the garden: in short, the youth believed himself in Paradise. He strolled around in it ceaselessly, until at length he came to a spacious, fair, blooming arbour; in it he found a small table covered with a profusion of the most palatable dishes and drinks; and being hungry, he sat down at it and ate his fill. When evening had come, he lay down on the grass bench that was situated in the arbour and sank into a deep slumber. Early the next day, when the sun had barely begun to rise, he was woken by the wondrous songs of the birds; he got up and strolled further through the garden. Suddenly he heard a dreadful rattling, and he soon saw what this meant. The high, thick walls parted and a magnificent coach drawn by four dapple-greys rolled in, and in a flash a marvellous castle was standing there; the wall slid shut again, and a lord and a beautiful lady alighted from that coach before the castle. Not wanting to be noticed, the hunter tried to swiftly creep behind a bush, but the lord had already seen him. “How did you come into my garden?” he asked him, and the hunter recounted all the particulars of his story. And the lord said, “Well, if you are a hunter, you shall stay with me! Outside this garden is a mountain, which belongs to me; there you will find game in great number, and there, every day, you shall shoot the meat for my roast.” And so the hunter stayed with him and had to eat at the lord’s table.

Every day he went with him into the garden; every time, the lord would walk up to the wall and it parted instantly, and they passed through; but the lord accompanied him every time and helped him come back in by making the wall open again. The hunter had exceptional skills, just as if they had been given by the Devil; for when the lord wished to put him to the test, he marked a black dot on a tree, and the hunter fired and cleanly hit the dot. Then a hare ran past and the lord said, “Shoot that hare!” But he replied, “We’ll let him run a little more!” And when the hare was so far away that they could hardly see it, the hunter fired his gun and the hare was weltering in its blood (or rather Lethe, as huntsmen call it). Then the lord said, “I have been wanting a lad like you for a long time, you’re just the man for me!” So the hunter spent the best of days here, and the only work he had to do was to supply his master with a few hares or some other game every day. Soon this sojourn became even more pleasant to him because he liked his master’s beautiful daughter beyond measure, and she secretly found the young hunter delightful. This eventually led to a mutual confession and to solemn vows of love. One day when they were promenading together in the garden, the Princess even gave him permission to go to her father and ask for her hand in marriage. Midday was appointed for this, and when the meal was over the hunter put forward his request. The lord said, “My dear son, I love you with all my heart, and this love will not refuse or deny you my only daughter.” The hunter was beside himself with joy at this consent. The marriage was arranged for the coming days; the hunter only requested that he might be allowed to visit his parents with his bride beforehand, to surprise them with his good fortune. The lord gave his permission. The very next day, the joyful hunter drove, with his beautiful bride-to-be, in a glittering coach drawn by four dapple-greys, through the wall which instantly opened at their approach and closed instantly behind their coach. On their journey, the bride gave the delighted bridegroom a ring and said, “Whenever you turn this ring on your finger, the wall will open by itself for you.” Now they travelled at random through many lands for a long time, but finally they came, as if guided by invisible powers, upon the road that led to his home. They soon arrived in the little village that was inhabited only by fishermen and poor folk. But how amazed was the bride when he cried Stop! before a miserable hut! He alighted. But she said, “So am I to become the wife of a destitute man? I am going to the inn.” He, however, entered his parents’ hut quite unworried, and great was the joy of their reunion. After he had told them the story of his good fortune, he betook himself to the inn, to travel with his beloved bride, who had, to be sure, wounded him with her haughtiness, back to the place of his good fortune. But how amazed was he when he heard that the beautiful Princess had not alighted at all; she had simply refreshed herself with a cool drink and then driven away in all haste. He stood, all-a-mort. Then he sadly crept away, not knowing whither he went, until at last he saw before him the mountain to which the Devil’s whirlwind had transported him. And hope began to stir in his despondent heart once more. “Perhaps your Devil Godfather will help you this time also!” he thought, and ascended the mountain with joyful steps. Soon he was on the barren spot where, formerly, the whirlwind had set him down so ungently, but he did not find any succour for his hope just yet. Below him he heard the rustling of a fearful forest of firs. “I’ll find deliverance there!” he cried, and walked into it with courageous steps. There, under a big fir-tree, he saw three wild men who seemed to him to be robbers, for they were quarrelling and squabbling vehemently, and they were just about to come to blows when he stepped in among them and said: “Tell me, what is the cause of your quarrel? I may be able to dispense advice, or even settle the dispute!” The robbers replied: “We robbed a sorcerer, taking from him a cloak with the property of making invisible the man who puts it on; also a Wishing-Hat: when you put this on your head the correct way and then say, I wish I were here or there, and you name a place, wherever it may be, you will be transported there on the instant, and if you turn the hat round so you are wearing it back-to-front, then by wishing yourself back at your previous location, you will find yourself there immediately; and finally we took a sword: you only have to touch someone’s head with it and their head will in an instant be lying at their feet, but if you point the sword at the sky and then sheathe it, the head will be back in its old place. We are now disputing the division of these three valuable objects. Everyone wants the hat, the cloak, and the sword, yet it is not permissible that one of us should receive these three items and the others nothing.” Such were the robbers’ words, and they demanded that he pronounce judgement on the division, to which they would willingly submit; and they even handed these three objects over to him, foolishly enough, for him to try out. He threw the cloak over his shoulders, and the robbers could see him no more; then he took the sword and struck off the head of all three of them; and finally he put the hat on the correct way and said: “I wish to be back in the castle where I formerly lived!” And in an instant, without his knowing how, he found himself before the castle wall. Taking off his cloak, he turned the ring on his finger, the wall parted, and he walked into the castle. He was astonished to find everything there decorated in the most magnificent fashion; the smell of exquisite dishes wafted towards him from the kitchen, which was in a state of animated activity and bustling tumult. So he walked in and asked what the meaning of all this was. By way of reply, he was told that the wedding of the lovely Princess was being celebrated, for she had brought a handsome young Count, her bridegroom, back with her from her journey, and she had remarked that never would she wed the son of a poor fisherman. Dreadfully taken aback by all that he had heard, the Devil’s Godson threw his cloak over and around him, making himself invisible. Then he walked into the room where the wedding-guests were assembled and saw the new bridegroom sitting with his bride. Full of wrath, he sat down between the two, but they did not see him. A plate full of soup had just been placed before them; he seized it and tipped the soup out. In amazement the betrothed couple looked at one another, not knowing which invisible power had caused the plate to rise and shed its contents. Now the bridegroom grasped a piece of meat and was about to raise it to his mouth when – hey presto! there it lay, under the table. Now the bride tried this, but the bite of food flew with her fork into a corner. All the wedding guests were astonished, and horror and a secret fear came over them all, so that everyone’s hair stood on end. Then the hunter threw off his cloak, and how startled was the bride when she saw him sitting between her and her bridegroom! He leapt up and spoke to the Count: “Who gave you permission to abduct my bride?” and the next moment the Count’s head lay on the floor. The bride threw her arms around the hunter’s neck and hugged and kissed him. “Oh, my dear darling,” she said, “how grievously I insulted you, when I gave up your pure love for nobility and preferment! My bridegroom and I are not yet joined in marriage by the hands of the priest; oh, forgive me my trespass, I love you just as dearly as before, and accept me back as your bride!” He replied, “I forgive you, and shall right away use this day’s celebration for our marriage; as for your second bridegroom, whom I do not know to be either an evil or a good man, he will be so good as to come back!” Without further ado, he seized his sword, pointed it towards the sky and sheathed it, and in a trice the Count’s head was back on his neck. Everyone was astounded. The Count, deeply moved, fell at his feet and thanked him for having brought him back to life. He declared that he would readily renounce his claim and the hunter might feel free to keep the bride, whom he had been engaged to first; only, he should refrain from performing any further decapitations on him. Then the Count departed. Now a priest was sent for to confirm the happy couple in holy matrimony. When this had been done, the hunter thought of the three robbers, the directors of his good fortune, and it seemed to him unjust to abandon them eternally to death. Their heads still lay at their feet, and he decided to return them to their old place. So he pointed the sword at the sky and thrust it into its sheath, and after doing this he was firmly convinced that the robbers had been brought back to life, and also that they no longer needed to quarrel about the division. And the hunter lived in undisturbed bliss with his wife until the end of his days.

16. The Hunt of Life

Once upon a time there was a hunter who entered a forest in a desolate wilderness to hunt. There he came upon the track of an animal, but when he finally discovered the beast he wished he had never set eyes on it, for it was a mighty unicorn, and it was pitting itself against him. Hurriedly he turned and fled, the unicorn pursuing him all the while, until he came to a sheer rock face, whose precipitous incline was sprayed far below by the waves of a dark lake. In the lake swam a monstrous dragon which violently opened its jaws wide and gaping; suddenly the hunter slipped, and he would have plunged straight down towards the lake and into the dragon’s maw had he not held on to a shrub that had sprouted forth from a cleft in the rock. So now the hunter was in an agonising situation. Up above, the terrible unicorn stood like a guard, and down below the horrible sea-serpent lay in wait for his headlong fall. In this plight, his dread and anguish were further heightened, for all of a sudden he espied two mice, a white mouse and a black mouse; they began to gnaw at the roots of the shrub, and the hunter was not able to shoo them away because he had to hold on with both hands. So he was necessarily in a constant state of expectation that the roots would cease to hold the shrub in place. Above them there was a tree from which sweet honey trickled down, and the hunter would have dearly liked to reach this tree, for he supposed he would be freed from his torment thereby; and in thoughts of the tree he forgot all the danger that threatened him. We do not know if was successfully delivered from his threefold torment, or if the mice gnawed all the way through the shrub’s roots.

The ancient author of this tale gives it an allegorical interpretation, as thus: The hunter – that is man; and the unicorn – that is Death, whom man encounters sooner than he had envisaged and who follows him evermore. The sheer rock face is the earth, and the shrub is life, to which man clings by fragile bonds. The white and the black mice which gnaw at the root of life are day and night, or restless time, which saps our life. The dark lake is Hell, and its dragon is the Devil, who lie in wait for man to fall into their jaws. As for the honey-tree, it is love, that which sweetens life, that which man strives towards, hoping to win it between misery and death, between agony and anguish, heeding no danger; and he finds his earthly bliss when his labours to attain it succeed. But man must be on his guard every day, as the mice gnaw at the roots of life, lest he fall into the Lake of Damnation.

17. The Golden Roebuck

Once upon a time there were two poor siblings, a boy and a girl, and the girl was called Margarete while the boy was called Hans. Their parents had died and had left neither house nor harbour, so they had to go out and beg to keep themselves alive. Both were still too small and weak to work; for Hans was only twelve years of age and Gretchen was even younger. In the evening, they would knock at the nearest house and request a bed for the night, and they had been received, fed, and watered by good, charitable people many times; also, many a merciful soul had made them a present of a garment.

And so they came one evening to a house which stood all alone; they knocked on the window, and when an old woman looked out directly afterwards they asked her if they might not stay there overnight. The answer was, “If you like, come on in!” But as they were entering, the woman said: “Now, I’ll keep you here overnight, but if my husband discovers this, then you are lost; for he likes to eat roasted young human, which is why he slaughters all the children who come his way.” The children felt terribly afraid, but they could go no no further, for dark night had set in. So they readily let the woman conceal them in a barrel, where they kept perfectly still. But they took a long time to go to sleep, especially as they heard, after an hour, the heavy tread of a man who was presumably the ogre. They were soon made certain of this, for he began to scold his wife, bellowing because she had not dressed any roasted human flesh for him. In the morning he left the house again, lumbering so loudly that the children, who had finally fallen asleep, awoke at the noise.

When they had been given some breakfast by the woman, she said: “You children must now do something in return – here are two brooms for you, go upstairs and sweep out my rooms for me, there are twelve in all, but you will sweep only eleven; you must not, for Heaven’s sake, open the twelfth. I am going out at present. Be diligent, so that you’ve finished by the time I return.” The children swept very busily and were soon finished. Now Gretchen was burning with curiosity to know what was in the twelfth room that they were not allowed to see, having been forbidden to open the door. She had a little peek through the keyhole, and she saw a splendid little golden cart with a golden roebuck harnessed to it. Quickly she called over to Hans that he too should have a peek inside. And after they had had a thorough look to check that the woman was not coming back, and there was still no sign of her anywhere, then they hurriedly opened the door, pulled out the cart along with the roebuck, sat themselves down in the cart, and drove up and away. But it was not long before they saw, in the distance, the old woman and the ogre as well coming towards them, on the very road they had taken with the stolen cart. Hans spoke: “Oh sister, what shall we do? If the old couple discover us, we’re done for.” – “Quiet!” said Gretchen. “I know a powerful spell, which I learned from our grandmother:

Rose-red roses prick and pain,

Think you see me? Think again!

and they were instantly changed into a rosebush. Gretchen became a rose, Hans became its thorns, the roebuck became the stalk, and the cart became the leaves.

Now they both, the ogre and his wife, came walking up, and she wanted to break off the beautiful rose, but she pricked herself so badly that her fingers bled, and she walked angrily away. When the old ones had gone, the children hastily set out and drove on and soon came to an oven which was full of bread. From inside they heard a hollow voice cry: “Pull my bread out, pull my bread out!” Gretchen quickly pulled the bread out and put it in the cart, then they drove on. And they came to a large pear-tree, hung all over with beautiful ripe fruit, and from the tree there sounded a voice: “Shake my pears down, shake my pears down!” At once Gretchen shook the tree, and Hans very eagerly helped to pick the pears up and pile them into the golden cart. And next they came to a vine which called out in a pleasant voice: “Pick my grapes, pick my grapes!” Meg picked these and stowed them in her cart.

But in the meantime the ogre and his wife had arrived home and had discovered, to their fury, that the children had stolen their golden cart together along its roebuck, just as this couple had stolen cart and roebuck many years before, committing murder on top of theft: they had slain the rightful owner. The cart with the roebuck harnessed to it was not only of great value in itself but also possessed the excellent property that its driver would be showered with gifts wherever he went, from tree and berry-bush, from oven and vine. And so these people, the ogre and his wife, had been in possession, albeit a wrongful one, of the cart for many years, had been the recipients of choice provisions, and had lived thereby in the lap of luxury. Now when they saw that they had been robbed of their cart, they speedily set out in pursuit of the children to retrieve the exquisite spoils from them. While they ran, the ogre’s mouth was watering at the thought of roasted human flesh; for it was his intent to catch and slaughter the children immediately. The old couple ran after the children with long strides and these soon came into sight driving ahead in the distance. The children now came to a large pond and could go no further; moreover, there was neither a ferry nor a bridge there for them to flee across. There were only a large number of ducks to be seen on the pond, merrily swimming around. Gretchen lured them to the bank, threw feed to them, and said:

“Little ducks, little ducks, all swim together,

Make me a bridge so that I can cross over!”

Then the ducks swam together with one mind, forming a bridge, and the children together with the roebuck and cart arrived safely on the far bank. But the ogre came racing along behind them, nastily growling:

“Little ducks, little ducks, all swim together,

Make me a bridge so that I can cross over!”

The ducks quickly swam together and carried both the old ones over – do you think? No! In the middle of the pond, where the water was deepest, the ducks swam asunder, and the evil ogre, together with his old wife, fell splash into the water and perished. And Hans and Meg became very affluent people, but they used their godsend to make many donations to the poor, and they did a great deal of good, for they always remembered how bitter life had been when they were poor and had to beg their bread.

18. The Nut-Twig

Once upon a time there was a rich merchant who had to travel to foreign lands on business. Now when he took his leave, he said to his three daughters: “Dear daughters, I would like to give you a treat on my return, therefore tell me what I should bring back for you.” The eldest said, “Dear father, a lovely pearl necklace for me!” The middle one said, “I’d like a ring with a diamond on it.” The youngest snuggled up to her father’s breast and whispered, “A lovely green hazel-twig for me, daddy.” – “Very well, my dear daughters!” said the merchant. “I’ll attend to that, and so farewell.”

The merchant travelled far away and made large purchases, but he also faithfully remembered his daughters’ wishes. He had already packed a valuable pearl necklace in his suitcase to delight his eldest with, and he had bought a diamond ring of equal value for the middle daughter. But he could not espy a green hazel-twig anywhere, however hard he tried. On the journey home he therefore covered long stretches on foot, and his way frequently taking him through forests, he hoped to eventually come upon a nut-tree; but for long he hoped in vain, and the good father began to feel his spirits sink at not being able to carry out the harmless request of his youngest and dearest daughter.

Finally, when he was walking so sorrowfully on his way, which just happened to take him through a dark forest and past thick bushes, he bumped his hat against a branch, and it rattled, as if hailstones were falling on it; when he looked up, he saw a lovely green hazel-twig, from which there hung a bunch of golden nuts. The man was delighted, and reaching up with his hand he broke off the splendid twig. But at that very instant, a wild bear shot out of the thicket and reared up on its hind paws, growling furiously, as though it intended to tear the merchant limb from limb. And in a terrible voice he roared, “Why did you break off my hazel-twig, you? Why? I’m going to eat you.” Shaking with terror and trembling, the merchant said, “O dear bear, don’t eat me, and let me go my way with the hazel-twig, I’ll give you a large ham and lots of sausages for it!” But the bear roared again, “Keep your ham and your sausages! Only if you promise me to give me the first thing you meet at home will I not eat you.” The merchant readily agreed to this, for he called to mind how his poodle usually ran towards him on his return, and he was willing to sacrifice it to save his own life. After a strong handshake the bear calmly lumbered back into the thicket; and the merchant, heaving a sigh of relief, strode rapidly and happily on his way.

The golden hazel-twig shone resplendently in the merchant’s hat as he hurried towards his home. Joyfully did the youngest girl skip towards her beloved father; the poodle came after her in wild bounds, and the elder daughters and the mother walked rather less quickly out the front door to welcome the arrival. How the merchant started when his youngest daughter was the first to fly towards him! Concerned and distressed, he evaded the happy child’s embrace and, after the initial greetings, he informed his family what had befallen him with the hazel-twig. Then they all wept and were sad at heart, but the youngest daughter showed the most courage and resolved to fulfil her father’s promise. And the mother soon devised a good expedient, saying, “Let us not be afraid, my dears, for if the bear should come and remind you, my dear husband, of your promise, then we’ll give him the shepherd’s daughter instead of our youngest, he will be satisfied with her.” This suggestion was approved and the daughters were happy again and were delighted with their lovely presents. The youngest wore the hazel-twig all the time; she soon completely forgot about the bear and her father’s promise.

But one day a dark coach rattled through the street before the merchant’s house, and the ugly bear climbed out and walked growling into the house and up to the startled merchant, desiring the fulfilment of his promise. Quickly and secretly, the shepherd’s daughter, who was very ugly, was fetched, prettily dressed, and put in the bear’s coach. And they set off. On the way, the bear laid its wild, shaggy head on the shepherdess’s lap and growled:

“Scratch and scrabble behind my ears,

Do it gently, do it neatly,

Or I’ll eat you up completely!”

And the girl began to scrabble, but she did not do it to the bear’s liking, and he realised that he had been betrayed; and he was about to eat the well-dressed shepherdess but she, in mortal terror, quickly leapt out of the coach.

After this, the bear drove up to the merchant’s house once more and demanded the true bride with fearful threats. And so the charming girl had to appear, to go away with her ugly bridegroom after a hard and bitter parting. On the way he growled again, laying his rough head on the girl’s lap:

“Scratch and scrabble behind my ears,

Do it gently, do it neatly,

Or I’ll eat you up completely!”

And the girl scrabbled, and so gently that it pleased him, and his fearful bear’s expression was softened, so that the poor bear-bride gradually began to trust in him. The journey did not take very long, for the coach drove tremendously fast, like a whirlwind racing through the air. They soon arrived in a very gloomy forest, where the coach suddenly halted before a darkly gaping cave. This was the bear’s dwelling. Oh, how the girl trembled! And all the more, when the bear enfolded her in his fearful clawed arms and said to her in a friendly growl, “Here shall you live, little bride, and be happy, provided that you behave well inside so my wild beasts do not tear you apart.” And when the two of them had taken several steps inside the dark cave, he opened an iron door and walked with his bride into a room that was full of venomous snakes, which greedily darted their tongues at them. And the bear growled into his little bride’s ear:

“Don’t look around!

Not right, not left;

But eyes in line, and you’ll be fine.”

And the girl did walk through the room without looking around, and as long as she did so, no snake wriggled or squiggled. And in this way did they pass through ten more rooms, and the last one was full of the most hideous creatures, dragons and snakes, toads swollen with venom, basilisks and lindworms. And the bear growled in every room:

“Don’t look around!

Not right, not left;

But eyes in line, and you’ll be fine.”

The girl trembled and shook with fear and anxiety, like an aspen-leaf, but she held her nerve and did not look around, not to the right, not to the left. But when the door to the twelfth room opened, a dazzling gleam of light shone towards them both, delightful music rang out from inside, and everywhere there were loud cries like joyful cheers – the sound of jubilation. Before the bride could begin to gather her thoughts, still trembling from the horrors she had seen, and now this surprising loveliness – there was a terrible clap of thunder, whence she thought that Heaven and Earth were breaking asunder. But all soon became calm again. The forest, the cave, the poisonous beasts, the bear – had vanished; a magnificent castle with rooms decorated in gold and handsomely dressed servants stood there instead, and the bear had become a handsome young man, the Prince of the marvellous castle, who now pressed his dear little bride to his heart and thanked her a thousand times for having so kindly and obligingly released him and his servants, the beasts, from their enchantment.

The girl, now so high-ranking and rich a Princess, still wore her lovely hazel-twig at her breast, and it had the property of never withering; and now she wore it all the more fondly because it had been the key to her fair fortune. Her parents and her sisters were soon informed of this favourable fate, and they were taken in to the castle by the Bear-Prince, to live a marvellous life of luxury for ever after.

19. The Old Wizard and his Children

Once upon a time there was a wicked wizard who had, a good while before, abducted two children of tender age, a boy and a girl, and he lived with them in a cave, quite solitary and hermit-like. He had promised these children, more’s the pity, to the Evil One, and he practised his wicked arts from a book of magic which he safeguarded as his greatest treasure.

Now whenever it happened that the wizard went forth from his cave, and the children were left behind on their own, then the boy would read some of the book of magic, having espied the place where the old man kept it hidden, and so he learned many a spell and many a charm of the Black Arts, and he learned to do magic quite splendidly. Now because the old man allowed the children out of the cave only rarely, intending to keep them confined until the day when they would fall victim to the Evil One, so their longing to get away from there grew all the stronger, and they discussed with each other how they could secretly make their escape; and one day, when the wizard had left the cave very early, the boy spoke to his sister: “Now is the time, little sister! The wicked man who keeps us so closely confined has gone, so let us get ready and go away from this place, as far as our feet can carry us!” And the children did this, setting out and then walking all day long.

Now when it was almost afternoon, the wizard returned home and saw at once that the children were missing. Straightaway he opened his book of magic and read inside which region the children had gone towards. Then he set off without delay and followed the trail of the children, full of wrath and fury. And by the time evening fell, he had almost caught them up; the children could hear his voice roaring in anger, and the sister was filled with fear and horror, and she cried: “Brother, brother! Now we are lost; the wicked man is almost upon us!” Then the boy made use of the magic arts he had learned from the book; he spoke a spell, and there and then his sister became a fish while he himself became a large pond in which the little fish swam cheerfully around.

When the old man arrived at the pond, he clearly perceived that he had been outwitted, and he crossly grumbled: “Just you wait, just you wait, I’ll catch you yet!” Then he ran post-haste back to his cave to fetch nets to catch the fish in. Once he had gone, the pond and the fish became the brother and sister again, who hid themselves securely, had a good sleep, and set out again the next morning, once again walking all day long.

When the wicked wizard returned with his nets to the place, which he had carefully marked, there was no longer any pond to be seen, just a green meadow with no shortage of frogs but not a fish for the catching; and he grew even angrier than before, threw down his nets, and once more followed the trail of the children, who could not elude him because he carried in his hand a magic wand that showed him the way to go.

And when evening came he had again almost caught up with the wandering children; they could hear him snorting and roaring, and again the sister cried: “Brother, dear brother! Now we are lost, the Evil One is right behind us!”

Once more the boy spoke an incantation he had learned from the book, and so he became a roadside chapel, while the girl became a beautiful altarpiece in that chapel.

Now when the wizard arrived at the chapel, he clearly perceived that he had been made a fool of once again, and he ran around it roaring dreadfully; yet he was not able to enter, for it was always written in the pacts wizards made with the Evil One that they might never set foot in either church or chapel.

“If I can’t enter you, then I shall smite you with fire and burn you to ashes!” screamed the wizard, and he raced away to fetch kindling from his cave.

He ran throughout most of the night, and in the meantime the chapel and the beautiful altarpiece became brother and sister again; they hid themselves and slept, and on the third morning they set out again and walked all day long, while the wizard, who had a long way to travel, pursued them anew. When he came with his kindling to the place where the chapel had been, he banged his nose against a rock, which could not be smitten with fire and burned to ashes, and then he ran off at a furious pace, following the trail of the children.

Towards evening he was very close to them, and for the third time the sister quailed and gave herself up for lost; but the boy spoke another incantation he had learned from the book, and he became a hard floor which people use for threshing, and his little sister was transformed into a corn, which lay as if lost on the threshing floor.

When the wicked wizard drew near, he clearly saw he had been made a fool of a third time, but on this occasion he did not hesitate, and he did not run off back home, but rather spoke a spell he had learned from the Book of Magic, and he was transformed into a black cock, which swiftly ran towards the barleycorn to peck it up; but the boy spoke yet another incantation he had learned from the book, and he quickly became a fox, seized the black cock before he could peck the barleycorn up, and bit his head off – and so the wizard came, like this tale, to a sudden end.

20. Godfather Death

There once lived a very poor man called Klaus, whom God had blessed with an abundance of riches which gave him grievous care – to wit, twelve children; and then, a little later on, there came another little one, being the thirteenth child. The poor man was at his wits’ end with worry as to where he could find a godfather, for his whole kith and kin had already stood sponsor to his children, and he dared not hope to find a compassionate soul who would sponsor his newborn babe among his friends. So he resolved to turn to the first complete stranger who came along, a resolution made all the more easily as many of his acquaintances had previously, in similar circumstances, refused him most hardheartedly.

Now the poor father walked down the highway, willing to offer the godfatherhood of his little child to the first oncomer. And behold! Soon he encountered a very amiable man, of imposing appearance, well-proportioned, neither old nor young, with a gentle and kind countenance; and it seemed to the poor man that the trees and flowers and all the grasses and cornstalks bowed before this figure. Then Klaus was persuaded that He was the Good Lord, and he doffed his shabby cap, folded his hands together and said the Lord’s Prayer. And it was indeed the Good Lord, who knew what Klaus wanted before he had asked, and said: “You seek a godfather for your child! Well now, I shall sponsor him, I, the Good Lord”. “You are all too gracious, Dear Lord!” Klaus answered, despondent. “But I thank you; you give estates to the haves and children to the have-nots, so that both often lack what they most need, and the rich man feasts while the poor man starves!” Upon these words the Lord turned round and was seen no more. Klaus walked on, and when he had gone a fair way, there came towards him a fellow who not only looked like the Devil but really was him, and he asked Klaus whom he sought. – He was seeking a godfather for his little child. “Oh then, take me – I’ll make him rich!” – “Who are you!” asked Klaus. “I am the Devil!” “The Devil, indeed!” cried Klaus, and he took the measure of the man, from his horns to his cloven hoof. Then he said, “With all due respect, go back to your home and your grandmother. I do not want you for godfather, you are the worst of all evils! God be with us!”

Then the Devil turned around, making an atrocious grimace at Klaus; and filling the air with a stench of sulphur, he flew away. Hereupon the father met yet another man, as spindly as a rake, like a hop pole, so thin that he rattled; he also asked, “Whom do you seek?” and offered to stand godfather to the child. “Who are you?” asked Klaus. “I am Death!” said the other in a husky croak. -Then Klaus was frightened to death, but he plucked up courage and thought: my thirteenth son would be best in his keeping, and he said, “You’re the man for me! Poor or rich, you level all. It’s a deal! You shall be godfather to my son. Just present yourself on time; the christening is to be on Sunday.”

And on Sunday Death came in due order and became a proper gaffer – that is, godfather – to the little one, and the boy grew and prospered happily enough. Now when he had reached that age at which a man must learn a trade, that he may in future earn his daily bread – at that time his godfather came and bid the boy walk with him into a dark forest. There were all kinds of herbs there, and Death spoke: “Now, my godson, you shall receive your christening gift from me. You shall become the best of all doctors with the help of the one true medicinal herb which I now place in your hands. But heed my words. Every time you are summoned to a patient’s bedside, you will see my figure.

“If I stand at the invalid’s head, you may affirm that you will make him well, and give him to eat of the herb; if, however, he must bite the dust, I shall stand at his feet; then simply say, “No doctor in the world may help here, not even I.” And do not use the medicinal herb against my mighty will, or it shall fare badly with you!”

With those words, Death departed and the young man started on his journey; and in no time at all the reputation and the fame of being the greatest doctor on Earth, for he could tell at a glance whether an invalid would live or die, went before him. And so it was indeed. When this doctor beheld Death at the patient’s feet, he sighed, and said a prayer for the soul of the one departing this life; but if he beheld the figure of Death at the bedhead, then he gave a few drops he had squeezed from the medicinal herb, and the invalid recovered. And so his fame increased from day to day.

Now it so happened that the marvellous doctor came to a land whose King lay grievously ill, and the court physicians had abandoned hope of his recovery. But because Kings like to die the least, the old King hoped to experience a miracle in the form of the wonder-working doctor restoring him to health, so he had him summoned and promised him the greatest reward. This King had a daughter who was as beautiful and good as an angel.

When the doctor entered the King’s chamber, he saw two figures standing by his bed: at his head, the beautiful Princess, weeping; and at his feet, cold Death. And the Princess implored him so piteously to save her beloved father, but the figure of his dark godfather stood still and unyielding. Then the doctor devised a ruse. He had nimble servants swiftly turn the bed round, and he quickly gave the King a drop of the medicinal herb, so that Death was cheated and the King saved. Death retreated, incensed, menacingly wagging a long bony finger at his godson.

This youth was passionately in love with the charming princess, and she bestowed her love on him from heartfelt gratitude. But soon afterwards she fell gravely and severely ill, and the King, who loved her above all else, had it proclaimed that the doctor who could heal her would have her to wife and afterwards be King. Then high hopes blazed in the youth’s heart, and he hastened to the invalid – but Death stood at her feet. In vain did the doctor throw imploring glances at his godfather to change his place and step a little further up, to be at the patient’s head if possible. Death did not budge an inch, and the invalid, who seemed on the point of passing away, looked at the youth with eyes pleading for her life. Then Death’s godson had recourse to his ruse once again, having the Princess’s bed swiftly turned around and hurriedly giving her some drops of the medicinal herb, so that she soon revived and gave her lover a grateful smile. But Death conceived a mortal hatred for the youth, and seizing him with iron ice-cold hands he took him from that place and into a wide underground cavern. In this cavern there were burning many thousands of candles, tall ones, medium-sized ones, small ones, and tiny ones; many were going out and others were kindling; and Death spoke to his godson, “Behold, here burns the candle of every human life; the tall ones are those of children, the medium-sized ones those of people in their prime, and the small ones those of the old and the hoary; yet even children and the young have oft but a small flame of life that soon burns out.”

“Show me mine!” the doctor asked Death, and the latter pointed to a very little stump, which threatened to go out at any moment. “Ah, my dearest godfather!” said the youth, “Might you renew it for me, that I may wed my beautiful bride, the Princess, and become her husband and the King?” “That cannot be,” Death retorted coldly. “A candle must first burn down to the wick before a new one is set in place and lighted.” “Then don’t delay but place a new candle on the old one!” cried the doctor – and Death said, “I shall do so!” He took a long candle, shaped as if to set it in place, but purposely missed his mark, knocking the stump over so that it went out. At the very same moment, the doctor sank to the ground and was dead. No herb that grows on earth can counter death.

21. Starling and Bathtub

A handsome young horseman halted in front of a forest inn, and a pretty maid stepped out the door, greeted him demurely, and asked him what he desired. He called for a goblet of chilled wine, which the maiden brought him. But the horseman would not drink until the maid had sipped the wine with her rosy lips and proffered him the goblet. Now while he was drinking, the landlady stepped out, an ugly woman with a brown complexion and a repugnant appearance. The horseman addressed her: “Hallo, hostess! You have in truth a splendid daughter! Is that not so?” – “No, Sir!” the landlady replied. “This lass here is not my daughter, she is just a maid I adopted, who has no parents and no home. I took her in out of pity.”

The horseman felt love for the beautiful maid, and after dismounting he requested a bed for the night, and that the maid prepare a footbath for him, for he would like to talk with her. The landlady commanded the girl to go into the garden and pick rosemary, thyme, and marjoram for the bath. It gave her pleasure and joy to do this, and she went and picked the herbs, and a starling flew onto a bush beside her and sang and said, “Alas, O Bride! You are to wash the squire’s feet in that bathtub in which you were borne hither! Your father died of a broken heart, and your mother almost grieved herself to death over you!

Alas, O Bride, you abandoned stray,

Don’t know who your parents are to this day!”

Then the pious maid was startled and stricken with grief, and wept while preparing the bath in the little tub, and then carried it up to the room where the young knight was awaiting her. When he saw her weeping, he asked: “Why do you weep, fair one? Wouldn’t you like to be merry with me?”

“How can I be merry with you?” she asked back through her tears. “I am crying over the words the starling sang when I was picking the herbs for your bath down there in the garden. The starling, he sang: ‘Alas, O Bride! You are to wash the squire’s feet in that bathtub in which you were borne hither! Your father died of a broken heart, and your mother almost grieved herself to death over you!

Alas, O Bride, you abandoned stray,

Don’t know who your parents are to this day!’”

Then the lord looked at the bathtub and saw on it the coat of arms of the King of the Rhine, and his astonishment knew no bounds, and he cried: “That is my father’s escutcheon! How did this tub come to be in this low inn?”

Then a bird beat against the outside of the window; it was the starling again, and he sang: “She was borne here in the bathtub!

Alas, O Bride, you abandoned stray,

Don’t know who your parents are to this day!’”

Now the young lord saw a birthmark on the maid’s neck, and he cried out with joy: “God bless you, fairest one! You are my dear sister! Your father was the King on the Rhine! Christine is your mother’s name! My name is Conrad, and I am your twin brother. That is why, the very first moment I saw you, my heart felt so intense a yearning for you!” Then they fell into one another’s arms and wept, went down on their knees and thanked God, and spoke affectionate words to each other all through the night. Now when dawn was breaking, the landlady, at the door, called out in a loud voice dripping with scorn: “Get up, get up, young bride, and sweep out your lady’s room!” But it was the voice of Lord Conrad which replied: “Neither is she a young bride, nor shall she sweep out the landlady’s room! Just bring us the morning wine yourself!” When the landlady had entered with the morning wine, Lord Conrad asked her: “From whom and from where do you have this noble maiden? She is a King’s daughter and my sister!”

The landlady turned white as a sheet and fell trembling to her knees, but could not utter a word; yet there was no need to, for the starling was there at the window again, revealing the landlady’s evil deed by singing: “In the green grass of a pleasure garden there sat a delicate child in a bathtub, and when her nurse had left her side just for a moment, the evil gypsy came and carried both child and bathtub away!”

Hearing this, Lord Conrad was so incensed that he drew his sword and skewered it through the landlady’s ears, in one ear and out the other. Then he chastely kissed his beautiful sister, took the bathtub, led her out of the house by her snow-white hand, and lifted her into the saddle; and she had to carry the bathtub before her, on her lap. The starling perched on her shoulder. So they rode to the Royal Castle on the Rhine, where their mother, the Queen, ruled; and as they rode through the gate their mother came to meet them. Greatly surprised, she asked: “Oh, my dearest son! What a hussy you are bringing in here! Why, she bears a bathtub with her, as if she were bearing a child!”

“Oh, my dearest mother!” the young king’s son replied. “She is no hussy, but she is your daughter Gertrude, who was stolen from you in this tub!” Then the Princess climbed out of the saddle, and the Queen fell into a swoon for sheer delight, from which she came round in the arms of her children. The starling sang: “Today it is exactly eighteen years since the King’s daughter was abducted and carried over the Rhine in this tub!” So sang the starling, with these words as well:

“The gypsy’s ears now ache so sore,

She won’t steal children any more!”

The Princess had a goldsmith summoned and ordered him to forge a little golden grille for the bathtub, and she put the starling into it and took care of him until the end of his days.

22. The Two Ball-shaped Millers

Once upon a time there was a miller who was by nature very strong and fat, but because he wished to be secure against cut and stab, against bolt and arrow, he put himself into an extraordinary outfit. In the first place, he had a doublet made for himself, which he lined with chalk and sand; and to bind it together, he had molten pitch poured in. On the back he made a lining of several baskets, and the front he plated with old rasps and iron potlids; and the doublet became heavier than the heaviest cuirass breastplate and backplate ever worn by a warlike knight.

Over this the miller pulled on three shirts, and under the doublet he donned a real suit of armour, then another suit of armour over the shirts, and over that he pulled on nine loden jackets, like the ones wool-weavers in Swabia manufacture to this day. Now when the miller had put on this monumental bulwark of clothes, keeping his legs safe with more than four pairs of old lederhosen, one of top of the other, he was such an imposing, ball-shaped fellow, that he was just as wide as he was high, as a real ball must be; and he could not go out or in a city gate without being squeezed through, and could barely shift or stir, so his friends had to walk with him, lead him, and escort him. Now as he went to St. Oswald’s Fair every year, wishing to show himself to the people, so he drove up and down on a cart in his armour and with such a panoply of weapons as no one had ever seen. The cart was drawn by four strong oxen, and it was followed by all the peasants of his village with their wives and children, and they hid behind the miller’s cart when an enemy appeared as behind a fortress or a screen. He was armed with two spears and a crossbow, at his side hung a sword the length of a man, a two-handed one; and beside him lay a bow, along with a quiver.

Now when the ball-shaped miller came with his cart and his four oxen to a certain mountain, over which the road led, he waited for a few nephews with their wives and children, who helped to push the cart up the height, while six oxen pulled at the front as an extra team, and in this way they finally brought him to the top with moil and toil and the shedding of many drops of sweat. When going down again on the other side of the mountain, the wheels of the cart had to be trigged as much as possible so the ball-shaped miller would not roll down head over heels. Now when his kin had finally brought him to his destination, he was let down from the cart with ladders and levers, like a large, full barrel of wine; and then they gathered around him, but mostly behind him, like the Philistines behind their Goliath.

In addition to this, the round meal-sack was of great strength and fearlessness, and it was rumoured of him that he once, in a mock tournament, where one warrior carried an apple on the point of his sword, and another carried a pear, and a great commotion arose – he entered the middle of the press, striking out with the force of a hailstorm in the cereal crops, which brings great suffering to many a peasant. But then he encountered an enemy, a strong and powerful one, who struck such a blow to the miller’s head that his metal helmet fell straight down to the ground, and everyone who saw this thought that the head had flown off the miller’s trunk with it; however, the ball-shaped warrior, when his opponent was raising his arm, had quickly drawn his head down out of the helmet and under his high hauberk, and now he gave his opponent a stroke that cut as deeply into his neck as the mower’s scythe into grass. So all were afraid of this mighty man, to whom the heroic feats of warriors in tales seemed nothing more than jests.

Now there was another miller in the neighbourhood, who was just as big and strong, just as ball-shaped, and wore just such a well-lined and metal-plated doublet, and neither of them could stand the other, for neither of them would accept second place. And they had hated and warred against one another for ten years. At every parish fair they attended, they went to loggerheads, fighting with words and weapons; but neither of them could do any harm to the other, and they were two greatly feared champions. One of the millers had a son, the other a daughter, who loved one another as ardently as their fathers hated each other, and this made the conflict even more intense; until, in the end, good and judicious friends interposed and advised both millers to become good friends and let their children marry.

When the rumour of the alliance of the two millers rang out through the land, and of their even intending to bind their children in marriage, there arose great unrest and apprehension, for it was plain for everyone to see that the two ball-shaped millers would be like two millstones between which anyone who came too close would be rubbed out. And now whoever came too close to the one miller would find himself having to deal with both of them, and no Prince could overcome both doublets, for the millers resembled round castles and they could not be starved out by a siege, having as they did many a peck of corn in their doublets on which they could subsist for a long time. Now, as the two invincible heroes were so manly that the Emperor himself would have had a great deal of trouble overcoming them, so it could not but delight one and all that they turned their great might against the enemies of the realm, craving no pay or reward at all, save only the honour of being able to fight and do battle. And their only complaint was this, that so many days passed on which they could not catch sight of an opponent, because their reputation had spread so far and wide that everyone was afraid of them.

Many valiant feats were accomplished by the two ball-shaped millers after they were united, and if these deeds and the adventures they underwent had been written down, a book would have been made twice as big as the Bible and the Chronicles of the World. They also performed more miraculous deeds than all the heroes whose tales are told in the ancient legends and lays. In the end, they took up residence far away at the world’s end, and if they have not died, they will still be alive today.

23. The Judge and the Devil

In a town there lived a man whose every chest was filled with gold and goods, while he himself was full of every kind of vice; so wicked was he, it seemed to everyone nothing short of miraculous that the earth had not swallowed him up. This man was a Justice as well – that is to say, a Justice who was full of every kind of injustice. One market-day he rode out in the morning to see his beautiful vineyard, and on his way home the Devil approached him, in rich clothes and the figure of a very fine gentleman. As the judge did not know who this stranger was, but was eager to find this out, he asked him, not in the politest manner, who he was and whence he came. The Devil answered: “It is better for you that you not know who I am and where I’m from!” “Oho!” exclaimed the judge. “Be you who you may, I must know, or you are a lost man; for I am the man who wields power around here, and if I do this and that to harm you, there is no one who will or can prevent me. I’ll seize your person and property unless you give me an answer to my question!” “If things are as bad as that,” replied the Evil One, “then I suppose I had better reveal my name and provenance to you: I am the Devil.”

“Hm!” growled the judge. “And what is your business here, I would like to know?” – “Look, Judge,” answered the Evil One, “I have been given the power to go into this town today and take that which is given to me in all earnest.”

“Well!” replied the judge, “do so, but let me be witness of it, that I may see what is given you!”

“Do not ask to be there when I take what is allotted me,” the Devil dehorted the judge; but the latter began to conjure the Prince of Hell with powerful words of incantation, saying: “I order and command you by God and God’s commandments, by the power of God and the wrath of God, and by all that binds you and your confederates, and by the eternal Judgement of God, that you will, before my face and in no other wise, take what is given to you in earnest.”

The Devil started, and trembled at these terrible words; and scowling most bitterly, he said: “Oh, that I had never been created! You bind me with such powerful bonds that hardly ever have I been in such a pinch. But I give you my word as Prince of Hell, which I never break in that name, that it will not tend to your advantage to persist in your wish. Desist from it!”

“No, I shall not desist from it!” cried the judge. “Whatever happens to me in consequence, I shall bear with submission; I want to see, and that’s that! Even should my life be at stake!”

Now the two of them, the judge and the Devil, went together to the marketplace. It being market-day, a large crowd had assembled, and everywhere the judge and his companion, who was a stranger to all, were offered brimming goblets and urged to pledge a toast. The judge drank, as was his wont, and offered a tankard to the Devil; but he did not accept the drink, for he well knew that the judge was not in earnest.

Now it happened quite by chance that a woman came driving along a pig which would not go as she wanted but crissed and crossed, so the angry woman screamed at the pig in the utmost vexation: “Well then, go to the Devil! May he take you, hide and hair!”

“Do you hear that, companion?” cried the judge. “Now reach out and take the pig.” But the Devil replied: “Regrettably, the woman was not speaking in earnest. She would mourn and grieve a whole year long were I to take her pig. What is given me in earnest, that only may I take.”

Something similar happened soon afterwards with a woman and a cow.[11] The latter also would not let itself be steered by the woman, so she too began to shout: “The Devil take you and wring your neck!” “Do you hear, companion?” the judge asked again. “The cow is yours – don’t you hear it being given to you in earnest?”

“Oh no, she too did not mean what she said!” replied the Devil. “She would lament bitterly were I to take her at her word and not relinquish my right to the cow.”

Now the two of them saw a woman who had her hands full with a child, which was howling vehemently and behaving very naughtily, so that the woman exclaimed, brimming with indignation: “If you won’t follow me, then may The Evil One take you, you brat!”

“Well? Are you not taking this child, either?” asked the judge, who was quite bewildered, and the Devil replied: “I do not possess the power to take the little child. This woman would not in all sincerity wish me to have her child, not for ten, not for a hundred, not for a thousand pounds; as much as I’d like to take him, yet I cannot, for the woman was not in earnest.”

Now the two of them came to the very heart of the market, where the press of people was at its most dense, so they had to stand still for a space, unable to pass through the seething, swarming mass. Then a woman espied the judge; she was poor and old and ill and weighed down with adversity. She began to wail and cry out, and everyone in the crowd could hear the following vehement words: “Woe to you, judge! Woe to you, you who are so rich while I am so poor. Denying me the mercy of God and Man, you took from me, who had done no wrong, my only cow, which fed me, which was my sole support. Woe to you, you who took her from me! I beseech and cry out to God that He, through his death and the bitter passion He bore for mankind and for us poor sinners, grant my plea, and it is this: that the Devil take your body and your soul to Hell!” At these words the judge did not speak nor even utter a squeak, but the Devil said to him with thundering scorn: “You see, judge, that was in earnest – as you are about to discover!” So saying, the Devil stretched forth his claws, seized the judge by the hair, and flew away with him through the air like a vulture with a hen. Everyone in the crowd was shocked and astonished, and wise men pronounced the moral:

That man is most unwise

Who deals with the Lord of Flies;

Who consorts with the Evil Lord

Will receive a dark reward.

24. Hans in Luck

Once upon a time there was a peasant boy called Hans, an honest young lad who supposed himself nobody’s fool, and he served a rich and powerful master faithfully and honestly for a number of years. But finally, Hans became homesick and wanted to be back with his mother, so he asked his master for the wages he had earned. He gave Hans a lump of gold as big as Hans’s head, and Hans’s head was not one of the thinnest or smallest. Hans was content with this, and wrapping the heavy gold nugget in a handkerchief, he set out on his pins. But walking became toilsome, and the sweat started dripping off him, for the gold nugget was frightfully heavy, carry it how he might, on his head or on his shoulders.

Now a rider trotted lightly and cheerfully past Hans, sitting on a horse as smooth as glass. “Well!” cried Hans, “horseriding is a fine skill, if you can do it and you have a horse!” The rider stopped his mount, for his ears had taken in Hans’s words, and he asked him what he was lugging along so laboriously?

“Oh! It’s gold, pure, heavy gold! Man is a burdened beast!” said Hans, throwing the nugget to the ground with a groan.

“Well!” said the rider. “If you’d like to ride, then let’s make an exchange. Give me your burdensome lump and take my horse for it!” Hans did not need to be asked twice but cried out in joy, “Done! Shake on it!” and the deal was concluded. The rider took the gold and hurried out of Hans’s sight, thinking that lad might come to regret the deal. Hans clambered onto the nag and rode off, kicking up dust from the road; but in no time at all the horse gave a bound and Hans, who did not know how to ride, fell down like a sack of nuts. He could barely move a muscle. A farmer, who was coming this way with his cow, caught the riderless horse and led it to where Hans lay. He was crying and rubbing his joints. “No more riding for me, it does you no good! Lucky the man who has so gentle a cow as you have there, my friend! A man could have milk and butter and cheese every single day, and he won’t be thrown off.”

“Well,” said the crafty farmer, “if the cow pleases you so well, it just so happens that your mettlesome horse pleases me – I’ll give you the cow for the horse!”

“That’s a good swap, I like that,” said Hans, and he took the cow and drove her before him while the farmer mounted the horse and, they’re off! Quick as a flash, he rode away.

When Hans came to an inn he spent his last few farthings, for he now thought that, having the cow, he had no need of money; and he marched on. But the day was very hot, and there was still a fair way to go to the village Hans was from, where his mother lived, and Hans was thirsty. So he got ready to milk the cow, but he did it so clumsily that no milk came out, and in the end the cow gave him a kick that near knocked the senses out of him, and he did not even know if he were boy or girl. Just then a butcher came along with a young pig, and he compassionately asked the stricken Hans what was the matter and offered him a swig from his bottle. Hans recounted his adventures and the butcher pointed out to him that no milk was to be expected from so old a cow; it must be slaughtered. “Hmm!” said Hans, “that will make no great roast, old cow-meat! Now, if only one had such a nice fat piggy, that tastes delicious, and it gives cut sausages!”

“My good friend,” said the butcher, “if you like the little pig so much, let us make an exchange, right now: you take the pig, I take the cow! Is that alright?” – “I’ll say that’s alright!” exclaimed Hans, happy with all his heart at his good fortune. He continued cheerfully on his way, thinking: “You’re a real child of Fortune, Hans! Your loss is always made good again. O, how delicious this roast pork will taste!”

Soon a boy came down the same road and caught up with Hans, and he was carrying a plump and heavy white goose under his arm. He greeted Hans, and as the two of them fell into conversation, he told him that the goose was meant for a christening roast. That was sure to be a roast that was second to none. So saying, he let Hans weigh the goose and feel the lumps of fat under its wings.

“The goose is good, but my little pig here isn’t half bad either!” said Hans. “Where did you get the pig from?” asked the boy, and Hans told him that he had got it by bargaining just a short time before. Then the other looked around anxiously and said, “Listen, a word in your ear! Back there in the nearest village a young pig was stolen from the mayor a little while ago. The thief has fenced it to you, and if the Field-Guard comes up with us now (it seems to me I can see his spear flashing over those ears of corn there), he will seize you for the thief, and instead of coming with the pig into your mother’s kitchen, you’ll find yourself in the devil’s kitchen!”

“Oh Lord save us! What a luckless wretch I am!” cried Hans. “Pray help me for God’s sake, my good, dearest friend!” “I’ll tell you what,” said the boy, “give me the pig right now, and you take my goose! I know the secret paths around here, and I’ll soon make myself invisible!”

No sooner said than done – the deal was struck, and in two shakes the boy and the pig were lost to Hans’s sight.

“I am a child of fortune after all!” Hans laughed to himself and carried the goose for a good distance. There was no sign of a Field-Guard or any other pursuer. Hans reckoned up the good meat, the fat, the feathers, his mother’s joy; and so he came to the last village before his own. There a scissors-grinder was standing at his cart, looking as happy as a sandboy and whetting and whistling, whistling and whetting, so that the air was whirring; then he sang a merry country-ballad:

“A young knife-grinder once came here,

He whet the knives and ground the shears

With a joyful air!

He’ll do it once more,

It’s not your affair –

It’s nothing to you – so there!”

Hans stopped in his tracks with his goose, quite astounded at the grinder’s cheeriness, then he bid him good day and remarked, “You must be doing really well, to be so cheerful and happy! Oh, to be like you!”

“Oh yes, my good companion,” said the knife-grinder, “I’m merry all the while, always money in my pocket, an’ you can have it too with your goose. Where’d you get the goose?”

“I got it for a pig!” Hans told him. “And the pig?” – “Got it for a cow!” – “And the cow?” – “Swapped for a horse.” – “And the horse?” – “Given me for a lump of gold the size of my head.” – “Oh, you sly dog! And the gold came from?” – “Served seven years, received my wages!” – “You crafty devil, all you need now is to become a grinder, like me, then you’ll have money clinking in every pocket. For that, you need only a good Headwhetstone; I have one lying here, and it’s a bit worn-down, to be sure, but it’ll go nicely for all that (if you take it!). I’ll give you it for your goose. Do you want?”

“Do I want? Certainly!” cried Hans, quite delighted. “Money in every pocket, that’s just the job.”

The mischievous grinder gave good Hans an old whetstone and a pebble that was lying on the road, and Hans continued on his way, elated that everything had fallen out so well and thinking he must have been born under a lucky star.

But the sun shone with a burning heat, Hans was hungry and thirsty, he was weak and weary, and the stones were heavy, almost as heavy as the gold nugget had been, and he thought: ah, if only I did not have to lug these grindstones along. There was a small well by the road, and Hans wanting to quench his thirst at it, he bent over, and as he bent the stones fell down the well. Who could be happier than Hans in Luck when he, all at once and without having done anything, found himself rid of the heavy stones! He joyfully leapt up, free of all cares, of all burdens; and counting himself the most fortunate of men he came home in high spirits to his mother – Hans in Luck.

25. The Seven Ravens

As a great many wondrous things have happened in this world, so it once came to pass that a poor woman gave birth to seven boys at once; and they all lived and thrived. Quite a few years later, she also bore a daughter. Her husband was very diligent and efficient in his work, so those people who need a handicraftsman willingly engaged his services, by which means he was not only able to support his large family in an honest manner, but he earned so much that his worthy wife, through meticulous economy, could lay a little money aside for a rainy day. But this good father died in the prime of his life, and his poor widow soon fell into hardship, for she could not earn enough to feed and clothe her eight children. And furthermore, the seven boys grew ever bigger, and needed ever more, and, to the great grief of their mother, they became ever naughtier; indeed, they even became wild and malicious. The poor woman was so weighed down with worry and care that she was almost at the end of her tether. She wanted to bring her children up to be good and pious, but neither her strictness nor her leniency bore any fruit, for the boys’ hearts were, and remained, obstinate. So one day, when her patience was quite at an end, she said, “Oh, you wicked black-hearted boys, I wish you were seven black ravens and you flew away so I never would see you again.” Immediately the seven boys turned into ravens, flew out of the window, and disappeared.

Now the mother lived with her only daughter in deep peace and contentment, and they earned more than enough to meet their needs. And the daughter became a good, pretty, and demure girl. Yet after some years had passed they both, mother and daughter, began to feel a heartfelt yearning for the seven brothers, and they spoke of them often and wept: if only the brothers would come back and be well-behaved boys, how comfortably we all could live on what we earn and how much joy we would have with one another. And because the yearning for her brothers grew ever more ardent in the girl’s heart, she said to her mother one day: “Dear mother, let me go forth and search for my brothers, that I may reclaim them from their wicked ways and bring them back to you, to the honour and joy of your old age.” The mother replied, “My good daughter, I cannot and shall not stop you from performing this pious deed, go forth, and God be with you!” Then she gave her a small gold ring which she had worn on her finger when a little child, at the time her brothers were turned into ravens.

Then the girl set out at once and wandered far, far away, and for a long time she found no trace of her brothers; but one day she came to a very high mountain, which had a small house on its summit. She sat down at the bottom of the mountain to rest, all the while looking up in deep thought at the house. It seemed to her to be now a bird’s nest – for it looked grey, as if it were fitted together from stones and mud – and now a human dwelling. She thought: might not your brothers be living up there? And when, at length, she saw seven black ravens flying out of the house, her conjecture was confirmed. Joyfully, she started to climb the mountain, but the path that led to the summit was paved with such strange stones, as smooth as glass, that she invariably ascended a stretch with great toil only to slip and skid back down. And she was dejected and did not know what she could do to get up the mountain. Then she saw a lovely white goose, and she thought: “If I only had your wings, I would soon be up there.” And then she thought, “And can’t I cut off your wings for myself? Oh, they would assuredly help me!” And she quickly caught the lovely goose, cut off its wings and its legs as well, and sewed these on to her body. And behold – when she tried to fly, everything went so smoothly, so easily and so well; and when she was tired from flying, she ran a short way on the goose’s feet and did not slip again. In this way did she arrive quickly and safely at her long-desired destination. At the top she entered the house, but it was very small: inside there were seven tiny little tables, seven little stools, seven little beds, and there were also seven little windows in the room; and in the oven there were seven little bowls in which lay roasted little birds and boiled bird’s eggs. The good sister had become weary from her far journey, and she was now glad to be able to have a proper rest; she also felt hungry. So she took the seven bowls out of the oven and ate a morsel from each of them, and sat a while on each stool, and lay down a while in each bed. And in the last bed she fell asleep, and she was still lying there when the seven brothers came back.

They flew through the seven windows into the room, took their bowls out of the oven, and were about to eat, when they noticed that some of their food had been eaten already. Now they wanted to lay themselves down to sleep but they found their beds disarranged, and one of the brothers uttered a loud cry, “Oh, look at this girl lying in my bed!”

The other brothers swiftly flew over and were astonished to see the girl lying there asleep. Then the one said to the other, “Oh, would it were out little sister!” and they cried out to each other with joy, “Yes, it is our little sister, yes it is! She had hair like that, and a mouth like that, and at that time she wore, on her biggest finger, a ring like the one she is wearing on her little finger now!” And they all rejoiced, and they all kissed their little sister, but she slept so soundly that it was long before she awoke.

Finally the girl opened her eyes and saw her seven black brothers sitting around her bed. And she said, “Oh, I am heartily glad to see you, my dear brothers. God be thanked that I have found you at last; I have made a long, arduous journey for your sakes to fetch you back from your exile – that is, if you now have better sentiments in your hearts so you will never again vex your good mother, you will work diligently with us, and you will become your old mother’s honour and joy.” The brothers had wept bitterly during this speech, and now they said, “Yes, sweet sister, we shall be good, and never again insult our mother; oh, it is a wretched life we lead as ravens, and before we built ourselves this little house hunger and misery often brought us close to death. There followed remorse, which racked us day and night, for we had to eat the corpses of poor, executed sinners and so were constantly reminded of the terrible end that awaits those who sin.”

The sister wept tears of joy at her brothers’ conversion and on hearing them speak words so full of pious sentiment. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “now all is well; when you come home and mother hears that you have changed for the better, she will forgive you with all her heart and make you back into men again.”

Now when the brothers were ready to travel home with their sister, they first said, as they opened a wooden casket, “Dear sister, take these pretty golden rings and flashing gems, which we found abroad, little by little, into your apron, and carry them home, for through these we can become rich when we are people again. As ravens, we collected them only for the sake of their beautiful glitter.”

The sister did as her brothers wished, and she took plesaure in the beautiful jewellery. On the journey home the raven-brothers carried their sister on their wings, one brother after the other, until they arrived at their mother’s dwelling; there they flew in through the window and asked their mother for forgiveness, promising to always be good boys from that time on. The sister added her pleas and entreaties, and the mother was filled with joy and love and she forgave her seven sons. Then they became men again, very handsome, blooming youths, the one as tall and as graceful as the other. They gratefully hugged and kissed their dear mother and loving sister. And soon afterwards all seven brothers took demure young wives and built themselves a large and lovely house, for they had received a considerable sum of money for their jewels. And the house-warming was the brothers’ sevenfold marriage.

Then the sister took a worthy husband, but she was persuaded by her brothers’ pleas and entreaties to continue living with them.

And so the good mother had much joy of her children, and they took loving care of her and showed her filial reverence into her twilight years.

26. The Three Feathers

A little son was born to a man, and when the father went out to seek a godfather to stand sponsor to his child, he found a beauteous youth whom he loved at once with all his heart. And when he conveyed his request, the youth was quite willing to come along and sponsor the child, and he left a young white steed as a christening gift for his godson. This youth was none other than Our Lord, Jesus Christ.

The young boy, who had been christened with the name Henry, grew up to the delight of his father and mother; and when he reached the age of adolescence, home lost its hold on him, and he felt drawn to distant lands and deeds and adventures. So he took his leave of his parents, mounted the saddled steed which the unknown youth had given him as a baptismal gift, although he did not know its true value, and rode out bright and breezy into the world. One day, he was riding through a forest, when behold! close by the path there lay a feather from a peacock’s tail, and the sun shone on the feather so that its bright colours gleamed with a radiant splendour. The youth pulled his steed to a halt, intending to dismount to pick the feather up and stick it in his hat. Then the steed opened its mouth and said, “Oh, leave the feather lying on the ground!” The youth was amazed that the steed could talk, and a shudder ran through him; he stayed in the saddle, did not dismount, did not pick up the feather, and rode on. After some time, it happened that the youth rode up to the bank of a stream, and behold! there lay on the green grass a colourful feather, much more beautiful than the one in the forest, and the youth’s heart craved it as an adornment for his hat; for he had never seen so magnificent a feather in all his born days. But as he was about to dismount, the steed spoke once again: “Oh, leave the feather lying on the ground!” And again the youth was amazed beyond measure that the steed spoke, for it usually did not say a word; this time also he did as he was told, stayed in the saddle, did not dismount, did not pick up the feather, and rode on.

Now it was but a short time before the youth came to a high mountain, and as he was about to ride up, there lay by his feet, on the meadow floor, another feather; in his estimation, it was the most supremely beautiful feather in the whole wide world, and he had to have it.

The feather glittered and sparkled like pure blue and green precious stones, or like bright dewdrops in the morning sun. But again the steed spoke: “Oh, leave the feather lying on the ground!” This time, the youth was unable to obey the horse and unwilling to heed its advice, for he had all too strong a craving for the delightful, magnificent adornment. He dismounted, picked the feather up and put it in his hat. Then the steed spoke, “Alas, what harm you have brought down on yourself! I fear you will come to rue this yet.” It said no more. The youth rode on, and he came to a handsome and well-built city, where he saw many citizens bedecked with garlands, and a splendid procession came towards him with pipers and drummers and trumpeters, and many flags being waved, and it was marvellous to behold. And in the procession were maidens strewing flowers, and the four most beautiful girls bore a cushion on which was a royal crown. And the town elders handed the crown to the youth, saying: “All Hail to you, noble youth sent to us from God! You shall be our King! Praise be to God, the Lord for all eternity!” The youth, who did not know what was happening to him, then felt the royal crown on his head; and he knelt down and praised God and the Saviour. Had he picked up the first feather, he would have become a Count; the second, a Duke; and if he had not picked up the third feather, he would have found a fourth one on the mountaintop, and the steed would have said: “Pick this feather up.” Then he would have become a mighty Emperor over many of the world’s realms, and the sun would never have set on his lands. But he was content even so; and he became a gracious, wise, just and pious King.

27. The Little Jug of Tears

Once upon a time there was a mother and a child, and the mother loved the child, her only one, with all her heart, and without her child she could not live, she could not exist. But then the Lord sent a great sickness which raged among children and seized this child, who took to her bed and fell critically ill. For three days and three nights the mother watched, wept, and prayed by her beloved child’s bedside, but the child died. Then the mother, who was now alone in God’s wide world, was gripped with a violent and inexpressible pain, and she ate nothing and drank nothing and wept, wept again, without cease, for three days and for three nights, and cried out for her child. Now when, on the third night, she was sitting full of deep sorrow at the place where her child had died, weary with tears and weak with pain to the point of fainting, the door softly opened and the mother gave a start, for there before her was standing her dead child. She had become a blessed angel and she smiled with the sweetness of innocence and the beauty of one transfigured. But in her hands she carried a little jug, and this was almost overflowing. And the child spoke: “Oh dearest mother, weep no more for me! Behold, in this jug are your tears, which you have shed for me; the Angel of Mourning has collected them in this vessel. If you cry even one more tear for me, then the jug will overflow, and I will find no rest in the grave and no bliss in Heaven. And so, oh dearest mother, weep no more for your child, for your child is well taken care of, she is happy, and angels are her playmates.” With these words the dead child disappeared, and henceforth the mother wept no more tears, so as not to disturb the child’s rest in the grave or her peace in Heaven.

28. Of Johnny and Maggie, who Went for Red Berries

When Johnny and Maggie were still little children, they went out together into the forest one day to look for red berries. Each of them had a little pot. Before they reached the forest they came upon a pond in which the loveliest little fish were swimming around and gleaming like silver. The children caught some of them and put them in their pots; then they picked a good many red berries and put them in with the fish, until their pots were quite full. Then they found two lovely little knives and laid them on top. However, when they had walked some distance through the wood, they saw a large bear coming towards them; they were very scared and hid themselves, and in their hurry they left their pots behind; and as he came by, the bear ate them up along with the fishes and the berries. He even swallowed the knives. Then he lumbered away. The children, when they ventured out of their hiding-place and saw that their fish and berries and pots and knives had been eaten, began to shed torrents of tears, and they went home and told their father. He quickly got ready, took a long knife, went out into the wood and cut open the bear’s body, then he pulled everything back out – the berries, the fishes, the pots and knives – and returned it to his Johnny and Maggie. Then the children were as happy as could be, and they took their pots home and ate the red berries, and ate their fishes, and played with the lovely knives.

29. The Fair Young Bride

Once upon a time a pretty country lass went into the forest to fetch fodder for her cow, and as she was cutting the grass in God’s name, suspecting no manner of evil, four robbers suddenly appeared, surrounded her, and carried her off with them, without mercy or compassion, no matter how much she screamed and wriggled and begged and besought. In a gloomy forest far away from the girl’s home the robbers had a house in which they dwelt – at least, there would always be some of them to stay at home while the others set out to rob. But the robbers did not do the girl any injury beyond taking her away from her home and holding her prisoner, as it were, in the house; she had to take care of the household, cook, bake, and wash. Otherwise she had it good, but she was always closely guarded. And the robbers had given her the name: The Fair Young Bride.

Now the girl had been in the robbers’ nest for several years when it so happened that a major robbery was to be executed, and for it to succeed, every man jack in the band would have to take part.

As the girl appeared to have grown accustomed to life in the robbers’ den, and had never made any attempt to escape, and would, no doubt, be hardly able to find her way through the wild forest – so thought the chief – so this time she was left alone and unguarded in the house in the forest. But no sooner had the robbers left than the Fair Bride began to devise a way of escaping without being recognised. She swiftly made a straw figure, dressed it in her clothes and put her coif on its head; then she smeared herself with honey from head to toe and rolled over and over in a bed of feathers, making herself totally urecognisable and looking like some strange kind of bird. She propped the dummy dressed in her clothes against a window over the front door so that it was looking out – but with its face hidden – and then she hurried away.

Now, whether it was that the chief had a presentiment of the girl’s intended flight, or that something had been forgotten, at any rate, he sent some of the robbers back to the house, and it just so happened that they came upon the feathered oddity. They thought it was one of their cronies who had camouflaged himself, and they hailed the figure with the laughing inquiry:

“Sir Sack of Feathers, whither away?

What does our Fair Young Bride today?”

The figure being the bride herself, she was highly alarmed, but she took heart nonetheless and answered in a disguised voice:

“She sweeps our house and scrubs it clean,

While looking out the window, I ween!”

And thus she managed to pass out of the robbers’ sight, then she came safely out of the forest, arrived at a village, bought herself clothes, and bathed; and she reached her home again safe and sound, albeit after a long journey. And as she had not exactly left the best things behind in the robbers’ lodge, but had made away with them (as her yearly wages), she was not short of means and she married an upright young man.

When those robbers she had met caught sight of the house, they saw the figure of the Fair Young Bride at the window, and they greeted her from a distance by calling out:

“God be with you, O Fair Young Bride,

Who kindly waits for us inside.”

But the greeting remained unanswered, to the astonishment of the robbers, and when they came closer they thought the Fair Young Bride had fallen asleep. In vain did they call her, she did not waken; in vain did they command her to open up, all their knocking and yelling, calling and scolding, was to no avail, and in the end they kicked the door to pieces in a fury, stormed up the stairs and roughly seized the figure of the Fair Young Bride – and the straw puppet fell into their arms. Then the robbers cried:

“Fare well, fare well, you fair young lass,

Who trusts in women is an ass!”

30. The Ears of Corn

There was once a time – but it was inconceivably long ago – when all stalks of corn, and those of other cereals too, bore full golden-yellow ears that hung right down to the ground; at that time there was no poverty and no famine, not ever, and that was the Golden Age. At that time, all men could eat their fill with delight, and the birds who like to eat grains – hens and doves and other birds – found their fill of feed.

But there were among men some who were ungrateful and godforsaken, and who held the lovely, beneficial gift from God, the dear corn, in no regard whatsoever. There were women who, when their little children had soiled themselves, took the full bushels of ears to cleanse their children with, and threw the ears on the dung-heap; and the maids scoured with the full ears, and the boys and little girls chased each other through the dear corn, played hide-and-seek in it, rolled around on it, and trampled it underfoot. This made the dear Lord grieve, for He had given cereals as nourishment to men and as fodder to cattle, and not for wanton spoliation; and He thought to Himself, We shall do things differently, and the Golden Age shall come to an end.

And so the good Lord brought it to pass that every stalk would thenceforth bear only a single ear: first for mankind, that it learn to take better care of the dear cereals; and then for the innocent beasts, that they at least not be deprived of their fodder because men were not worthy of even the single ear.

From then on, hunger and famine and poverty came into the world. Every now and then, and but rarely, does the good Lord cause a wonder stalk with many, many ears to shoot up here or there, thereby showing men what cereals once were, and what He can do. And an old prophecy is passed around the people, that one day, after a great length of years, when the words of the Evangelist will have come true – Glory to God in the highest, peace on earth, and good will, benediction, and love among all men[12] – at that time, the earth will be quickened by God to yield once more such stalks as are full of ears down to their roots. But none of us will live to see that day.

31. Of Pullet and Cockerel

Once upon a time there was a pullet and a cockerel who went up Nut Mountain together to search for nuts. The Cockerel said to the Pullet, “When you find a nut, make sure that you don’t eat it all yourself – give me half of it, or you’ll choke to death.” But the Pullet had found a nut and eaten it all herself, and the kernel had got stuck in her throat, making her choke, and she anxiously cried: “Cockerel, Cockerel, quickly fetch me a little water, or I’ll choke to death!” So the Cockerel ran post-haste to the Well and said, “Well, Well, give me water, so I may give the water to my Pullet, she’s lying up on Nut Mountain and going to suffocate.” And the Well said, “First go to the Bride and fetch me the wreath!” So the Cockerel ran to the Bride and said, “Bride, Bride, give me the wreath, so I may give the wreath to the Well, so the Well will give me water, so I may give the water to my Pullet, she’s lying up on Nut Mountain and going to choke.” But the Bride said, “First go to the Shoemaker and fetch me my shoes.” And when the Cockerel came to the Shoemaker, the latter said, “First go to the Sow and fetch me some fat.” And the Sow said, “First go to the Cow and fetch me milk.” And the Cow said, “First go to the Meadow and fetch me grass!” – Now when the Cockerel came to the Meadow and asked her for grass, she was generous and gave him a lot of flowers and grass; the Cockerel quickly gave these to the Cow and received milk for them, and for the milk the Pig yielded some of her fat, and the Shoemaker greased his leather with it and speedily made the Bride’s shoes, and the Bride cordially handed over the wreath for the shoes, and the Cockerel gave the same to the Well, and he at once bubbled out his clear water into the little vessel that Cockerel held underneath him. Running rapidly, Cockerel returned to Nut Mountain, but when he came to Pullet, she had choked to death in the meantime. Then Cockerel gave a shrill cock-a-doodle-do from grief, which was heard by all the animals in the neighbourhood, and they ran up and wept for Pullet. And then six mice built a funeral cart, placed dead Pullet on it, hitched themselves to the front, and pulled the cart along. Now as they – Cockerel, dead Pullet, the Mice and the funeral cart – were passing along in this wise, the Fox came up behind and asked, “Where are you headed, Cockerel?” – “I’m going to bury my Pullet!” – “I’ll do that, you fool!” cried the fox, and he ate Pullet, because she had not been dead for long, so burying her in his stomach. And Cockerel cried in his grief, “Then I wish to die, to be with my Pullet.” – “So be it!” said the Fox, and he ate Cockerel so he could join his Pullet. Then the Mice wept for Cockerel, and so the Fox thought that they too wished to be dead, and he gobbled them down. But because the Mice were hitched to the cart, he gobbled the cart down with them, and the shaft thrust his heart out of place, so he fell flat on his back and gave up the ghost. Then a bird flew onto a lime-branch and sang, “Fox ate his heart out! Fox ate his heart out!”

32. The Three Wedding-Guests

Once upon a time there were three watch-dogs in a village who were good neighbours to one another. A big farmer’s wedding was to be held there, to which both young and old were invited, and there was so much cooking and baking, boiling and roasting, that the smell wafted through the entire village. The three dogs were together at that time and, smelling the choice aroma, they deliberated as to how they would go to the wedding and see if there might be anything left over for them. But to avoid a needless fuss they decided to run there not at the same time, all three at once, but separately, one after the other.

The first one went and made his way into the slaughter-house, where he suddenly snatched a large joint of meat; and he was about to be off with it, but he was caught and given a fearful thrashing, after which the joint of meat was torn from his teeth.

And so, hungry and sorely beaten, he returned to the farmyard and his boon companions, who were hungry for good news and asked: “Well, how did you fare, how did you like it?” Now the dog was ashamed to confess the truth that his wedding-meal had consisted of a sharply-salted beet-soup, so he said: “Really well! But they can be a bit heavy-handed there, and one must be able to take the rough with the smooth!”

When they heard this, his companions thought that there was boundless food and drink at the wedding, and many tasty crumbs would be left over, rough and smooth pastries, meat and bone; and the second dog presently ran at full speed to the house where the wedding was taking place, straight into the kitchen, and took what he found – but before he could find the way back he was spotted, and a pan full of boiling hot water was poured over his back, so that he steamed, as he darted away, just like a poodle coming out of a bath; but if he was terribly burnt, he hid his pain. Now when he came to the farmyard where his two companions were awaiting him, they asked at once: “Well, how did you like it?” – “Really well!”, replied the dog. “But things can get a bit heated there, and they blow hot and cold.”

Then the third dog thought: The wedding-guests are going at the feast hammer and tongs, and hot and cold dishes are being served in turn; so he did not want to not miss anything, and wanted to at least be there for dessert when the shortcrust pastries are served. And he hurried as fast as he could. But no sooner had he entered the house when someone caught him, clamped his tail in the room door, tanned his hide black and blue, and kept him jammed until the skin was scraped off his tail and the disfigured dog scampered away.

“Well, how did you like the wedding?” his friends asked, each one with a touch of scorn in his heart. Their badly beaten companion put his tail between his legs – as far as he could – to hide it from sight, and said: “Really well, things were pretty wild there, and there were rough-puff pastries aplenty, but it was rather hair-raising.”

And for a long time afterwards the three dogs remembered the taste that the wedding soup, the wedding broth, and the wedding cakes had left in their mouths, and they took care not to have their noses put out of joint again.

33. The Tale of the Man in the Moon

In olden times, a man went into the forest one blessed Sunday morning, chopped a mighty bundle of wood for himself, tied it up, thrust a stick through the faggot, hoisted it onto his back, and carried it homewards.

On the way he met a gentleman in his Sunday best, going no doubt to church, who stopped, and accosted the bundle-bearer with the words: “Do you not know that this is Sunday on Earth, on which day the Good Lord rested after creating the world and all beasts of the field and all men? Do you not know that it is written in the Third Commandment:[13] Thou shalt keep the Sabbath Day holy?” The inquirer was the Good Lord Himself; but that woodcutter was quite obdurate and replied: “Sunday on earth or Monday in heaven, what concern is that of mine, and what concern is it of yours?”

“Then you shall carry your bundle of brushwood for all eternity,” said the Good Lord, “and because Sunday on Earth is of so very little consequence to you, henceforth you shall have everlasting Monday and stand in the Moon, a manifest warning to those who desecrate the Sabbath with work!”

Ever since that time, the man with the bundle of faggots has stood in the Moon, and he will doubtless stay standing there till kingdom come.

34. The Royal Children

In a forest there was a small, secluded cottage, in which a mother lived with her daughter, the latter being already quite grown-up. The mother was a very wicked and cunning woman who got up to all kinds of mysterious things. Her appearance caused every stranger who saw her to shudder with fear. Her face was incomparably ugly; her eyes were fiery-red and flashed restlessly and uncannily; on her head she always wore a black scarf, over which her stiff grey hair hung down. In summer her suntanned nape, breast and arms were uncovered, and a black bodice enclosed her stooping frame; a red skirt clashed glaringly with her bare, dark brown legs and the snow-white sack she had hanging from her shoulder. But the most uncanny thing of all was a ring she wore on the index-finger of her right hand, which was made of gold and studded with fiery red stones, and shone with a blinding light. Thus did the old woman ever creep around in the forest. If she saw a wanderer or a travelling coach, she pressed herself on the people and told their fortunes, prophesying truly wondrous things, while begging for money. And if she found children in the forest, she lured them to her home and slaughtered them. Her daughter, on the other hand, was a really kind-hearted girl who often wept bitterly in secret over the evil deeds of her mother and besought the good Lord to deliver her from that wicked woman. Yet the latter had, as it seemed, life eternal; she never fell ill, and although her limbs were old and stiff and quite emaciated, yet she possessed the power of the strongest man. For all of this she had her magic ring to thank; and for much more besides, for the hand which wore the ring was always invisible, so whenever she addressed a stranger out in the forest, she would, without fail, reach into his pocket for his purse at the same time and pull out what she found there without the other noticing in the slightest. Furthermore, the red, flaming rays of the stones on her ring made animals stand still: when they flashed in their eyes, the animals had to look fixedly at the rays until the old woman turned the ring on her finger. So she often crept around in the forest carrying a large pot, and by flashing the ringstones in the eyes of hinds she made them stand still, and then she milked them.

One day, in the evening, she was sitting at home with her daughter, drinking this hind-milk, when there was a knocking at the window; and when she looked out two children, as pretty as a picture and exquisitely dressed, were standing outside crying, and the bigger of the two, a boy, said: “Oh, we have lost our way and now night is falling, old mother, be so good as to let us sleep in your house this night, tomorrow we shall try to find our way back home.” The old woman grinned with diabolical joy, and quickly opening the front door she let the children in. But she lost no time in treating them very ill: after pulling off their lovely clothes so that they were totally naked she put them in a dark stable. Then she took an old saucepan, poured milk into it, and laid it down before the children with the words: “Here, drink the milk, so you’ll soon become fat, so I can slaughter you; you’re no use for anything else on this earth, are you, you brats.”

Oh, how bitterly the poor children wept! They could not eat anything for sorrow; but soon a sleep came over them which removed their heartache. They dreamed that they were at home with their dear mother and their father, and they were playing the most delightful games. But when they awoke and again became aware of their sad situation, they began to weep and lament anew. Finally they heard the stable doors opening – someone was coming – and they were greatly afraid, thinking to be fetched and slaughtered any minute. This time, however, it was the daughter who came, for the old woman had already gone out into the forest. The good girl was sincerely sorry for the dear children and would have liked to help them, but she herself had good reason to be very afraid of her wicked mother. She kindly asked the children, “So, what are your names?” The boy answered, sobbing, “I am called Irmin and my sister is called Elmine, now what is your name?” She said, “I am called Katie. But who is your father? And where are you from?” – The boy said, “My father wears a golden cloak and a crown, and our home is so lovely, you should come and visit us someday.”

Katie said, “I’ll try to free you, but that cannot happen right now; just be calm and patient, I will never let you be slaughtered. Drink your milk, and I’ll bring you strawberries and bread as well, just be calm, dear children. And until the time that I have thought of a plan to save you, you should take these two sticks, and when my mother comes and says, ‘Hold out your finger; I want to see if you’re fat yet,’ then hold out these sticks, so she will find you not yet fat enough and will not slaughter you.”

The children felt comforted by Katie’s words and stopped crying; they ate and drank, and were heartily glad that they would be going home. In the evening, when the old woman came back, she would invariably go to the stable and call to the children: “Stick your fingers out,” but the children held out their sticks, the old woman cut into them with a sharp knife, and each time she said, “You’re still scrawny!” and went away. And in the morning, when the old one had gone out, good Katie came to the children, bringing them food and comforting them. But one day, when the old one came to the children in the evening, they had lost their sticks and had to hold out their delicate fingers, and she cut into them and screeched with glee: “You’re fat now, tomorrow I’ll slaughter you!” Oh, what heartache for the poor children! That same evening, Katie had to bring water for the children to be boiled in after they had been slaughtered. And Katie wept to herself and thought and thought how she could yet free the poor children. In the night she silently crept out of her bed, spat on it, and said in a quiet voice:

“Dearest, dearest bed, when my

Mother calls me, you reply.”

After that, she spat on her chest, on the stairs, and in the kitchen, making the same request each time. Then she opened the stable, let the children out, and fled with them.

In the morning the old woman called out, “Katie, get up this minute and stoke up the fire,” and the answer came, “I’m already up!” After a while, Katie not having appeared, the old one called out again: “Katie, are you not coming yet?” And the answer came, “I’m sitting on my chest, putting on my stockings!” But another while passed and Katie did not come, and the old woman called out, “Katie, what’s keeping you?” And a voice replied, “I’m on the stairs!”

The old woman went back to sleep, and when at last she awoke once more and all was quite silent outside her chamber she angrily shouted, “Katie, you lazy strumpet, wherever are you?” The reply came, “Why, I’m in the kitchen!” But the old one did not hear the slightest sound, so in the end she got out of bed, intending to give Katie a proper scolding and thrashing, but behold – there was no Katie to be found, and the children were gone as well. -Now the old woman was beside herself with rage, and she strode rapidly forth to search for her daughter and the children and exact an appalling revenge.

By dint of her magic ring she had discovered the trail of the fugitives at once, and so rapid were the steps she took that in next to no time she could perceive the three in the distance. The children had looked round and noticed, to their terror, the wicked old woman; in their fear they did not know which way to turn to escape the old woman in time, for she was coming towards them with giant strides. There was a huge black eagle sitting by the road, and the children called to it in voices filled with fear:

“Oh dearest eagle, bear us away

To our good parents without delay.”

And the bird spread its wings and, swift as an arrow, bore the small fugitives, together with Katie, through the skies, and he set them down before a magnificent castle. Then there came a man attired in a gold-embroidered cloak and wearing a crown on his head, and a beautiful woman came out with him; they greeted and welcomed their beloved children, who had been lost for some time, with the greatest delight. And good Katie had to stay with the children for evermore, and she was very well taken care of. But the eagle had flown away, and when he espied the ring with the fiery red stones on the finger of the hotly pursuing old woman, he greedily shot down towards her, snatched her up in his claws, and kept pecking at her finger until he had the ring in his beak, whereupon he let the old one go. Screaming blue murder, she plunged down in front of the beautiful castle – but into a pond, and that same moment a mighty fish leapt up with its mouth agape and devoured her.

35. The Courageous Flute-Player

Once upon a time there was a merry musician who played the flute like a maestro, and so he travelled around the world, playing his flute in villages and towns and thereby earning his keep. Now one evening, he came to a tenant-farm and overnighted there, for he could not reach the next village before nightfall. He was cordially received by the farmer and bidden to dine with him, and then, once the meal was over, to play some pieces on his flute. When the musician had finished, he looked out of the window and perceived in the near distance, by the light of the moon, an old castle which seemed to be falling to ruin. “What old castle is that?” he asked the farmer. “And whom did it belong to?” The farmer told him that many, many years ago a Count had lived there who was very rich but also very miserly. He had sorely plagued his subjects, had never given alms to a single pauper, and had finally died without heirs (because his miserliness had stopped him even from marrying). Afterwards his closest relatives had wanted to take possession of the inheritance but they had not found even the smallest pittance. Because of this, people asserted that he must have buried his treasure and it might be lying hidden in the old castle to this day. Many men had already gone into the old castle for the sake of the treasure, but not one of them had ever been seen again. Therefore the authorities had prohibited entry to the old castle and earnestly warned everyone throughout the land about it. – The musician listened attentively, and when the farmer had finished his account, he remarked that he felt a strong desire to go in just the once, for he was courageous and knew no fear. The farmer begged him with great urgency not to enter the castle, and so save his young life, and in the end almost fell at his feet. But it was no use pleading or beseeching – the musician was unshakeable.

Two of the farm labourers were ordered to light a pair of lanterns and accompany the courageous musician to the eerie old castle. Then he sent them back again with one lantern while he took hold of the other one and boldly climbed up a high flight of steps. From the topmost step he entered a large hall which had doors all around. He opened the first door and went in, sat down at an old-fashioned table which was there, set his light down on it, and began to play his flute. The farmer could not sleep a wink that night for sheer anxiety, and he often looked out the window. Every time he heard his guest playing his instrument over in the castle, his joy was inexpressible. But when his wall clock struck eleven and the flute-playing ceased, he started violently and did not think but that the ghost or the Devil, or whoever else dwelt in this castle, had most certainly wrung the handsome lad’s neck. Yet the musician had fearlessly applied himself and attended to his flute-playing; however, when hunger had begun to stir within him, for he had not eaten much at the farmer’s, he paced up and down the room and looked around. Then he caught sight of a pot full of uncooked lentils; on another table there was one vessel full of water, one full of salt, and a bottle of wine. He rapidly poured water over the lentils, added salt, lit a fire in the oven (there was wood lying beside it), and cooked himself a lentil soup. While the lentils boiled, he drank the whole bottle of wine and then he played his flute again. When the lentils were ready, he removed them from the fire, tipped them into a bowl which was there on the table ready, and ate heartily. Now he looked at his watch and saw that it was the twelfth hour. Then the door suddenly opened and two tall black men walked in carrying a bier on which there was a coffin. Without saying a word, they laid the coffin before the musician, who was not the least bit disturbed from his meal, and went back out the door just as silently as they had entered. Once they had retired, the musician hastily stood up and opened the coffin. An old man lay inside, small and wizened with grey hair and a grey beard; but the youth felt no fear, and he took the man out and placed him by the stove, and no sooner had he warmed up than life began to stir in him. The musician gave him lentils to eat and then he was entirely occupied with the little man, even feeding him like a mother would her child. The little man came fully to life and said to him: “Follow me!” Then the little man led the way while the youth took his lantern and followed him without hesitation. Now he led him down a long, dilapidated flight of stairs and so the two of them at last arrived in a deep, eerie vault.

Here there was a large pile of coins. The little man commanded the youth: “Divide this pile into two equal parts and mind that nothing is left over, or I’ll take your life!” The youth simply smiled, began at once to count on two large tables, back and forth, and it did not take him long to sort the coins into two equal piles; but at the end – there was a kreutzer left over. So the musician thought for a moment, then took out his pocket knife, placed the blade on the kreutzer and cut the coin in two by using a hammer that was lying nearby. Now when he had thrown the one half on this pile and the other half on that one, the little man was elated and said: “You heavenly man, you have released me! For a hundred years now, I have had to guard the treasure I scraped together out of avarice, waiting for someone to succeed in dividing the money into two equal parts. No one has succeeded before now and I have had to throttle them all. One heap of coins is now yours, but divide the other one among the poor. Divine man, you have released me!” And then the little man disappeared. The youth went up the stairs into the same room as before and played merry tunes on his flute.

The farmer was pleased to hear him playing again, and at the crack of dawn he went to the castle (for anyone might enter during the day) and greeted the youth with delight. The latter told him his story, then he went down to his treasure and did as the little man had ordered by dividing one half among the poor. As for the old castle, he had it torn down, and there was soon standing in its stead a new one, which the musician, now a rich man, made his home.

36. God Is Everywhere

There were a brother and sister called Georgie and Lizzie, both kind-hearted children, who were left at home all alone; their parents had gone out over the fields carrying baskets they had woven from osiers to sell in the town. Now, the good parents had given each of their children, Georgie and Lizzie, a sizable chunk of bread as their food to last the day, but Georgie made short work of his and yet still felt a craving for food. However, he had nothing left to crumble, and nothing left to sink his teeth into. Lizzie gave him a little of her bread, but even this did not sate the boy, and he mischievously began to address his younger sister with honeyed words: “Come, dear Lizzie, let us have a little nibble at the sweet sugar-beet syrup which mother stores out in the cupboard; there’s a big potful, she surely won’t notice any difference, and there’s not a soul to see us.” But Lizzie said, “Oh, it would be very naughty of you, Georgie, to do that; don’t you see the sunbeams falling on the cupboard? God has them shine up to Him, and He’ll see us nibbling.” And Georgie said, “Then we’ll go up to the attic, where mother keeps pretty pears, and we’ll eat some of them. There’s no window there, the sun can’t shine in, and so God won’t see us.”

Lizzie refused at first, but in the end the children did go up to the attic; but here broken rays of sunlight fell in profusion through the gaps between the roof tiles and shimmered most curiously, as if they were dancing over the pears, and Lizzie said: “Oh Georgie, God sees us here as well, we may not nibble here.” They went back down, and on the steps Georgie had an idea which he voiced at once: “Well, in the cellar mother has a little pot full of cream, and down there it’s quite dark, so it’s impossible for God to see in; come, let’s go down, Lizzie, come quickly, quickly!” Georgie took his hesitating sister firmly by the hand and swiftly dragged her along with him down into the cellar, where he carefully closed the door from inside so that no daylight would shine in and God would not see them nibbling at the cream. But a few minutes later it became a little light in the cellar; Lizzie saw the dear Sun shining in, through a crack in the wall, right on the little pot of cream, and frightened by this, she hurried back up to the parlour. Georgie, however, stayed, angrily stopped up the crack with moss, and began to eat some of the cream. But just as he was eagerly licking and lapping, a tremendous clap of thunder rolled above him and lightning flashed through the crack in the wall, making the cellar glow as bright as day, and a black figure rose up in a corner of the cellar, walked up to Georgie, and sat down directly opposite him; he had two fiery eyes which constantly darted sparkling glances at the little pot of cream, so that Georgie could not even lift a finger and had to sit perfectly still.

In the meantime, a fair angel had appeared to Lizzie up in the parlour, had brought her, together with many pretty toys and clothes, sugared cakes and sweetened milk, and had played with Lizzie until the time that her parents returned. It gave them great joy to see the pretty things, but when they asked after Georgie, Lizzie gave a start, for with the beautiful presents the angel had given her she had completely forgotten that her brother had not left the cellar, and she cried: “Oh, good heavens! He is still in the cellar, let us make haste to fetch him, he might not be able to lift the door up.” They all went quickly downstairs, opened the cellar door – and look: there was Georgie sitting as stiff as a post, holding the pot of cream in his hand. And when he heard a noise and saw his mother, he started in terror and wept. And his mother took the half-emptied pot of cream from his hands, led him out of the cellar, and gave his buttocks the smacking he so thoroughly deserved.

Never again in the whole of his life did Georgie nibble, and after this, when others tried on occasion to tempt him to mischief and to deeds that shun the light, he would invariably say: “I won’t do it, I want no part of it, God who is everywhere will see it, God preserve me!” – And he became a thoroughly true and honest man.

37. The Hare and the Fox

A hare and a fox were travelling together. It was wintertime, nothing green was growing, and neither mouse nor louse crept through the fields. “This is hungry weather,” the fox said to the hare, “my insides are all laced together.” “Indeed,” the hare replied, “all this land belongs to Fasting Farm, and I would eat my own ears if I could get them into my mouth.”

So they trotted hungrily on, side by side. Then in the distance they saw a country girl coming towards them, carrying a small basket; and from the basket a pleasant smell wafted towards the fox and the hare, the smell of fresh rolls. “I’ll tell you what,” said the fox, “lie down flat and pretend to be dead. The girl will lay down her basket so she can lift you up and obtain your poor pelt, for gloves are made from hare skins; in the meantime, I’ll snatch the rolls, which will give us some comfort.”

The hare did as the fox had advised, falling down and pretending to be dead, and the fox dived behind a snowdrift. The girl came along, saw the still fresh hare lying sprawled out on the ground, put the basket down as expected, and bent over the hare. At that moment the fox darted out, snatched the basket, and swept across country; the hare suddenly came to life and hurriedly followed his companion. But the fox would not stop, and he showed no sign of sharing the rolls, rather making it clear that he was going to eat them all himself. The hare took this sorely amiss.

Now when they were in the vicinity of a small pond, the hare said to the fox: “What do you say to procuring some fish for our meal? Then we’ll have fish and white bread, like the great lords! Dangle your tail a little in the water, and the fish, which have very little to bite on right now, will cling to it. But make haste, before the pond freezes over.” That made sense to the fox, so he went to the pond – which was just about to freeze over – and dangled his tail in it, and in a short while the fox’s tail was frozen fast in the ice. Then the hare took the basket, ate the rolls before the fox’s eyes, very slowly, one after the other, and said to the fox: “Just wait until it thaws, just wait until the springtime, just wait until it thaws!” And he ran away, while the fox barked after him like an angry dog on a chain.

38. The Hare-Keeper and the King’s Daughter

A rich King had a very beautiful daughter; when she decided to get married, all the suitors who had presented themselves had to assemble on a large green meadow, where she threw a golden apple up into the air time and again, and whoever caught it and ventured to complete three obligations or three tasks, which she set herself, would have her to wife. Now many of them had caught the apple, the last one being a handsome, cheerful shepherd-boy, but not of them had been able to complete the three tasks. So now it was the shepherd-boy’s turn, as the last and lowliest of the suitors. The first task was this: the King had a hundred hares in a hutch, and whoever drove them onto the meadow, kept watch over them, and brought them all back in the evening, had accomplished the first task. When the shepherd-boy heard this, he said he would first like to have a day to think things over, but would most certainly decide on the following day whether he dared to undertake the task or not. Now the shepherd-boy ran around on the mountains and was sad, for he was afraid of the risky venture. Then he encountered a litlte old woman who asked him the reason for his sadness; but he said, “Oh, no one can help me.” Then the little grey-haired old woman spoke: “Do not judge so precipitately; tell me what concerns you, I may be able to help you.” And so he told her the task. Then the little old woman gave him a whistle and said, “Look after it well – it will be of use to you!” and before the lad even had time to express his thanks, the little old woman had vanished. Now he went merrily to the King and said, “I’ll keep watch over the hares!” And so they were released from the hutch. But by the time the last one was out, the first one could no longer be seen; it was over the hills and far away. The lad went out into the field, sat down on a green hill, and thought: What am I to do? Then he remembered his whistle; he quickly took it out and blew, and the hundred hares all came leaping back and cheerfully grazed around him on the green hill.

However, the King and the beautiful Princess were not at all desirous of the shepherd completing the task and winning the Princess to wife, for he was such a poor devil and not high-born, and they devised ruses they could employ to prevent the hare-keeper from bringing his flock home in full number.

So the King’s daughter came walking up to him, dressed in disguise and with her face altered so he should not know her – but he knew her nonetheless. Now when she had looked at all the hares, she asked, “Can one perhaps buy one of the hares here?” And the lad said, “There are none to be sold, but to be earned.” Then she asked, “What does that mean?” And the lad said, “If you submit to be my sweetheart and spend a shepherd’s hour with me!” She would not. However, as she did want a hare and he would not give one any other way, she at length condescended to agree. Now when he had hugged and kissed her quite to his satisfaction, he caught a hare for her and put it in her small basket, and she departed. When she was about a quarter-hour’s walk away from him, he blew his whistle, and the hare swiftly pushed open the lid of the basket, leapt out, and came running back to him.

It was not long before the old King came, and he too had disguised himself, but the lad knew him nonetheless. The King came riding on a donkey with a basket hanging on both sides. The King asked, “Aren’t there any hares for sale?” – “No, not for sale, but one can be earned!” the lad boldly replied. “What does that mean?” asked the King. “If you kiss this donkey here, under its tail,” the lad began, “you shall have one!” But the King would not do that; and he offered him a heavy pile of money if he would sell one; but the lad did not sell. Now as the King saw that he would not get to buy a hare, he finally condescended to give the donkey a hearty smacker under its tail; then a hare was caught, put in one of the baskets on the donkey, and the King rode away. But he had not gone far before the lad blew his whistle and the hare hopped out of the basket and came back. After that the King returned home and said, “He’s a slippery lad, I couldn’t get a hare!” He did not say what he had done. “Indeed!” replied the Princess. “That is just what happened to me!” But she also did not confess what she had got up to. When it was evening, the lad came with his hares and counted them out to the King, all hundred, as they entered the hutch.

Now the King said: “The first task is completed, and now it’s on to the second one! Pay attention! A hundred measures of peas and a hundred measures of lentils are lying in my loft; I have had them tipped out and mixed together thoroughly, and if you can separate them in one night without a light, then you will have accomplished the second task.” The lad said, “I can do it!” And so he was shut in the loft and the door was locked fast. Now when all was quiet in the castle, he blew his whistle; then many thousands of ants came creeping up, and they swarmed and scurried until such time as the peas were back in one separate heap, and so were the lentils. Now when the King came to take a look early in the morning, the task was completed, but he did not see the ants; they had gone away. The King was surprised and did not know how the lad had done it. Then he said, “I shall now tell you the third task. If you can eat your way through a large chamber full of bread this coming night, so that nothing is left over, you will then have accomplished the third task, and then you shall have my daughter!”

And so when it was dark, the lad was put into a pantry which was so full that only a small empty space was left by the door, where he stepped in. Once all was quiet in the castle, he blew his whistle again; then there came so many mice that it almost gave him the creeps; and when day dawned, the bread was all eatne up, with not even a crumb left over! He banged on the door and yelled, “Open up! I’m hungry!” And now the third task was also completed.

But the King said, “Tell us, for our amusement, a sack full of lies, then you shall have my daughter!” Then the lad set to, telling dreadful lies a half day long, but the sack still would not become full. So at last he related: “I have spent a shepherd’s hour with the enchanting Princess, my bride!” At these words she turned scarlet and the King looked at her, and although this was supposed to be a lie, yet the King believed it, and he could certainly imagine how and where it had happened. “But the sack is still not full!” he cried. Then the lad began, “Also, His Majesty has kissed –” “It’s full, it’s full! Pull it shut!” cried the King, for he was ashamed and did not want the honour that his royal mouth had bestowed on the donkey to be known, as his entire royal household was standing around in a circle. And the wedding of the shepherd-boy to the King’s daughter was celebrated, for fourteen days, and there were such lively goings-on, and such a merry time was had, that the teller of this tale wishes he had been a guest there too.

39. Little Thumbling

Once upon a time there was a poor basket-maker, and he and his wife had seven boys, each one smaller than the last, until the youngest one was little more than the length of a finger at birth; for this reason he was called Thumbling. It is true that he grew somewhat afterwards, but not really very much, and he kept the name of Thumbling. Yet he was a very clever and crafty little whippersnapper, and for shrewdness and adroitness he put all his brothers in the shade.

Things began to go very badly with the parents, for making baskets and plaiting straw is not such a lucrative profession as baking rolls or slaughtering calves; and when the times became unusually expensive, the basket-maker and his wife were worried to death about how to fill the bellies of their seven little mites, all of whom were blessed with extremely good appetites. So one evening when the children were in bed, both parents discussed what they were to do, and they decided to take the children with them into the forest where the willows grow whose withies are used for making baskets, and surreptitiously abandon them there. All this was heard by Thumbling, who was not asleep like his brothers, and he took careful note of his parents’ evil resolve. He brooded all night long, unable to sleep a wink, over how he could go about helping himself and his brothers.

Early in the morning Thumbling ran to the stream, searched for white pebbles to fill his little pockets, and returned home. He did not breathe a word of what he had overheard to his brothers. Now the parents set out into the wood, telling the children to follow them; and Thumbling let one pebble after another fall onto the path without anyone noticing, for being the youngest, smallest, and weakest, he always trotted along at the back. The parents had no idea what he was doing.

In the forest the parents secretly slipped away from the children – and suddenly they were not there. When the children realised this, they all as one raised a hullaballoo, except for Thumbling. Laughing, he said to his brothers, “Don’t bawl and howl so pitifully! We’ll find the way by ourselves, you’ll see.” And now Thumbling led the way instead of bringing up the rear, and using the white pebbles to guide his steps, he found the way back without any bother.

When the parents returned home, God blessed their house with money; an old debt on which they had given up hope was paid off to them by a neighbour, and now enough provisions were bought to make the table buckle. But this was followed by remorse at having abandoned the children, and the wife broke out into a wretched lament: “Oh dear God, dearest God! If only we hadn’t left the children in the forest! Oh, now they could eat their bellyful, but wolves may already have them in their stomachs! Oh, if only our darling children were here!” – “Mother, we are here!” said little Thumbling, as calm as you please; he had just arrived at the door with his brothers and heard her lament. He opened the door and in toddled the little basketmakers – one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. They had brought their hearty appetites back with them, and the cornucopia of food on the table was just what the doctor ordered. Great was the splendour, now that the children were back, and a merry life was lived as long as the money lasted, as is the habit of poor handicraftsmen.

It was not long at all before the cupboards in the basketmaker’s hut were bare again, and it was as well that they had no cellarer; and the resolution to abandon the children to their fate in the forest was awoken anew. As the plan was again discussed out loud as an evening conversation between father and mother, little Thumbling heard everything – the whole exchange, word for word – and laid it to heart.

On the next morning Thumbling wanted to slip out of the house once again to pick up pebbles, but alas! The door was bolted, and Thumbling was much too short to reach the bolt, so he thought of another way to help himself. When they were leaving for the forest, Thumbling put bread in his pockets; and he scattered crumbs on the path, thinking they would lead him back.

Everything came to pass as on the first occasion, only with the difference that Thumbling did not find the way home, for in the meantime birds had picked the path clean of crumbs. Now they were in a terrible pickle, and the brothers let out wails that would have melted a heart of stone. With these wails they made their faltering way through the wood until it became pitch dark, and they were extremely afraid – except for Thumbling, who did not howl and felt no fear. The seven brothers slept on soft moss, shielded under the leafy canopy of a tree, and when day broke Thumbling climbed a tree to reconnoitre the area. At first he saw nothing but forest trees, but then he discovered the roof of a small house; and making a note of the direction, he slid down the tree and bravely walked ahead of his brothers. After many a struggle with thickets, thorns, and thistles, they all saw the house as it appeared through the bushes, and they cheerfully strode towards it before knocking very humbly at the door. Then a woman came out, and Thumbling asked her very nicely to let them in, for they had lost their way and knew not where to go. The woman said, “Oh, you poor children!” and she let Thumbling and his brothers come in, but she told them straight away that they were in the house of an ogre who particularly liked to devour little children. That was a pretty confidence to be told! When they heard this, the children trembled like aspen-leaves; they would dearly have liked to have something to eat, but now they were to be eaten instead. But the woman was kind and sympathetic, hiding the children and giving them a bite to eat as well. Shortly afterwards steps could be heard and there were loud knocks at the door; it was none other than the homecoming ogre. He sat down at the table for his meal, was served with wine, and sniffed as if he smelt something, then he cried to his wife: “I scent human flesh!” She tried to talk him out of this, but he followed his nose and found the children. They were well-nigh dead from terror. Already he was whetting his long knife to slaughter the children with, and it was only by degrees that he yielded to his wife’s pleas to let them live a little longer and fatten them up, for they were far too scrawny, especially little Thumbling. So the evil man and child-eater was finally appeased. The children were put to bed, and this was in the same bedroom where Ogre’s seven daughters slept in another big bed. They were the same ages as the seven brothers and were very ugly of countenance, but each one wore a little golden crown on her head. Thumbling had noticed this, and slipping out of bed in all silence, he took his and his brothers’ nightcaps and put them on the heads of Ogre’s daughters, whose crowns he put on his own and his brothers’ heads.

The Ogre drank a great deal of wine, and his evil inclination to murder the children coming over him again, he took his knife and stole into the bedroom where they were sleeping, intending to cut their throats. But it was pitch-dark in the chamber, and the Ogre lumbered blindly around until he bumped into a bed. Then he felt for the heads of those sleeping in it, and feeling the crowns, he said: “Hold it! These are your daughters. You drunken ass, you almost committed a hare-brained blunder!”

Now he groped for the other bed, felt the nightcaps there, and cut his seven daughters’ throats, one after the other. Then he went back to bed and slept off his inebriation. When Thumbling heard him snoring, he woke his brothers, they stole out of the house, and then they took to their heels. But however much they hurried, they had no idea where they were going, and they ran around in confusion, full of anxiety and dread, again and again.

When morning came, the Ogre awoke and spoke to his wife: “Go and prepare the tots, the ones from yesterday!” She thought she would be waking the children, and she went up to the bedroom full of fear for them. What a terrible shock for the woman when she saw what had happened! She fell at once into a swoon from the dreadful sight before her eyes. When the Ogre thought she was taking too long he went up himself, and there he saw what he had done. The rage he flew into was indescribable. Now he put on his Seven-League-Boots; these boots carried you a league if you took seven steps in them, which is no mean feat. It was not long before the seven brothers saw him in the distance, striding over hill and dale, to their great consternation; but Thumbling hid himself and them in the hollow of a large rock. When the Ogre came to this rock, he sat down on it to rest a little, for he had grown tired; and he soon fell asleep, and his snores sounded like the roaring of a tempest. While the Ogre slept and snored so, Thumbling sneaked out like a mouse from his hole and pulled off his League-Boots, then put them on himself. Fortunately, these boots had the property of fitting every foot to a T, as if tailor-made. Now he took one of his brothers with each hand, and the rest linked hands, and so they went – in the blink of an eye – back home with seven-league bootsteps. There they were all made welcome, but Thumbling advised his parents to keep a careful eye on his brothers, for he now wished to earn his livelihood himself with the help of the boots. The words were hardly out of his mouth when he took a step and was already far away; another step, and he stood on a mountain, over half a league away; another step, and he was lost to his parents’ and brothers’ sight.

After this, Thumbling made his fortune with his boots, and made many great and far journeys, and served many lords; and whenever a place was not to his liking he speedily moved on. No pursuer on foot nor on horseback could catch up with him, and the adventures he underwent, with the help of his boots, beggar all description.

40. The King in the Bathhouse

Once upon a time, there was a King to whom many German- and Italian-speaking lands were subject, and this gave him a vainglorious temper, so that he believed himself to be the one and only mighty lord in the world. Now it happened that he went one evening to Vespers, where he heard the priest say the words: DEPOSUIT POTENTES DE SEDE, ET EXALTAVIT HUMILES. As he knew no Latin, he asked the learned men around him what these words meant. And they were interpreted for him: The Lord God hath put down the mighty from their seats, and exalted them of low degree.[14] The King was startled by this quotation and became wrathful and gave the command that this saying of St. Luke the Evangelist was henceforward not to be said, it was not to be heard by anyone, and it was to be utterly eradicated from the Holy Books. The King’s Emissaries carried his command into every land, to every priest, and into every cloister. Those books in which this passage of the Scripture was left, they were to be burned. And so those words were effaced and eradicated in great number, and were no longer said or chanted in Divine Office.

Now it happened that one day the King went into a bathhouse, and God, to make him pay for his sin against the Holy Word of the Gospel, sent an angel who assumed the King’s form, and He touched the eyes of the people with a kind of blindness so they would hold the angel to be their ruler and not know the real King. When the King stepped out of the bath, he seated himself on a bench on which the angel was sitting. The bath-keeper bid him get up and find a seat elsewhere. “Are you drunk, bath-keeper,” asked the King, “that you speak to me so outrageously? I am he, the King, your master!” “You’re a fool, more likely,” the bath-keeper replied. "My Lord the King is sitting right here; whose King are you, then? And where is Your Majesty’s Kingdom? Narragonia, I suppose?”

“Villain!” yelled the King, beside himself with rage, and he took a bucket and threw it at the bath-keeper’s head. The keeper’s servants heard the commotion, came rushing over, and anointed the King with oil from their fists until the angel intervened and rescued him from their hands. But then he left him and walked out of the bathing-room, and the King’s servants, who could not do otherwise than take the angel to be their master, dressed him in the King’s magnificent garments and escorted him to the Imperial Palace on proud steeds in a glittering procession. As for the King, he was thrown out of the bath-house naked and bare by the keeper and his assistants, and there he stood in front of the door, not knowing what was happening to him. And the people gathered round him and mocked him, his own retinue among them, for no one knew him. And naked as he was, he hurried away with great shame from the people, who ran after him as if following a fool, to the house of his cupbearer and most trusty counsellor.

It was after the time of the midday meal, and the cupbearer was sitting and taking his midday-rest when the King rang at the door and desired admission. The porter asked who he was and what he wanted, and he said, “I, the King!”

“Fie upon you!” cried the porter, “I have never seen a King looking such a disgrace. There’s no way you’re coming in!” Then the King shouted and made a monstrous din which the cupbearer heard, and he asked what the matter was. The porter said: “Lord, there is a man outside who is naked and bare and says he is your Lord King; and the people are behind him, sporting with the simpleton.”

“Let him in!” the cupbearer said with compassion. “And give him a makeshift garment that he may cover his nakedness.” This was done, and then the King walked in to the cupbearer, who was also unable to recognize him as his lord, and said, “Oh, my friend, you will, you must know me to be your King, even though a fantastical fate is visiting me today and driving me away from my honours and estate. Remember the words that freely passed between us yesterday morning, when I gave you, my counsellors, an order that I wished to see executed, and you dissuaded me from it as unworthy of a Prince.” And the King spoke of more such secret matters to the cupbearer, who began to laugh, and said: “You are telling the truth, indeed, but the Devil must have whispered it into your ear!” And the King spoke: “Whatever I may have done to deserve the misfortune that smites me, my heart yet tells me that I am a true and rightful King.”

The cupbearer did not want to contradict, for that tends to put fools into a passion, and among the wise it is not regarded as a sign of good manners; but he ordered food to be served to the stranger, while he thought to himself: I shall take the news of this rare event to the King. He, the cupbearer, was so highly regarded at Court for his wise counsels that he could gain admittance at any time, and so he set out at once for the royal castle, where he appeared before the angel and brought him the tidings of his extraordinary guest. The angel commanded him to bring the King to Court, and the entire royal household congregated in a large hall, with the servants filling every staircase and gallery. When the cupbearer appeared with the humbled King, everyone cried in derision: “God be with you, Lord King without a land!”

The angel sat in sumptuous splendour on the throne beside the beautiful Queen, and he greeted his Doppelganger, whose blood boiled with hatred on seeing his supposed enemy sitting by his wife. The angel spoke: “Pray tell, is it true that you are King here?” and the King replied, “I did see the day when I wielded power here, where my Queen received me as her Lord and King, she whose amiable greeting I must now do without, though it was never withheld from me before; not until today, this day of my disgrace and my suffering. Oh, with what affection did I part from her lovely arms this very morning!”

The Queen flushed with shame at the insinuation that she had embraced the stranger, and she spoke to the angel: “My royal Lord and husband, this man is surely out of his wits!”, and an old knight of the Court cried: “Silence, villain! You ought to be dragged on a cow-hide to the gallows!”, and the young lickspittles at Court, wanting to gain favour and display their valour, grabbed at the King; and they would have used him ill enough had the angel not warded them off and led the King away into a handsome, secluded chamber. There he spoke to him: “Speak! Do you believe or do you not believe that God has power over the whole of Creation? Behold how His almighty power tramples you into the dust! What help is your mighty host to you? Who obeys your summons and command? The truth – deposuit potentes de sede – lives on, and you and your ilk will never, in all eternity, suppress it!”

So spoke the angel to the King, who asked, trembling, “Man, who are you? If you are God the Almighty, of whom you speak, may Your Grace have mercy on this poor, deluded man!”

“I am not God!” the angel said to this, “but I am one of his messengers and a servant of the true Christ. He sent me, and He sent you punishment for your pride. God exalts and abases whom He will! Why do you persecute this truth?”

Then the King fell down at the angel’s feet and besought God’s grace and forgiveness. The angel bid him arise and said: “You must have faith in the Word of the Scripture from the mouths of priests! You must be compassionate to those who pour out their sorrow to you! You must be as just to the lowly as to the great! If you do so, you shall once again occupy the seat of your power and your honours.”

And the King humbled himself again before the Messenger of the Lord; he bowed, and kneeled down, and said: “I follow you gladly, grant me grace through God!” Then the angel offered him his hand, gave him the royal raiment, and bestowed upon the King his original form; and the King discarded the miserable coat the cupbearer had ordered to be given him. And the angel disappeared before the King’s eyes and flew back up to Heaven, the Home of Souls, the Realm of the Eternal Father.

The King spoke: “Praised be the sweet Christ, the Mighty Lord. What the angel told me is the real truth.” And he walked forth from the chamber as one whom no harm had ever befallen. His vassals reverently asked: “Lord, what has become of the fool?” He called the Queen and his people together around him and told them everything, how things had come to pass and what he had suffered; his fight with the bath-keeper and everything besides; and he showed them the miserable coat. This frightened the lickspittles, who were ashamed at having injured and misknown their Lord in such a wise, and many of them now thought they would answer for it with their lives and lands. Even the Queen begged the King for grace and mercy, and assured him by all that was holy that she had not recognised him. He gently took her hands in his and said, “Wife, be silent! God willed it so! After all, I no longer knew myself.”

Then he bid the deposuit sentence be written again in the old books where it had been erased, and had it said again in the churches, and became a truly humble ruler. And may he who reads this tale humble his heart before God, and beseech Him in His Grace to preserve him from arrogance and pride.

41. Table-Set-Yourself, Donkey-Stretch-Yourself, Cudgel-Out- the-Sack!

In a small town there lived an honest tailor with his family, which counted five heads: the father, the mother, and three sons. These last were called not by their Christian names by their parents or all the inhabitants of the town, but purely and simply Lanky, Tubby, and Dopey. This was the order in which they followed one another, by age. Lanky became a carpenter, Tubby a miller, and Dopey a wood-turner. Now when Lanky finished his apprenticeship, his bundle was tied up and he was sent out into the world, and he walked out the gates of his hometown with long strides and a merry heart. For a long time the lad wandered from place to place without finding any work; now, as his travelling money, which had been meagre enough to begin with, was well-nigh exhausted, and he had no happy prospect of work and income, he became dispirited and walked softly on his way, with head hung low. This road happened to pass through a quiet, beautiful forest, and when the lad was some distance inside he met a small, rather portly man, who greeted him most cordially and, staying his steps, asked: “Well, lad, and where are you off to? You look really sad – is there something you’re wanting?” – “I want work,” the lad said frankly. “That is my only sorrow – I’ve been wandering a long time – I’ve no money left.” – “And what trade do you know?” the man inquired further. “I’m a carpenter.” – “Oh, then come with me!” the little man joyfully exclaimed, “I’ll give you work! You see, I live here in this forest – yes yes, just come along, you’ll see it very soon.” And barely a hundred steps further on there lay a lovely house, and around it was a thick, fresh green pine-fence, looking like a screen-wall, and by the entrance at the front two tall pine-trees stood just like giant sentries. The man led the carpenter’s journeyman inside, who directly let go of his sadness and stepped with a cheerful face into the solitary master’s cosy room. “Welcome!” cried an old grandma from the corner behind the stove, and she came toddling towards the lad to help him take his knapsack off. That evening the master talked with the lad for hours, and the grandma served dishes, and she also placed a jug on the table which contained something far better than water or small beer.

The young carpenter found life with his master most agreeable; he was not given all too much to do, he worked hard, and he behaved honestly and properly at all times, so that no complaints were made about him. Yet after several months the old man said, “My dear journeyman, I no longer have any use for you and must let you go. And I cannot reward the work you have done for me with money; but I shall give you a pretty keepsake that will help you more than gold or silver.” So saying, he handed him an enchanting little table and continued: “Whenever you put up this Table-Set-Yourself and say the words, ‘Table-Set-Yourself’ three times, it will serve you a meal of any dishes and drinks you might wish for. And now fare well, and see to it that you remember your old master.” The journeyman left his former workplace with reluctance; happy and sad at the same time, he took the miracle-working table from the giver’s hands and departed, with many expressions of gratitude, directing his steps back towards his beloved home. On the way, the table, whenever the lad spoke the magic charm, offered him its rich delights: in a flash the choicest dishes and the noblest wines appeared on it, and all the vessels were of silver, and under them shone the finest snow-white tablecloth. Naturally, the journeyman held his Table-Set-Yourself in awe. In the last inn before he arrived home he gave it to his host for safekeeping. However, as he had not eaten or drunk anything at the inn during his stay, but had locked himself in with the table, the innkeeper had peeked through a crack in the plank door and discovered the table’s secret. So he was elated to have the table in his keeping, and its splendid peculiarity gave him immense delight. Making himself quite comfortable at the small table, he pondered the best way to appropriate it. Then it occurred to him that he possessed a very similar table, although it was no Table-Set-Yourself. So the crafty innkeeper hid the genuine table and, the next morning, delivered the fake one to the journeyman, who shouldered the load without thinking and hurried towards his home in a merry mood. With joy did the tall carpenter greet his family at home, and he lost no time in revealing to his father the delightful truth about the table. The father strongly doubted it, but the son put the table up, said “Table, set yourself” three times – yet it did not set itself, and the honest master-tailor said to his son, “You jackass, did you go out into the world just to mock your old father? Get along with you, don’t make a fool of yourself!” The tall carpenter was completely at a loss as to what had suddenly gone wrong with the table. He tried all kinds of ways, but it did not set itself again, and Lanky had to take up the plane once again and work himself to the bone.

In the meantime the fat miller had finished his apprenticeship and wandered out into the world. And it so happened that he took the very same path and found the very same little man and was given employment by him. The house in the forest, however, was now a mill. When the young miller’s-man had performed his duties honestly, faithfully, and diligently for some time, his master gave him an excellent donkey as a keepsake and said: “Take a small parting gift, and although I cannot reward your work with money, this will be of more use to you than gold or silver. Whenever you tell this miller’s lion, ‘Donkey, stretch yourself!’ then it will – sneeze – ducats for you.”

Just as often as Lanky had said, “Table, set yourself” on the way home, just so often did Tubby say, “Donkey, stretch yourself,” and it did stretch itself, dropping ducats with a rattle and a clatter. It was a delightful thing to see – the shiny pieces of gold. – But the miller’s journeyman also came with his donkey to the inn of the deceitful and crafty innkeeper, where he had the table served and treated everyone who wished to be treated; and when the innkeeper demanded the bill be paid, he said, “Wait a little, while I go and fetch some money.” Taking the tablecloth, he went into the stable, spread it over the straw on which the donkey was standing, and said: “Donkey, stretch yourself!” – and the donkey stretched itself and sneezed, and ducats clinked on the cloth; however, the innkeeper was standing outside looking through a knothole in the door, and he got the picture. The next morning there was, to be sure, a donkey there, but not the right one, and Tubby, not suspecting any deception, mounted in high spirits and rode away. When he came to his father, he announced his good fortune to him and, when all the family were standing around the donkey in happy amazement, said “Now pay attention!” And turning to the donkey, he commanded, “Donkey, stretch yourself!” The new donkey certainly stretched itself, but what it let drop could not have been less like gold coins. All those to whom Tubby had wanted to show its ability now laughed at him uproariously; he beat the donkey black and blue but could not beat any ducats out of its skin, and from that time on he had to return to work and eat his bread in the sweat of his face.[15]

Now another year had gone by and Dopey had also come through his apprenticeship, and he went out into the world as a sprightly wood-turner. He purposely took the same road as his brothers, ardently wishing to also find employment with that little man who, as his brothers had told him, was well-versed in all fields, in trades as in erudition and wisdom, and had such pretty presents to give away. The turner’s journeyman duly arrived in that particular wood and found the little man’s secluded dwelling; and he too, being an industrious lad, was readily taken on. Several months later, however, it was once again a case of, “Dear journeyman, I can now keep you here no longer, your work is done.” At parting the man said, “I would happily give you, like your brothers, a pretty keepsake, but what use would it be, as they call you Dopey? Your tall brother and your fat brother have lost their gifts through their stupidity – whatever would become of a gift I made to you? Yet take this simple sack; you may find it very useful. Whenever you say to it, “Cudgel out the sack!” then the well-turned club which sits inside will leap out to protect you, to defend and assist you, and it will keep clubbing until you give the command, “Cudgel in the sack!”

The turner courteously expressed his thanks and set out homewards with his sack; however, it was long before he needed its protection on his journey, for as he went his way lightly and merrily, everyone let him wander onwards unhindered. Only at times did he give a taste of the contents of his sack to an officious beadle, or to the village dogs which shoot out of every yard and bark at and after the wanderer. And so he finally came to that inn where the wicked innkeeper had cheated his brothers out of what was theirs, and was now living in clover, but nonetheless still had an appetite to appropriate a little something from travellers’ effects. When going to bed, the turner gave the sack to the innkeeper for safekeeping and warned him that he should not say, “Cudgel out the sack!” to it, for there was a special story behind all this, and anyone who said the words could well find himself on the receiving end. However, the innkeeper liked his table and donkey too well not to want to secretly snatch away a third wonder-working object; he could hardly wait for the time when his guest had laid himself to rest, to say: “Cudgel out the sack!” And in a trice the cudgel shot out and rolled on the innkeeper’s back like a drummer, bludgeoned on and on, and bludgeoned him so black and blue that he set up a pitiful yelling and woke up the turner’s journeyman with his howls. The latter said, “Host, this serves you right! I warned you, didn’t I? You have stolen the Table-Set-Yourself and the Donkey-Stretch- Yourself from my brothers.” The innkeeper shrieked, “Oh just help me for God’s sake! I’m being murdered!” (For the cudgel was still tirelessly working away on the innkeeper’s back.) “I’ll give everything back, the table and the donkey! Oh, I’m falling down, I’m a dead man!”

Now the journeyman commanded, “Cudgel in the sack!” and in a flash the club slipped back inside the sack. And the innkeeper was pleased to have escaped with his life, and he willingly returned the table and the donkey. Then the turner packed up his things, loaded his bundle on his back and himself on the donkey, and trotted towards his hometown. There was no little joy among the brothers when they saw that the exceedingly valuable presents and keepsakes had been won back, and still performed their wonders just as splendidly as formerly – won back by him they had always called Dopey, yet who was cleverer than them. And the brothers stayed together with their parents and no longer needed to work to gain their daily bread through merit, for from that time on they had an abundance of all that the life of man requires.

42. Husband and Wife in the Vinegar-Jug

Once upon a time there was a husband and wife, and they had lived together for ages and ages in a vinegar jug. In the end they grew weary of it, and the husband said to the wife: “It’s your fault that we have to live in this sour vinegar jug, I wish to God we weren’t here!” But the wife said, “No, it’s your fault.” And so they began to quarrel and to wrangle with one another, and the one chased the other around the vinegar jug. Then a Golden Bird chanced to come by the jug, and it asked, “What is the matter with the two of you?” “Well,” said the wife, “we’re weary of this vinegar jug and would just like to live like other people; we’d be quite content with that.” Then the Golden Bird let them out of the vinegar jug, took them to a new cottage with a neat garden at the back, and said to them: “This is yours now! From now on, live together in harmony and content, and if you ever need me, you have only to clap your hands three times and call:

Golden Bird in sunbeam bright!

Golden Bird in Hall of Light!

Golden Bird day and night!

And I’ll be there.”

With that the Golden Bird flew away, and the husband and wife were happy that they did not have to live in the sour vinegar jug any longer, and they took delight in their neat cottage and green garden. But this lasted only a short while, for when they had been living in the cottage a few weeks and had walked around the neighbourhood, they had seen the large and splendid farms there, with big stables, gardens, fields, and many servants and cattle. And they they no longer took any pleasure in their tiny cottage and had grown quite weary of it, and one fine morning the two of them clapped their hands almost at the same time and called out:

“Golden Bird in sunbeam bright!

Golden Bird in Hall of Light!

Golden Bird day and night!”

Suddenly the Golden Bird came flying in at the window and asked them what they wanted now?

“Oh,” they said, “the cottage really is far too small, if we only had one of those large, splendid farms, we’d be content with that.” The Golden Bird blinked a little with its peepers but said nothing, and it took the husband and wife to a large and splendid farm with many fields, and byres with cattle, and workers and maids, and gave them everything.

The husband and wife leapt with delight and could not contain their joy. And now they were contented and happy a whole year long and could not imagine anything better. But this feeling lasted no longer, not even a day, for they sometimes travelled into town and saw the beautiful large houses and the beautifully accoutred gentlemen and ladies taking the air, and they thought: Well, life in the town must be marvellous indeed, and you don’t have to do much or work much there; and the wife could not take her eyes off the splendour and the luxurious living, and she said to her husband, “We want to live in the town too, you call the Golden Bird! We’ve been on the farm quite long enough.” But the husband said, “Wife, you call him!” In the end the wife clapped her hands three times and called out:

“Golden Bird in sunbeam bright!

Golden Bird in Hall of Light!

Golden Bird day and night!”

Then the Golden Bird flew in at the window again and said, “Whatever do you want from me?” – “Oh,” said the wife, “we are tired of the farmer’s life, we would like to be townspeople and have lovely clothes and live in a large and splendid house like they do, and we’d be content with that.” The Golden Bird blinked again with its peepers but said nothing, and it took them to the finest house in the town where everything was decorated with a nonpareil finery, and it had wardrobes in which there hung, and chests of drawers in which there lay, clothes after the latest fashion. Now the husband and wife thought there could be nothing better nor finer in the world, and were beside themselves with rapture. Unfortunately, this too did not last long, they grew fed up again, and they said to each other: “If only we had it as good as nobles do! They live in magnificent palaces and castles and have coaches and horses, and servants with gold-edged coats stand on the coaches. Yes, now that would be the life; what we have now is a mere miserable trifle.” And the wife said, “Now it’s your turn to call the Golden Bird.” But for a long time, the man would not do this; finally, as his wife would not cease nagging and badgering him, he clapped his hands three times and cried out:

“Golden Bird in sunbeam bright!

Golden Bird in Hall of Light!

Golden Bird day and night!”

Then the Golden Bird flew in at the window again and asked: “Whatever do you want from me?” And the man said, “We’d like to become nobles, and we’d be content with that.” But then the Golden Bird blinked its eyes very sharply and said, “You insatiable people! Will you never have enough? I shall make you nobles – for all the good it will do you!” and he instantly gave them a beautiful and magnificent castle, coaches and horses and a goodly suite of servants. – So now they were nobles and they went for a stroll every day, with not a thought in their heads but of how to pass their days in happiness and idleness (except that they read the newspapers). One day they travelled to the capital to see a great festival. There were the King and Queen sitting in their gilded coach in gold-embroidered clothes, and before and behind and on both sides marshalls, courtiers, squires and soldiers were riding, and all the people waved their hats and handkerchiefs when the King and Queen drove past. Ah, how the husband and wife’s hearts beat with impatience! No sooner were they back home than they said, “Now we must become King and Queen, but after that we’ll stop.” And they both clapped their hands and called out at the top of their voices:

“Golden Bird in sunbeam bright!

Golden Bird in Hall of Light!

Golden Bird day and night!”

Then the Golden Bird flew in at the window again and asked, “Whatever do you want from me?” And they both answered, “We would like to become King and Queen.” But then the bird blinked its eyes dreadfully, ruffled all its feathers, beat its wings and said, “You awful people, when will you ever have enough? I shall make you King and Queen as well, but that will not be the end of it, for you are never satisfied!”

So now they became King and Queen, and they had dominion over the entire land and kept a large household, and their ministers and courtiers had to fall down on their knees when they descried either of them. They also had every official throughout the land come successively into their presence, and they issued the strictest orders to them down from their throne. And all that was expensive and exquisite in every lord’s land had to be procured, until they were surrounded by a radiance and a richness beyond description. And yet they were still not satisfied and kept saying: “We must become something more!” Then the wife said, “Let us become Emperor and Empress.” – “No!” said the husband. “We’ll become Pope!” – “Oho! That’s not enough!” the wife cried in her zeal. “We will rather be God!” No sooner had she finished speaking these words than a mighty tempest came and a large black bird, with flashing eyes that rolled like wheels of fire, flew in at the window and cried in a voice that shook the very foundations: “Thou shalt vegetate in the vinegar jug!”

Crash! all the splendour was history, and there sat the two of them, the husband and the wife, inside their narrow vinegar jug again; there they are sitting still, and there they can remain until the Day of Judgement.

This is a lesson for those who never can have enough.

43. The Magic Contest

There was once a young bookbinder’s journeyman who went travelling into foreign lands, and he wandered until he did not have a single kreutzer left to tinkle in his pocket. He was finally compelled by his strained relationship with his now lank purse to make serious enquiries after work, and he was soon taken on by a master and had a very, very cosy billet. His master said to him: “Assistant, you will have it good here with me; the work you have to do every day is little indeed. You will simply dust these books as clean as a whistle every day and then stand them up again in order. But this one book which stands here apart – you must not touch it, far less look inside it, or it will go ill with you boy, mark that. The other books, however, you may read as much as you please.”

The assistant took his master’s words thoroughly to heart and had the time of his life for two years; every day, all he did was clean the books then read some of them, while enjoying the choicest food – and he never laid a finger on the forbidden book. He won thereby the complete trust of his master, so that the latter would often stay away from home for days on end, and also undertake a journey on occasion. But as man constantly craves what is forbidden, so one time, when the master was away on a trip for several days, there stirred in the apprentice a powerful yearning to finally learn what was written in the book which always lay, like a sacred relic, in its appointed place. – For he had read through all the other books. To be sure, his conscience opposed doing what was forbidden, but his curiosity was stronger; he took the book, opened it, and began to read inside. In this book there were the deepest, most precious secrets, and the most powerful spells were contained therein; and everything gradually revealed itself to the astounded, awestruck apprentice in so crystal-clear a fashion that he even began to try his hand at magic. Everything succeeded. When the lad spoke a powerful spell from this book, what he wished for was there before him in a flash. The book also taught how to change any human form into another. Now he experimented further and further, and in the end he turned himself into a swallow, took the book, and flew back home at top speed. His father felt no little amazement when a swallow flew in at his window and then suddenly became his son, whom he had not seen for two years. The lad warmly clasped the old man to his breast and said, “Father, we can now be happy and secure, I’ve brought a magic book with me which can make us richer than rich.” The old man was very pleased to hear this, for his was a hand-to-mouth existence. Soon afterwards the young wizard turned himself into an extremely large and fat ox and said to his father: “Now take me to the market and sell me, but demand a large sum, a really large sum, so they will pay a high price for me; and be sure not to forget to take off the little rope that is tied round my left hind foot, and to bring it back home with you, or I’m done for.”

The father did everything as instructed; he sold the ox for a heavy sum of gold, for when he appeared with it at the market a crowd of people very soon gathered around it, everyone admiring this rarity of an ox, and Christians and Jews came to blows in their eagerness to buy it. But the buyer who made the highest offer, and paid, and led the ox away in triumph found, on the next morning, instead of a magnificent ox, a little bundle of straw lying in his cowshed. And the bookbinder’s journeyman? He was back home with his father in high spirits, and the two of them lived in clover on the money. Many a man is full of bull, but no one buys him at a high price.

Soon afterwards the lad changed himself again, this time into a splendid black horse, and he had his father take him to the horse-market and sell him. Again a crowd gathered round, to see the beautiful, glossy black steed. –However, that Master Bookbinder, when he had returned home, had realised at once what had happened; and as he was not really a bookbinder, but a wizard who only pursued this occupation for the sake of appearances, he immediately knew the score and set off in pursuit of the absconder. Now, at that horse-market the master was among the buyers, and as he knew every page of the little magic book, he instantly understood the truth about the horse, and he thought: Just wait, now I’ll catch you. And so he sought to buy the horse at any price, which he succeeded in doing without much difficulty, for he took it at the very first selling price. The father did not know the buyer, but the horse began to tremble and sweat violently, and it gave signs of extreme anxiety and fear; yet the father could not possibly suspect the great danger of his son’s present situation. When the horse was led in to the new owner’s stable and put into the place appointed for it, the father wanted to remove the rope again, but the buyer would not by any means allow this, for he knew fine well that he would then be done out of his catch. So the father had to go away without the rope, and he thought to himself: He’ll be able to help himself, for sure; if he knows so much that he can turn himself into a horse, then he can certainly use his magic arts to free himself in that stable and come home.

But in that stable there was a terrific crush of people: large and small, old and young – everyone wanted to have a look at the exceptionally beautiful steed. A saucy lad even dared to stroke the horse and pat it caressingly, and the horse liked this, so it seemed, very much; and when this lad, becoming ever more familiar, came closer and stroked the horse’s head and neck, it whispered to him very quietly, “Dearest boy, don’t you have a knife on you?” And the lad answered in happy astonishment: “Oh yes, I’ve a really sharp one.” Then the black horse spoke again, very quietly: “Pray, cut off the rope on my left hind foot,” and the lad quickly cut it in two. And in that moment the beautiful steed collapsed before everyone’s eyes and became a small bundle of straw, and a swallow flew forth from it and out of the stable into the high blue heavens. The master’s attention had wandered from the horse only for a moment; now there was no time to lose. Using his art, he swiftly changed himself into a vulture and shot after the fleeing swallow. Only a moment more and the vulture would have had the swallow in his claws, but the swallow noticed the enemy, looked down at the ground, and saw a beautiful castle directly underneath, and a Princess was sitting in front of the castle, and without delay the swallow turned into a gold finger-ring and fell down, right into the fair Princess’s lap. She did not know what was happening, and put the ring on her finger. But the vulture’s keen eyes had seen everything and the master magician rapidly changed himself from a vulture into a spruce squire, who walked up to the Princess and asked her most politely and most humbly to deliver back into his hands that little ring with which he had just been performing a trick. The beautiful Princess smiled with a blush, pulled the ring from her finger, and was about to hand it over to the conjurer – but look! It fell from her tender fingers and rolled, as a tiny seed of millet, into a crack in a stone. In an instant the squire transformed himself into a proud cockerel which eagerly pecked for the millet seed in the crack, but in a flash the millet seed became a fox and this bit the cockerel’s head off. And thus was the master magician vanquished. Now the young journeyman resumed his natural form, fell at the Princess’s feet, praised her, and gave her thanks for having worn him on her finger and, in this way, betrothed herself to him. The Princess was mightily shocked at everything that had happened, for she was yet very young and inexperienced; and she gave him her heart and her hand, but on the condition that he henceforth renounce all transformations and stay unchangeably true to her. The youth swore to do this and sacrificed his book of magic to the flames – but this was very ill done of him, for he could have left and bequeathed it to you, dear reader, or to me; the two of us would certainly never have horsed around.

44. The Three Gifts

Once upon a time there was a poor linen weaver who was visited by three rich students, and when they saw that the man was very poor they gave him a hundred pounds for his housekeeping. The linen weaver was very pleased with this gift and thought to use it well, but first he wanted to feast his eyes on the shining pounds a while longer, so he did not tell his wife – who had not been home at the time – anything about his good fortune, and he hid the money away where no one thinks to look for money, that is to say, among the rags.

One day, when he was away from home, a rag-and-bone man called, and his wife sold him the entire stock for a few pence. Great was the heartache when the linen weaver came home and his wife delightedly showed him the trifling money she had made from the rags.

A year later, the three students came again, hoping to find the linen weaver in good circumstances, but they found him even poorer than before, and he lamented his misfortune to them. With an exhortation to be more careful, the students gave him a hundred pounds once again. Now, he thought he was acting very wisely when he again said nothing to his wife and put the money in the dustpan. And everything fell out exactly as on the previous occasion: the wife exchanged the ashes with an ash-collector for a few pieces of soap just when her husband was absent again, delivering to some customer the linen he had ordered. When he returned and found out about the deal with the ashes, he became so enraged that he gave her back a good dusting.

A year later, the students came for the third time, found the linen weaver reduced to rags, and throwing a lump of lead before his feet, they told him: “What use are pearls to a hungry swine? Giving money to a simpleton like you would be even more stupid than you are yourself. We’re never coming back to you again.” With this they went very angrily away, and the linen weaver lifted the lump of lead up from the floor and laid it on the window-sill. Soon afterwards his neighbour, who was a fisherman, came in, gave him good-day and said, “Dear neighbour, do you by any chance have a lump of lead, or anything else heavy, which I could use for my net? I have nothing of the kind left.” So the linen weaver gave him the lump of lead, and the neighbour thanked him very kindly and said: “The first big fish that I catch, it shall be yours by way of reward.” “No, really – I didn’t give you it for that”, said the satisfied linen weaver.

Soon afterwards the neighbour did indeed bring a fine fish, a four- to five-pounder, and the linen weaver was obliged to accept it. He slaughtered the fish straight away, and there it had a large stone in its stomach. This stone also the linen weaver laid on the window-sill. In the evening, when it grew dark, the stone began to shine; and the darker it became, the brighter shone the stone, just like a light. “That’s a cheap lamp,” said the linen weaver to his wife. “Aren’t you going to sell it for a song, like you gave away the two hundred pounds?” And he placed the stone so that it lit up the whole room.

On the following evening, a gentleman was riding past the house when he caught sight of the shining stone, so he dismounted and walked into the room, took a look at the stone, and offered ten pounds for it. The weaver said, “This stone is not for sale!” “Not even for twenty pounds?” asked the gentleman. “Not even,” replied the linen weaver. But the other kept on bidding and bidding until he offered a thousand pounds, for the stone was a precious diamond and worth much more than that. Then the weaver shook on it, and he became the richest man in the village. But his wife had the last word, saying: “You see, husband! If I hadn’t given the money away twice! At the end of the day, you owe it all to me!”

45. The Little Shepherd’s Providential Dream

Once upon a time there was a very poor farmer, he was the shepherd in a little village, and had been so for many years. His family was small, he had a wife and only the one child, a boy. Yet he had taken this boy, while he was still very small, out to the meadows with him and had inculcated him with the duties of a faithful shepherd; and so he was able, when the boy was only somewhat grown-up, to rely on him completely, to entrust the flock to him alone, and to earn some extra thruppences in the meantime by weaving baskets at home. The little shepherd cheerfully drove his flock out on to the meadows and pastures; he whistled or sang many a merry ditty, punctuating them with loud cracks of his shepherd’s whip, and so time never hung heavy on his hands. At midday he would settle down quite comfortably beside his flock, eat his bread and drink from the stream, and then sleep for a while until it was time to move on.

One day, the little shepherd had lain down for his midday rest under a shady tree, and he fell asleep and dreamed a most wondrous dream: He was going away, endlessly far away – there was a loud clinking, as if heaps of coins were continually falling to the ground – a thundering, like the banging of incessant shots – an endless company of soldiers with weapons and in flashing armour – all of this circled, and buzzed, and roared around him. And he was constantly wandering and always climbing uphill, until he was finally up on the summit, where a throne had been put up, and he sat down in it, and beside him was a seat in which a beautiful woman – who had suddenly appeared – sat down. Now the little shepherd drew himself up in his dream and said, quite solemnly and ceremoniously, “I am the King of Spain.” But at that very moment he woke up. Thoughtful after his strange dream, the boy drove his flock onwards; and at home in the evening he told his parents, who were sitting before the door carving osiers, while he was helping them, about his wondrous dream, and at the end he said, “Truly, if I dream this one more time, I’ll go away to Spain, and see if I don’t become King!” – “Stupid boy,” his old father muttered, “making you the King indeed, don’t make a fool of yourself!” And his mother had a good giggle and clapped her hands and repeated in amazement, “King of Spain, King of Spain!” At midday the next day the little shepherd lay down under that tree and – O miracle! – the same dream enveloped his senses again. With difficulty did he stay to keep watch until evening; he would have liked to run home and then set out on a journey to Spain. When he at last drove his flock home, he announced that he had seen the dream a second time and said, “If I have that dream once more, I’m going away on the spot, right on the spot.” – On the third day he lay under that tree again, and exactly the same dream came for the third time. The boy drew himself up in his dream and said, “I am the King of Spain,” and with that he awoke, snatched up his hat and whip and little bag of bread from his couch, and gathering his flock, he drove them straight towards the village. There the people began to tell him off for driving the flock in so soon, such a long time before Vespers; however, the boy was so excited that he paid no heed to the scolding of his neighbours or his own parents, but tied up his few items of clothing which he wore on Sundays in a bundle, hung it on the end of a walnut-stick, put it over his shoulder, and, without so much as a by-your-leave, set forth.

The boy was very fleet on his legs; he ran as swiftly as if he should arrive in Spain that night. Yet on this day he reached only a forest – nowhere was there a village or a solitary house – and he decided to bed down for the night in this forest among some thick bushes. But no sooner had he laid himself down to rest and fallen asleep than a noise woke him up again: a company of men, conversing loudly, were passing by the bushes where he had made his bed. The boy quietly emerged and followed the men at a short distance, thinking: Perhaps you will find a lodging after all; where these men sleep today, you can surely sleep too. – They had not gone much further at all when a quite respectable house appeared before them, albeit right in the heart of a dark forest. The men knocked, the door was opened, and the shepherd-boy slipped into the house with them. Inside, another door was opened, and they all walked into a large, very sparsely lit room, where many bundles of straw, mattresses, and blankets lay around on the floor, which the men seemed to have kept in readiness for their beds for the night. The little shepherd-lad quickly crawled under a pile of straw which was stacked close to the door, and he now paid heed to everything he could hear or perceive from his hiding-place. Being clever and sharp-witted, he soon found out that this company of men was a band of robbers, whose chief was the master of this house. This man mounted, when the newly arrived members had laid themselves down, a somewhat raised seat and spoke in a deep bass voice: “My brave companions, give me a report on your work today, where you have broken and entered and what you have bagged!” The first to stand up was a tall man with a coal-black beard, and he answered: “My dear chief, early today I robbed a rich nobleman of his leather trousers; they have two pockets, and whenever you turn these inside-out and give them a good shake, a heap of ducats will fall out onto the floor.” – “That sounds very good!” said the chief. Another of the men stepped forward and reported: “Today I stole the three-cornered hat from a general; this hat has the property that, when you turn it on your head, shots will ring out incessantly from the three corners.” – “That’s good to hear!” said the chief. And a third man stood up and said, “I robbed a knight of his sword; if you thrust its point into the earth, a regiment of soldiers will instantly spring up.” – “A brave deed!” lauded the chief. Now a fourth robber got to his feet and began, “I pulled the boots off a sleeping traveller, and when you put them on, you will cover seven leagues with every step.” – “Quick work, that’s what I like!” said the chief contentedly. “Hang your booty on the wall, and then eat and drink and sleep your fill.” With these words, he left the robbers’ bedchamber; they had a good old carouse and then fell fast asleep. When all was still and peaceful, and the robbers were asleep to a man, the little shepherd crept out, climbed into the leather trousers, put on the hat, girded on the sword, slipped into the boots and then stole out of the house. Outside the boots very soon showed their magical power, to the little one’s delight, and in next to no time the lad was striding into Spain’s great royal seat, called Madrid.

Here he asked the first person he met for the grandest inn, but for answer he received: “Little fellow, just you go to where your sort make a stop, and not where rich gentlemen dine.” But a shining gold coin immediately made that man more polite, and he now readily became the little shepherd’s guide and showed him the best inn. Once he had arrived there, the youth at once rented the finest room and pleasantly asked his host: “Well, how are things in your city? What’s the latest news?” The innkeeper pulled a long face and replied, “Little Lord, I take it that you are a stranger in this land? It would seem you have not heard that our Royal Majesty is arming himself with a force of twenty thousand men? We have enemies, you see; oh, this is really a terrible time! Little Lord, would you perhaps like to join the military too?” – “Certainly, certainly,” said the slender youth, and his face beamed with joy. When the innkeeper had retired, he took his trousers off forthwith, shook out a pile of gold coins, bought himself sumptuous clothes and weapons and jewellery, fitted himself out with all of these, and requested an audience of the King. And when he arrived at the castle and was led by two chamberlains through a large and splendid hall, he met a wonderfully charming young lady, and she curtseyed gracefully to the handsome youth who was walking in the midst of the courtiers and who greeted her politely, and the courtiers whispered, “That is the Princess, the King’s daughter.” The young man took no little delight in the beauty of the King’s daughter, and his delight and enthusiasm led him to speak boldly and bravely before the King. He said, “Your Royal Majesty! I hereby humbly offer my services as a warrior. My army, which I shall bring to you, will gain the victory for you; my army will conquer everything that my King commands to be conquered. But I request a reward: that I may, if I carry the day, take your fair daughter to wife. Will you agree to that, most gracious Majesty?” The King was astonished at the youth’s bold words and said, “Fine, I agree to your demand; if you return home victorious, I shall appoint you my successor and give you my daughter to wife.”

Now the erstwhile shepherd betook himself out into the open country and thrust his sword repeatedly into the earth, and in a few minutes many thousands of soldiers were standing in the field armed for battle, and the youth was seated as commander, luxuriously armed and adorned, on a splendid steed that was decorated with coverings threaded with gold, and whose bridle flashed with jewels; and the young commander rode out towards the enemy, and there was a great and bloody battle; from the commander’s hat there thundered an incessant torrent of deadly shots, and his sword called one regiment after another out of the earth, and so, only a few hours later, the enemy was defeated and scattered and the banners of victory were fluttering. The victor pursued the enemy and took from him the best part of his land as well. Victorious and covered in glory, he then returned to Spain, where the fairest fortune awaited him. The beautiful King’s daughter had been no less delighted by the spruce youth, when she had met him in the hall, than he had by her; and the most gracious King, appreciating the very great services rendered by the brave youth, kept his word, gave him his daughter to wife, and made him his successor and heir to the throne.

The wedding festivities were splendid and sumptuous, and the former shepherd was sitting in Fortune’s lap. Soon after the wedding the old King placed sceptre and crown in his son-in-law’s hands, who sat proudly on the throne with his fair wife beside him, and homage was paid to him, as the new King, by the people. Then he remembered his dream, which had come so beautifully true, and remembered his poor parents, and he said, once he was alone with his wife: “It is like this, my love, my parents are still alive, but they are very poor, my father is the village shepherd, far from here, and I myself watched the flock as a boy, until it was revealed to me by a wonderful dream that I would become King of Spain one day. And fortune favoured me – you see, I am King now, but I would like to see my parents happy too; therefore I wish, with your gracious assent, to travel home and fetch my parents.” The Queen readily consented to let her husband go, and he went very quickly, for he had on the seven-league boots. On the way, the young King returned the marvellous objects he had taken from the robbers back to their rightful owners, except for the boots; fetched his poor parents, who were quite beside themselves with joy; and gave the owner of the boots a Duchy in exchange. Then he lived happily and worthily as the King of Spain until the end of his days.

46. Goldie

Once, many years ago, a poor herdsman lived in a dense forest. He had built himself a little wooden house in the heart of the forest, and he lived in it with his wife and six children, who were all boys. Beside the house was a well and a little garden, and when the father fed the cattle, the children would go out at midday or at evening to take him a cool drink from the fountain or some vegetables from the garden.

The parents called the youngest boy only ‘Goldie,’ for his hair was like gold; and although the youngest, he was yet the strongest of all and also the biggest. Whenever the children went out into the fields, Goldie led the way with a tree-branch, and none of them would have it any other way, for every one was afraid of being the first to chance upon an adventure; but when Goldie went in front, they willingly followed on, one behind the other, through the darkest thicket, and even if the moon had already risen over the mountains.

One evening, on the way back from their father, the children amused themselves by playing in the forest, and Goldie had become so heated in play – much more than the others – that he looked as bright as the sunset. “Let us go back!” said the eldest, “it seems to be growing dark.” – “Look, there is the moon!” said the second eldest. Then a light suddenly emerged from between the dark pines, and a female figure, shining like the moon, was sitting on one of the moss-covered stones, spinning with a crystal spindle a light thread out into the night, and she nodded her head at Goldie and sang,

“The snow-white finch and the rose of gold,

The Queen in the lap of the ocean cold!”

She would doubtless have sung on, but her thread broke and she went out like a light. Now it was black night, the children were seized with dread, and they ran with pitiful cries, the one hither, the other thither, over cliffs and chasms, and became lost to each other.

For a good many days and nights, Goldie also roamed around in the dense forest, but he found neither any of his brothers nor his father’s hut, nor any other trace of a human being, for the forest was densely overgrown, while there was one mountain over another and one chasm under another.

The brambles which twined round everything stilled his hunger and thirst, or he would have died most wretchedly. Finally, on the third day – others say not until the sixth or seventh day – the forest became light and ever lighter, and at last Goldie came out into a beautiful green meadow.

Then his heart was so light and he breathed the fresh air in full draughts.

Snares had been laid out in this meadow, for a fowler lived there who caught birds that came flying out of the forest and then took them to town to sell.

“Such a lad is just what I require,” the fowler thought when he espied Goldie, who stood on the green meadow close to the snares and looked up into the wide blue heavens and could not have his fill of looking.

The fowler thought he would play a little prank, so he pulled his snares and whoosh! Goldie was caught, and he lay under the snare in total astonishment, not knowing what had happened to him. “That is how the birds which come out of the forest are caught,” the fowler said, laughing loudly – “your red feathers are just fine by me. Are you an artful fox, by any chance? Stay with me, I’ll teach you how to catch birds!” Goldie was on board straightaway; it seemed to him a truly merry life among the birds, particularly as he had abandoned all hope of finding his father’s hut again.

“Let’s put what you have learnt to the test,” the fowler said to him several days later. Goldie pulled the snares, and with the first pull he caught a snow-white finch.

“Clear off with your white finch!” yelled the fowler. “You must be in league with the Evil One!” and he pushed him very roughly off the meadow while stamping to death, with a volley of curses, the white finch Goldie had handed to him.

Goldie could not comprehend the fowler’s words, and he went sadly, but confidently, back into the forest and once more resolved to seek his father’s hut. Day and night he ran over rocks and old, fallen tree-trunks, and many was the time he tripped and fell over the black roots which everywhere jutted out of the ground. But on the third day the forest finally became lighter and he came out into a beautiful, light garden which was full of the most delightful flowers, and because Goldie had never seen their like before, he stood stock still, lost in admiration. The gardener did not descry him right away – for Goldie stood among the sunflowers, and his hair shone in the sunlight no differently from the flowers around him – then he said, “Ha! Such a lad is just what I require!” and closed the garden-gate. Goldie did not mind, for life among the flowers seemed to him to be a truly colourful life, particularly as he had abandoned all hope of finding his father’s hut again.

“Go into the forest!” the gardener told Goldie one morning. “Fetch me a wild rose-tree, so I can cultivate roses on it!” Goldie went and came back with a tree of the loveliest gold-coloured roses, which looked just as if the most dexterous goldsmith had forged them for the table of a King.

“Clear off with your golden roses!” yelled the gardener. – “You must be in league with the Evil One,” and he pushed him very roughly out of the garden, while he trampled the golden roses into the ground with a volley of curses.

Goldie could not comprehend the gardener’s words, but he went confidently back into the forest and again resolved to seek his father’s hut.

He ran day and night, from tree to tree, from rock to rock. On the third day, the forest finally became light, and ever lighter, and then Goldie came out onto the blue sea; it lay before him as an immeasurable expanse, and the sun was smoothly reflected in its crystal-bright surface, so it looked like flowing gold; and prettily decorated ships with long, streaming pennants were afloat. There were several fishermen in a neat barque by the shore, and Goldie stepped aboard and looked out into the bright distance in amazement.

“Such a lad is just what we require,” said the fishermen and whoosh! they pushed off from land. Goldie did not mind, for life on the waves seemed golden to him, particularly as he had abandoned all hope of finding his father’s hut again. The fishermen threw out their nets and caught nothing. “Let’s see if you have more luck!” an old fisherman with silver hair said to Goldie. With clumsy hands, Goldie lowered the net into the depths, and drew it in and fished up – a crown of bright gold.

“Triumph!” cried the old fisherman, and he fell at Goldie’s feet. – “I salute you as our King! A hundred years ago, the old King, who had no heirs, sank his crown in the sea as he was dying, and until the day which fate had determined for some fortunate one to draw the crown up from the depths, the throne had to remain without a successor and stay shrouded in mourning.”

“All Hail to our King!” the fishermen cried, and they placed the crown on Goldie’s head. The news of Goldie and the rediscovered royal crown soon rang from ship to ship and over the sea far into the land. Soon the golden surface was filled with colourful barques and with ships that were adorned with flowers and foliage; they all greeted the ship on which King Goldie was standing with loud and jubilant cries. He stood at the prow of the ship, the bright crown on his head, and calmly watched the sun as she was extinguished in the sea. His golden locks waved in the evening breeze.

47. The Shepherd and the Snake

Once upon a time a poor shepherd boy lived in a peaceful, pleasantly situated little village. Near the village was a valley and a precious place to which the shepherd boy always drove his flock, and it seemed as if the shepherd had chosen this quiet spot for his favourite retreat. He did not eat his midday meal, nor did he seek rest in the cool shade, until he had come to the beloved place. He was always drawn thither by an unaccountable longing.

The place itself was simple enough: there was only a rough stone, under which a spring murmured and beside which stood a wild pear-tree, overshadowing the stone with its densely foliated branches. Yet the boy felt so happy every time he ate on the stone and drank from the spring, and when the stone became his pillow; and he fancied then that he heard a mysterious singing and sighing beneath the stone; then he would listen, fall into a slumber, and dream. Always he felt as if a secret, celestial happiness were floating around his soul. Whether he were driving the flock to pasture, or he were driving them home in the evening, this unaccountable longing overmastered him; he did not want to gallivant around with the village lads and lasses, lustily singing and flirting when the working day was done, but he preferred to walk in solitude and silence, and even fell into melancholy. But when a beautiful new day dawned again and he went forth with his flock of lambs over meadows and pastures once more, his mood became more and ever more serene as he drew nearer the dear stone and the shade of the precious pear-tree. And while he rested there, playing on his flute, it often came to pass that a silver-white snake crept out from under the stone, and it first huddled up familiarly against his feet, then raised itself upright and gazed at the shepherd until two large tears trickled from its eyes; then it softly slipped back under the stone. Every time the shepherd felt such a peculiar, such a wondrous sensation. His heart was light and yet inexpressibly wistful.

At length, the shepherd ceased completely to walk among the cheerful crowd of lads and lasses, for their merry, ringing racket was utterly repugnant to him, whereas silent seclusion did him good and became ever dearer to his heart.

On a lovely Sunday in Spring, a Trinity Sunday – which the country folk call “Golden Sunday,” hold in especial esteem, and celebrate with festivities – a merry dance was to be held under the village linden-tree; the silent shepherd boy, driven by that inexpressible longing, turned his steps in the midday-hour towards the secluded valley with the stone and the pear-tree. He cheerfully greeted the cherished place, sat down in silent thought, and listened to the whispering of the leaves and the mysterious chattering under the stone. All of a sudden a brilliant light shone before his eyes and a pang of fear passed trembling through his heart; looking up, he saw a fair figure arrayed in white, like an angel, standing before him a with gentle look and folded hands; and his senses enraptured, the shepherd heard a sweet voice whisper to him: “O youth, be not afraid; oh, hear the supplication of an unhappy maiden, and do not push me away from you, and do not flee from my misery. I am a noble Princess, immeasurably rich with hoards of pearls and gold, but for many centuries I have been languishing, enchanted and banished, here, under this stone, and have had to crawl around in a snake’s body. Thus have I often descried you here, and conceived the hope that you could release me, for you are still pure in heart like a child. And this present hour – the midday hour on Golden Sunday – this hour alone in the whole year is granted me to walk the earth in my true form; and if I should then find a pure-hearted youth, I might request of him that he deliver me. Set me free, dear youth, set me free, by all that is holy, I implore you!” Then the maiden sank down at the shepherd’s feet, clasped them tightly, and looked up at him in tears. The youth’s heart trembled with delight, and he raised the angelic maiden to her feet, stammering out: “Oh tell me, what should I do, how may I set you free, you beautiful angel?” She said, “Come back here at the same time tomorrow, and when I appear to you in my serpentine form, twine myself around you and kiss you three times, then do not be frightened, oh do not be frightened, else must I languish here enchanted for a further hundred years.” At that moment she vanished; and a soft singing and sighing again came forth from under the stone.

On the following day, at the midday hour, the shepherd waited, not without fear, at that place; he besought Heaven for strength and steadfastness at the terrible moment of the serpent’s kiss. And now the snake was twisting itself out, silver-white, from under the stone, and crawling towards the youth, and coiling itself around his body, and raising its head with its bright eyes for a kiss; but the youth stayed strong and bore the three kisses. Then there was a mighty flash, then dreadful thunderclaps rolled around the youth, who had fallen senseless to the ground, and a magical transformation came to pass all around him; and when he came to, he was lying on soft silken pillows in a marvellously decorated room, and the fair maiden was kneeling before his bed and holding his hand to her heart. “Oh, Heaven, be thanked!” she exclaimed as he opened his eyes, “Oh thank you, my darling youth, for my deliverance, and take as your reward my fair land, and this fair castle with all its precious treasures, and take me as your faithful wife. You shall hereafter be happy and have your fill of pleasures.”

And this shepherd became happy and joyful; that heartfelt longing which had so often driven him towards the stone, towards silent seclusion, was gloriously satisfied. He lived apart from the world, in the lap of fortune with his fair wife; and he had no desire to return to the earth, nor to his lambs. But in his village there was great sorrow over the shepherd who had vanished so suddenly; the villagers sought him in the valley, by the stone under the pear-tree where he had gone last, but neither the shepherd nor the stone, nor the spring, nor the pear-tree, were any longer to be found; and never again was even the slightest trace of them seen by human eye.

48. The Three Musicians

Once upon a time three young musicians left their native town to see the world. All three of them had studied music with the same master, and now they wished to stay together and seek their fortune in foreign lands. They wandered happily on from place to place, played for dances at fairs and on feast-days, and their merry melodies won them many a weighty silver coin besides quiet and loud applause. And so one day they arrived in a small town and amused the company with tuneful music that evening. Finally, they laid down their instruments and had a drink instead, answered many toasts, and contributed their share to the guests’ conversation. People were chatting about and relating various strange matters at one and the same time. At first the talk was of a magical castle which was located in the proximity of the town, and the tales about it were just as sensational as they were sinister. Now it was said: yes, immense piles of treasure are there, a constant profusion of the most exquisite foods is there, although not a human soul lives inside – and then it was said: but a dreadful spectre is there. Those who entered with a white back came out with one that was coloured black and blue, without having found the treasure or broken the spell. This, with much more, was bandied back and forth about the enchanted castle. No sooner were the three musicians alone in their bedchamber than they conferred at length, at which time they conceived the idea of taking a closer look at the mysterious castle, indeed, even of venturing inside to possibly find the hidden and bewitched treasure that was there. Now they came to an agreement that each of them should separately venture inside, one after the other according to their age, and each one was to be granted a whole day to come through his adventure. The first attempt at finding fortune fell to the fiddler. With a stout heart, and without delay, he made his way to the castle and found, when he arrived there, the entrance gate standing open, as if he were expected, but when he stepped over the threshold the heavy door slammed shut behind him and an enormous iron bolt shot into place, although there was no living creature to be seen: it was as if a stern gatekeeper were carrying out his duty by keeping watch, and horror crept over the fiddler, whose hair stood up on end from the crown of his head. But he could neither turn back nor tarry, and his spirits were fortified by the thought of the fortune he hoped to find, the thought of gold and treasure. The youth walked upstairs and downstairs, through magnificent rooms, luxurious halls, cosy cabinets – all of them opulently furnished and kept immaculately clean. But everywhere was as silent as the grave; not even the smallest gnat lived and dwelt here. Yet the youth’s courage rose anew, particularly when he headed towards the downstairs rooms, kitchens, and vaults, where there were abundant stores of the rarest and most exquisite foods, wine bottles lay racked up high in the vaults, and there were all kinds of sweet, preserved fruit in rows of large jars. In the lovely, bright kitchen a lambent fire crackled invitingly, and a grill was placed over it by an invisible hand, and a choice cut of venison danced out of the vault into the kitchen and onto the grill; and many other dishes, select vegetables and pies, and exquisite pastries were prepared as quickly as they were sumptuously by invisible hands before being taken to one of the finest rooms, whither the youth had betaken himself, and placed before him on a ready-laid table. The youth first grasped his instrument and let his lovely melodies sound sonorously through the silent rooms, after which he did not hesitate to sit down at the inviting table and begin to feast. But it was not long before the door opened and a mannikin walked in, some three cubits high, attired in a scarlet coat and with a faded little face and a grey beard that reached down to the large silver buckles on his shoes. And the mannikin sat down in silence beside the fiddler and feasted as well. Now when they came to the choice venison roast, the fiddler took the dish and nodded to the mannikin to help himself first, and he skewered a piece of meat on his fork with a smile and nodded in return, at the same time dropping the meat under the table. At once the good fiddler obligingly bent down to pick it up – but in a flash the little bearded man was sitting on his back and hammering away at him so pitilessly as if he wished to snuff out his life. And the fiddler’s mouth was clamped shut with a hand until he was finally, under a rain of incessant blows, pushed out through the large entrance-gate. Outside, the half-dead fiddler drew breath afresh and then crept with many groans towards the inn where his comrades were waiting. It was night by the time he reached there, and they were both already asleep. The following morning, they were astonished to see the fiddler also lying abed, and they soon bombarded him with questions; but he scratched his head and back, gave very curt answers, and said, “Go there and take a look yourselves! It’s a ticklish business.”

The second musician, a trumpeter, now set out on the path to the enchanted castle, found everything just as the battered fiddler had, and was likewise entertained with pies and buffets, so that he too lay in his bed like a bruised fox the next morning, where he complained that he had been played in a quite peculiar way and in a very discordant key.

Yet the third one, a flute-player, still had enough courage to try his luck in the enchanted castle He was the craftiest of the three. Fearlessly he wandered through the entire castle, and he thought it would be most agreeable to possess these beautiful rooms forever; and there were certainly provisions aplenty in the kitchen and the cellars. Soon a sumptuous table was laid for him too, and when he had wandered around singing and fluting for quite long enough, he took his seat and made himself comfortable. Then the little bearded man entered again and sat down beside the guest. And the undaunted musician entered into a conversation with him, and behaved just as if he had met him here a hundred times before; the mannikin, however, was not very talkative. Finally, it was time for the roast, and the mannikin again purposely let fall his piece of meat; the flautist was just bending over to good-naturedly pick it up when he perceived that the dwarf was going to leap on his back at any instant. So he swiftly turned around, tore the mannikin off, and seized him and shook him by his beard so roughly that he ended up tearing the whole thing out, and the little old man crashed groaning to the ground. But now that the youth had the beard in his hands, he was possessed with an extraordinary power, and he saw in the castle even more wondrous things than he had seen before; the mannikin, on the other hand, had almost no life left in him. He whimpered and pleaded, “Give me, oh give me my beard back, and I’ll reveal to you all the magic that holds this castle, and help you to break the spell so you’ll become rich and be happy ever after.” But the clever flautist said, “You shall have your beard back, but you must reveal everything to me first, otherwise you are a rogue. And I won’t let the beard out of my hands before you do that.” So the old man had to bring himself to make good his promise first, although he had not exactly been willing to do so, but had rather intended to use guile to regain possession of his beard. Now the youth had to follow him through dark, secret passages, subterranean vaults and dreadful rocky chasms, until they finally came out into open country and a landscape which truly looked like a much more beautiful world than ours. And they came upon a river which roared wildly; but the mannikin pulled out a little staff and struck the flood, whereupon its waters instantly parted and were still until they had both crossed over dry-shod. What splendour was to be seen on the other side! – They walked on through magnificent green avenues of trees, and everywhere there were flowers and birds with silver and gold feathers which sang wondrously; and beetles and butterflies fluttered and danced around, and other pretty little animals frolicked in bushes and hedges; and the sky above them did not look blue, but rather like rays of pure gold, and the stars were much larger and circled one another in intertwining dances.

The youth was amazed; and his amazement increased when the grey dwarf led him into an edifice that was far more majestic than the enchanted castle. Here too, with all its splendour, there reigned the deepest silence in the apartments, and when they had passed through many of these, they came into one which was hung all over with veils, and in the middle of the room there stood a thickly curtained bed, over which hung a pretty bird-cage with a bird warbling shrill songs through the lonely silence. The grey mannikin lifted the veils and drew the bedcurtains aside and led the youth closer; and here the young man saw, on soft silk cushions richly decorated with golden tassels, a quite delightful girl lying asleep. She was as beautiful as an angel and was wearing a white dress, and her golden locks fell in waves over her breast and shoulders, and a diamond crown sparkled on her head; but a deep, death-like sleep held the gentle features in thrall and no sound was able to rouse the fair sleeper. Then the little man said to the astonished youth, “You see this sleeping maiden here! She is a Royal Princess. This beautiful castle and this blessed land is her inheritance when she is released; but for centuries she has been sleeping this sound, enchanted sleep, and for centuries no human soul has found the way that leads hither, which I alone walk every day to dine in that castle which is my home, and peradventure to serve the gold-greedy men who come there with a course of buffets. I am the guardian of this sleeper and have had to carefully ensure that no stranger find their way in here, and that explains the growth of my beard, which is home to such overwhelming powers that I have been able to work this magic for centuries. But now that my beard has been torn from me, I am powerless, and I must reveal and make over to you the inordinate good fortune that will awake with the fair Princess. And so prepare yourself without delay for the execution of the miraculous deliverance. Take this bird, which hangs over the Princess, and which once sang her into her enchanted slumber, and has had to sing those melodies incessantly ever since – take it, slaughter it, and cut out its little heart, then burn this to powder and put it to the Princess’s lips, and she will wake up at once, and will favour you with her hand and her heart, with her land and her castle, and all of her treasure.” Exhausted, the mannikin fell silent, and the youth did not delay doing what was needful for the Princess to be set free. Everything was carried out quickly and properly, faithful to the instructions given by the little old man, and the powder was prepared. A few minutes later, when it was given to the Princess, she opened her eyes brightly with a smile, raised herself up from her bed, and fell into the fortunate youth’s breast, caressed and thanked him, and took him to be her husband. And at the same moment a thundering and crashing passed through the castle, there were sounds on every stair, and there were noises in every room. And finally a throng of servants and maids with friendly faces came into the room where the happy couple were, and everyone rejoiced; then they flew briskly and breezily to their work in the kitchen and cellars, in the rooms and halls and corridors, and they were all as people reborn.

The grey dwarf, however, now sternly demanded his beard from the youth, all the while intending in his spiteful heart to play a prank on the fortunate young man. For when the beard was once sitting on his chin again, he would have the power to overcome all mortals. But the clever flautist continued to exercise caution with the malicious mannikin, saying, “Oh, you shall have your beard back, have no fear, I will hand it to you when we part; but allow that both of us, my fair bride and I, accompany you for a short stretch.” The mannikin could not refuse that. They now walked far with the dwarf through beauteous avenues of trees and flowerbeds, and came at last to the tremendously deep, roaring river which flowed for many, many miles around the Princess’s land, forming, as it were, the boundary. There was no bridge and no barque nearby with which anyone could reach the opposite bank; furthermore, no bold swimmer could have achieved the crossing, for the current was too turbulent and wild. Then the youth said to the mannikin, “Give me your staff, that I may do you the honour of parting the waters.” And the mannikin had to obey because he still did not have the powers of his beard, and he secretly thought with a gloating delight: when he hands me the beard over there, on the other side, then he’ll fall under my power, I’ll take my staff back from him, and the two of them will never be able to enter their beautiful land again. But things did not turn out according to the dwarf’s malevolent intention. The prudent and fortunate youth struck the river with the staff, it swiftly parted and became still, the dwarf went on ahead and crossed over, and the waters quickly roared together behind him; but the youth had remained on the other bank with his beloved bride. He kept the magic staff, flinging only the beard over and across the water, where the dwarf caught it and put it back on; and so the old man was deprived of his magic staff and was never again able, from that time on, to enter the glorious land. And the fortunate youth returned to the castle with his fair one, to constant joy and bliss; and no longing entered his heart to return to his comrades ever again. They sat in the inn for a long time, and when he did not come back, they said, “He has gone fluting”[16] – and that later passed into a proverb for when a person or a thing goes astray and does not return.

49. The Three Nuts

Once upon a time there was a Prince who was a great lover of the chase, and although his parents had strictly forbidden him to go hunting, he went into the forest one day all the same. There he doggedly pursued a deer until it took refuge in a large and beautiful house which was suddenly there before the surprised hunter; however, he followed the deer even into this sanctuary. But this house was an enchanted castle, and inside it there lived three beautiful Princesses under the strict supervision of their parents, who were wicked sorcerors. No sooner had the youth entered than a solid portcullis fell down behind him, and he found himself a prisoner.

The old wizard at once set him a task through which he could free himself. He had to cut up a large pile of wood with a wooden axe and a wooden saw, and if he did not accomplish this – so came the threat – he would lose his life. While the Prince was despondently reflecting on the impossibility of this onerous task, and already preparing himself for his unavoidable death, one of the Princesses walked in to him and said, kindly and compassionately, “Rest now, weary youth, I shall free you from care and accomplish for you this task that lies beyond your power.” Soon the Prince fell into a slumber, the pursuit of the deer having exhausted him, and when he awoke the hard task was done. He thanked the lovely maiden, and it so happened that her beauty and kindness captivated all of his heart. He secretly offered her his heart and his hand, and the fair maiden accepted with a smile, but she also sadly informed him that he and she would have hard battles to fight before they could reach their goal. “For,” she said, “my parents will set a day on which I will appear before you with my two sisters, all of us dressed in unison, and in addition, our faces will be covered, so that the great similarity of our figures will make it difficult for you to tell me apart from them; but if you erroneously choose one of my sisters, it will cost you your life – and perhaps also cost me mine, as punishment for taking pity on you. Yet I shall, dear heart, give you a sign to recognise me by: you see here on my neck a blue vein, which will make known to you the anxious beating of my heart; my sisters do not have this so visibly.” The fearful day of the difficult choice arrived. The Prince was led into a room in which the sisters, who were exactly alike, were sitting, dressed in unison, with their parents. For a long time he regarded the three maidenly forms in doubt and anxiety, but all of a sudden he noticed the pulsing vein in the neck of his chosen bride, who was now promised to him by the parents. But they both harboured anger and ill-will against the youngest Princess – for it was she who was the Prince’s beloved – and they would have liked to see this good fortune fall to one of their elder daughters. But the clever bride knew this very well, and as she also had some knowledge of the magic arts, she gave some objects in the palace the following secret power: whenever her mother asked, with hostile intent, if she and the Prince were asleep, a voice would invariably answer No. In the night the mother really did come, and she asked, time after time, “Are you asleep?” Three times did “No!” ring out. But the fourth time there was silence. The mother, now believing them to have fallen asleep, called out to the father, “Now is the time, now you can kill the Prince!” The attentive ears of the Prince and the Princess did not fail to hear this; they hurriedly fled, and when the father stepped into the bedchamber with a spear, he found it empty. After the bridal pair had fled some distance, the bride said, “Look around, my back is burning hot.” The Prince did as she said, and looking around, he perceived a large raven behind him. When he told this to the Princess, for she dared not turn around herself, she said in alarm, “The black raven, that is my mother who has changed herself into that form; I shall quickly change myself into a garden and you into a gardener, but keep careful watch over the flowers so she does not pick any.” The transformation immediately ensued and the raven swarmed around the blooming garden, squawking all the while; however, the gardener was well on his guard against any flower being purloined, and he forcefully repulsed the bird. After a lengthy and vain endeavour to succeed in taking a flower, the raven finally flew away, screeching hideously. The Princess and the Prince now assumed their natural forms again and hurried on. After some time the bride said again, “Look around, my back is burning hot.” The Prince looked around and perceived a large bird of prey. When he told this to his bride, she turned herself into a pond and her beloved into a duck. The bird swiftly swooped down and drank the water up so completely that not a drop remained, then it flew up into the air and dropped three nuts, crying out, “With these, my daughter, shall you make your fortune!” This bird was the transformed father of the Princess. The bridal pair now took on their natural forms once again, and not long afterwards they reached a mill. But by now the Prince was weary of the magic tricks and transformations; he thought of his parents, who did not know what had become of him, and he said to his companion, “My dearest, hide yourself now in this mill, and recover your strength; I shall first go back to my homeland, for my old parents die of grief if I do not return, then I shall come here for your and conduct you to my home with due ceremony.” The Princess sadly walked into the mill, and as she wished to remain unrecognised she hired herself out as a maid and served there.

The Prince went away to his homeland. And he soon forgot the good bride, even though she had freed and saved him, and he became betrothed to another Princess. The abandoned girl in the mill heard this news, and taking her leave, she sadly went to the unfaithful one’s castle. Here she opened one of the three nuts and a magnificent gown spread out. Then the Princess went with the precious garment to the Prince’s new bride and had it sent in to her. It pleased the bride inordinately, and she at once had the owner shown in to her, and asked her what she wanted for it. She wanted to be admitted to the Prince’s chamber without anyone else being present. The bride promised this and decided the hour at which the Princess might approach the Prince. But when the tête-à-tête was to take place, and the Princess entered the Prince’s chamber, she found him asleep, for the wicked bride had given him a sleeping potion to prevent him from talking with the woman who desired to speak with him. Seeing herself thus outwitted, the poor girl went away in tears and opened her second nut. An even more beautiful dress flowed out, and the Princess did with it as she had done with the first. The acquisitive bride was eager to have this dress as well, so she promised the Princess that she should talk with the Prince without anyone being present; but she had a large, trained dog which she let in to the Prince’s chamber shortly before the Princess entered, and it barked at her so loudly and dreadfully that she was terrified and could not utter a word, and she had to retire in tears, for it refused to be pacified by the Prince. Now she had recourse to the third nut, and on her opening it, the most exquisite gown of all, one more beautiful than any ever seen on earth, came out. Once again she went to the Princess Bride, but this time she had her give her word that she be permitted to talk with the Prince; she would not leave the dress otherwise. Then the splendour of the gown and the bride’s passion for finery and vanity triumphed over her jealousy and malice, and she granted the requested interview.

Now when the Princess walked up to the Prince, she disclosed her identity to him and gently reproached him for the wrong he had done her; and she also told him how obdurately and craftily her tête-à-tête with him had twice been thwarted. Then all affection for his bride disappeared from the Prince’s heart and turned once again to the gentle and long-suffering Princess. He took her to his parents and discarded that other bride, but she was allowed to keep the gowns. However, when she tried to bedeck herself with them, they fell off her body, one after the other, as nothing more than rags.

50. The Miller and the Nixie

Once upon a time there was a miller who was rich in money and goods and led a life of contentent with his wife. But misfortune comes overnight; the miller became poor, and at last he could barely call the mill in which he lived his own. During the day he wandered around full of sorrow, and when he lay down in the evening he found no rest, but was wakeful all night with disconsolate thoughts. One morning, he rose before daybreak and went outside; he thought this would lighten the load on his heart. Now when he was pacing up and down, racked with care, on the embankment by his mill-pond, he heard a sudden roaring in the water, and when he looked over he saw a woman in white rising out of the waves. He realised that it could only be the nixie of the pond, and in his terror he did not know whether to run away or stay. While he vacillated, the nixie spoke, calling him by name and asking him why he was so sad. When the miller heard these friendly words he took heart and told her how he had formerly been so rich and blissfully happy, and now he was so poor that from sheer want and worry he was at a loss what to do. Then the nixie spoke words of comfort to him and promised that she would make him richer than he had ever been if he gave her, in return, that which had just been born in his house. Thinking she wished to have a whelp or a kitten, the miller promised to give her what she asked for and hurried to the mill in high spirits. A maid came out the front door towards him with a joyful gesture and called out to him that his wife had just that moment given birth to a boy. Now the miller stood there, unable to take pleasure in the birth of his child, which he had not expected so soon. Sadly he entered the house and told his wife and his relations, who were visiting, of the promise he had made the nixie. “May all the good fortune she has promised me fly to the winds,” he said, “if I can only save my son.” But no one could think of any advice to give beyond watching the child closely so that he never went too close to the pond.

The boy grew up and thrived, and in the meantime the miller came into money and goods little by little, and it did not take long for him to become richer than he had ever been before. But he could never truly enjoy his good fortune, for his vow was always in his mind and he feared the nixie would, sooner or later, insist on its fulfilment. But year after year passed by, the boy grew up and learned hunting, and because he was a dapper hunter the lord of the village took him into his service; and the hunter wed a young woman and lived in peace and pleasure.

One day he was hunting a hare which at length swerved out into open country. The hunter pursued it eagerly and laid it low with one shot. At once he got down to hulking the hare, quite careless that he was in the proximity of that pond against which he had had to be on his guard from childhood upwards. He soon finished the disembowelling and went to the water to wash his bloody hands. Hardly had he dipped them in the pond when the nixie rose up, enfolded him with wet arms and drew him down with her, the waves closing over him.

When the hunter did not return home, his wife grew terribly anxious, and when he was sought for and his game-bag was found lying by the mill-pond, then she could no longer doubt what had befallen him. Without rest or repose, she wandered around the pond and called lamentingly on her husband day and night. Finally she fell, from sheer weariness, into a sleep, in which she dreamed that she was walking through a flowery mead towards a hut, where lived an enchantress who promised to restore her husband to her. When she awoke in the morning, she resolved to follow this inspiration and seek out the enchantress. So she set off and soon came to the flowery mead and then to the hut where the enchantress lived. She told of her sorrow and how a dream had promised her counsel and help from from the enchantress. By way of answer, she was advised: she should go to the pond at the full moon and there comb her black hair with a golden comb before laying the comb on the bank. The young hunter’s wife rewarded the enchantress handsomely and wended her way home.

The time to the full moon passed slowly to her; when the moon was finally at the full, she went to the pond and combed her black hair with a golden comb, and when she had finished she laid the golden comb down on the bank and then looked impatiently into the water. Then there was a roaring and a booming from the depths, and a wave washed the golden comb from the bank, and a little while later her husband raised his head above the water and gazed at her sadly.

But soon another wave came rushing and the head sank, without having spoken a word. The pond lay tranquil again and shone in the moonlight, and the hunter’s wife was not a whit better off than before.

Disconsolately she watched through days and nights, until she once more sank exhausted into sleep, and the same dream which had pointed her towards the enchantress came over her again. Once again she went in the morning to the flowery mead and to the hut and poured out her grief to the enchantress. The old woman advised her: she should go to the pond at the full moon, play on a golden flute and then lay the flute on the bank.

When the moon was at the full, the hunter’s wife went to the pond, played on a golden flute, and then laid it on the bank. Then there was a roaring and a booming from the depths and a wave washed the flute from the bank, and soon the hunter raised his head above the water, and he rose higher and higher, until the water only reached up to his breast, and he held out his arms to his wife. Then another rushing wave came and drew him back into the depths. The hunter’s wife had been standing on the bank full of joy and hope, and she sank down in profound grief when she saw her husband disappear into the water.

But comfort came with that same dream, which appeared to her again directing her to the flowery mead and the enchantress’s hut. This time the old woman advised: she should, as soon as the moon was full, go to the pond, where she was to spin on a golden wheel and then place the wheel on the bank. When the time of full moon came, the hunter’s wife followed the behest: she went to the pond, sat down and span on a golden wheel, and then placed the wheel on the bank. Then there was a roaring and a booming from the depths and a wave washed the golden wheel from the bank, and soon the hunter raised his head above the water, and he rose ever higher until he at last climbed onto the bank and flung his arms around his wife’s neck. Then the water began to roar and to boom and flooded the bank far and wide, dragging both of them down with it as they held one another close. In the anguish of her heart the hunter’s wife invoked the old woman’s assistance, and suddenly she was turned into a toad and the hunter into a frog. But they could not stay together; the water tore them apart and bore them away in opposite directions, and when the inundation had subsided, they had both resumed their human forms, it was true, but the hunter and the hunter’s wife were each of them in a foreign land and neither knew what had become of the other.

The hunter decided to live as a shepherd, and the hunter’s wife likewise became a shepherdess. So they watched their flocks for many years, far removed from one another.

But one day it came to pass that the shepherd arrived in the land where the shepherdess lived. He liked the region and saw that it was a fertile spot for grazing his flock. So he brought his sheep thither and watched them as before. The shepherd and the shepherdess became good friends, but they did not recognise each other.

Now one evening they were sitting together under a full moon letting their flocks graze, and the shepherd was playing his flute. Then the shepherdess remembered that evening when she had played on the golden flute by the pond in the light of the full moon; unable to restrain herself any longer, she burst out sobbing. The shepherd asked her why she was crying and lamenting so, and at length she told him all that had befallen her. Then the scales fell from the shepherd’s eyes; he recognised his wife and made himself known to her. So they joyfully returned to their homeland and lived together in untroubled peace.

51. Flipperty Flapperty

A mother had two daughters, her own daughter and a step-daughter. The latter was treated very badly by her stepmother until she could bear it no longer. One day, she put a little pan, some flour, and a spoon into her basket and left home. She came to a dark forest, where she ran hither and thither for a long time until she was too hungry and weary to go on. Here she took a rest, kindled a fire, and cooked herself a porridge. When it was nicely boiling there suddenly appeared a little grey man, who asked: “What’s that you’re cooking?” “Porridge,” she said. “Oh, let me lick your spoon clean,” begged the little grey man. She kindly said to him: “You’re quite welcome to eat with me.” Then the mannikin skipped with delight around the fire until the porridge was ready, and the two of them ate together with a good appetite. “Do you know my name?” asked the mannikin. “I am called Flipperty Flapperty, and if you come home with me now, you’ll have it good!” Then they went far, far into the forest, and came at last to a castle; its gates opened, and they both walked in. Everything was splendidly decorated, and everything one could wish for was there for the having, for it was an enchanted castle and it belonged to Flipperty Flapperty.

The stepmother had set out with a sturdy cudgel in search of the runaway girl, intending, when she found her, to beat the life out of her, or at least the living daylights. And after several days she came to the gates of the enchanted castle and knocked. What was the stepdaughter’s amazement when she saw that her mother had come; and what was the stepmother’s amazement to find the daughter she had treated so badly in such magnificent surroundings and dressed in the finest clothes. She was so shocked that the cudgel fell from her hand. The stepdaughter received her mother very warmly and entertained her well, and after a short stay her mother returned home, where she pronounced her stepdaughter blessed beyond measure.

Her own daughter gave ear to these words and took them to heart, and as her stepsister had explained to their mother how she had found her good fortune, so she now ran away, came to the same forest, took her rest, and began to cook porridge. Then the little grey man came and asked: “What are you cooking?” “Porridge,” she said. Thereupon the mannikin spoke: “Let me lick your spoon clean.” “No,” the girl said defiantly and sullenly, “I can lick it clean myself.” Then the girl sat down and ate the porridge alone, and the mannikin looked on, and when she had finished, the mannikin grabbed the girl and tore her into a thousand pieces and hung them on the trees. Later, the mother went in search of her daughter, believing that she must have found such good fortune as had befallen her stepdaughter. When she approached the place where her daughter hung in shreds, she thought that her daughter had hung up her washing; but how great were her horror and her misery when she came closer and saw what had happened. She fell senseless to the ground, and whether or not she made it back home is more than I can say.

52. The Kitten and the Knitting-Needles

Once upon a time there was an old woman who went into the forest to gather wood. As she was returning home with her load she saw a sick kitten lying behind a fence and whimpering pitifully. The poor woman compassionately took it up in her apron and carried it home. On the way her two children came to meet her, and when they saw that their mother was carrying something, they asked: “Mother, what are you carrying?” and they wanted the kitten right away; but the compassionate woman did not give her children the kitten for fear they would torment it, laying it instead on a soft bed of old clothes at home and giving it milk to drink. When the kitten had refreshed itself and returned to health, it was suddenly up and away. Some time later, the poor woman went into the forest once more, and as she was returning home with her load she came again to the place where the sick kitten had been lying. A very noble lady was standing there; she beckoned the poor woman over to her and threw five knitting-needles into her apron. The woman did not clearly know what she should make of this, and this peculiar gift seemed to her to be far too slight; but she took the knitting-needles, and showed them to her children, and that evening she laid the five knitting-needles on the table. But when the woman rose from bed the next morning a pair of newly-knitted stockings were lying on the table. The poor woman was surprised beyond measure and the next evening she laid the needles on the table again – and the following morning new stockings were lying there. Now she realised that these industrious needles had been given her as a reward for her compassion for the sick kitten, and so she let them knit every night until there were enough stockings for her and her children. After that she sold stockings and had enough to live on for the rest of her days.

53. The Fox and the Crab

A crab crawled up out of its stream on to the green grass of a meadow, where he took his ease and convenience. Then a fox came along, saw the crab slowly crawling, and said to him derisively: “Mr. Crab, how is it that you walk so leisurely? Who took your speediness from you? Or when do you think to reach the end of the meadow? From your gait, I well perceive that you could move faster going backwards than forwards!” The crab was no fool but instantly replied: “Mr. Fox, you do not know my nature. I am noble and worthy; I am faster and lighter, and run more swiftly than you and your kind; if anyone does not concede me this, may the Devil teach him manners. Mr. Fox, would you care to race me for a wager? I shall stake a pound right now!”

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” said the fox. “Would you like to run from Berne to Basle, or from Bremen to Brabant?”

“Oh no,” said the crab, “that would be too far. I was thinking we could race each other for half a mile, or a whole mile, that will not be too much for the two of us!”

“A mile, a mile!” the fox eagerly cried, then the crab spoke again: “I shall give you a nice handicap, and unless you accept it I shall not want to race.”

“And what is to be the nature of this handicap?” asked the fox, who was curious. The crab replied: “It shall be precisely the length of a fox. You step before me, and I shall step behind you, so your hind feet are nudging my head, and when I say – Okay, let’s go! – then we begin to run.”

The fox was well pleased with these words; he said, “I shall obey you in every detail.” And then he turned his hindquarters, with his strong bushy tail, towards the crab, who sank his claws into it without the fox noticing, and cried, “Okay – let’s go!” And the fox ran as he had never yet run in all his born days, so that his feet began to hurt; and when he approached the finish, he span swiftly around and cried: “Now where is that stupid crab? Where are you? You are tarrying far too long!” But the crab, who was now closer to the finishing-line than the fox, called from behind him: “Mr. Fox! What is the meaning of these words? Why are you so slow? I have been standing here a pretty while waiting for you! Why did you come at such a dawdle?”

The fox was thoroughly startled, and saying, “The Devil must have brought you here from Hell!” he paid his wager and whisked away, his tail between his legs.

54. The King’s Cathedral

Once upon a time there was a King who built a magnificent cathedral in honour and in praise of God, and it was the King’s express command that no one was allowed to contribute so much as a farthing to the construction, upon pain of death, for he wished to build it entirely with his own riches. And it happened this way, and the cathedral was completed, a beautiful and worthy edifice fitted with every splendour and every adornment. And then the King had a large marble tablet set up, in which he had the words engraved in golden letters that he, the King, had built the cathedral alone and no other had contributed. But the tablet had been erected for a day and a night, when in the night the writing was altered, and in place of the King’s name another name was written there, and it was that of a poor woman, so it now read as if she had built the whole magnificent cathedral. The King was mightily annoyed; he had the name effaced and his own name inscribed again. But the next morning the name of that poor woman was on the tablet once more, and everyone read that she was the founder of the cathedral. And for the third time the King’s name was written on the tablet, and for the third time it vanished and the woman’s name appeared. Now the King realised that this was the finger of God writing, and humbling himself, he caused the woman to be sought out and summoned before his throne. Filled with fear and alarm she came before the King, who spoke to her: “Woman, we are in the midst of marvellous things; tell me the truth, by God and on your life! Did you not, after all, hear my command that no one was to give towards the cathedral? Or did you give towards it notwithstanding?”

Then the woman fell at the King’s feet and said, “Mercy, my lord and King! I will confess everything unto your mercy! I am an extremely poor woman; I must spin to earn my meagre bread, just enough for hunger not to kill me; and as I had a farthing to spare, I would dearly have liked to offer it to your temple-building in honour of God, but I feared, oh Lord, your edict and your harsh threat, and so I used the farthing to buy a bundle of hay, which I strewed on the road for the oxen which pulled the stones to your cathedral, and they ate it. Thus did I act, following my will, but without violating your command.”

Then the King was powerfully moved by the woman’s words, and he saw how the Lord God had appreciated her pure heart and accepted it as a greater offering than his own vast riches. And the King amply endowed the poor woman and took the punishment of his vanity deeply to heart.

55. The Dog’s Distress

There was once a dog who lay hungry and woebegone in a field, and above him a lark sang her delightful song in sweet strains. When the dog heard this, he said: “O you fortunate bird, how happy you are, how sweetly you sing, how high into the heavens you soar! But I – what cause have I to be glad? My master has turned me out and barred his door behind me, I am lame, I’m sick, I cannot hunt for any food, and I must die of starvation here!”

After the lark had heard the hungry dog lamenting in this wise, she flew up to him and said: “Oh, you poor dog! I am moved by your suffering; will you be grateful to me if I help you to fill your belly?” “What with, Lady Lark?” the dog asked in a feeble voice, and the lark replied: “Look, there is a child coming towards us, carrying food to that ploughman; I shall manage it so that she lays down the food and runs after me, and in the meantime you go over and eat the cheese and the bread, and still your hunger!”

The dog expressed his gratitude for this friendly offer, and then the lark flew towards the child and began to tease her. Now she flew before her, now she fluttered on this side, now on that one, until the child thought, “I must catch the lark”; and she thought she should, for the lark pretended to have lost the use of a wing, letting one of its small pinions hang down as if it were broken. The child kept snatching at her, but her attempts to grab with one hand were futile, so she laid down the cloth in which she carried the food and chased the lark, which hopped ever just ahead of her; meanwhile the dog raised itself, limped towards the cloth and snuffled inside, where there was a piece of bread, a curd cheese, and four good eggs, and he ate them unboiled and unshelled, and the cheese uncarved, and he took the bread with him as he crept away and hid himself in the cornfield. When the lark saw that the dog had his share, she flew up into the air and sang merrily; the tricked child cursed her, and did so all the more when she found her cloth to be empty. In tears, she returned to her mother, and I do not know if she was given a hiding, but it is most likely that something of the kind ensued.

The lark flew over to the dog and asked him how he felt now. He said thank you very much, he had never been better. “Only one request, dearest Lady Lark, do I have weighing on my heart,” he said, “he who is full would fain be happy. Please, tell me something that will give me a laugh and make me merry.”

“Very well!” said the lark, “follow me.” And the lark flew ahead, with the dog following her, to a barn, whose loft could easily be reached from the ground; the lark bid the dog climb up and look down, for the loft floor was dilapidated and ridden with cracks. Down below on the threshing-floor two baldies were threshing; the lark quickly alighted on one of the bald pates, and the second man quickly clapped his hand on the other’s head, thinking to catch the lark; but the clever bird was too fast for him and flew off to the side. “Now, companion, what’s all this? What did you hit me for?” the first baldy asked the other, who excused himself, saying that a bird had alighted on his head and he had wanted to catch it; if the smack had hurt, he was sorry. Meanwhile the lark alighted on the bald pate of the man who was explaining, and the other man struck him so hard a blow that his head, had it been made of glass, would certainly have shattered; it did, at least, throb terribly, and then the insults began, and both threshers threw down their flails and got into each other’s hair. Of course, not having any hair, neither of them could tear out clumps of the other’s, and so, instead of pulling, they scratched one another on their bald pates, making the blood flow, and violently butted each other; so it was chrome dome against chrome dome and scratch against scratch, and they also tugged at each other’s ears. This made the dog laugh so uncontrollably that he became quite ill, and he could not stop himself from shaking; and then, from sheer laughter, he tumbled down from the heights of the loft plump onto the threshers’ bald heads, making them stop short, for the dog was heavy and this manner of receiving hair upon one’s head seemed somewhat odd to them. They at once united and turned their anger against the dog, and being threshers, they thrashed him until such time as he managed to scrape through a hole in the barn wall and then pass under the fence, seeing stars, his ears ringing, and laughing on the other side of his face. Thoroughly tenderised and dead beat, he laid himself down in the grass behind the fence, and the lark came flying up and asked, “Noble Sir, how do you find yourself?”

“Well, Lady Lark,” the dog groaned, “I’ve had quite my fill. I’m a completely beaten dog! By my faith, I believe I have no back left, the threshers have tanned my hide and flayed me alive. Oh, if I am to live longer, I must have a surgeon!” – “Certainly, rest assured! I’ll fetch you one, if there’s one anywhere to be found,” the lark said and flew away. Soon she found a wolf, whom she addressed: “Mr. Wolf? I suppose that you have absolutely no appetite?” “Oh, Lady Lark,” came the answer, “as to that, my wolfish hunger stands at your service.”

“Well, if you would thank me for it,” continued the lark, “I would show you where a plump dog is lying, one who is highly unlikely to escape you!”

“O my noble queen, you are too gracious!” the grinning wolf said flatteringly, and he licked his lips. The lark flew ahead and he followed her, and when she came to the dog she addressed him: “Well, companion? Are you asleep? Don’t you want to see the physician? Stand up straight, here comes the doctor!”

“Where? Lady Lark, where?” the dog asked in an exhausted voice, but when he saw the wolf he yelled: “No, Lady Lark, no! Not that doctor! Keep him away! I’m well again!” And with one bound the dog was up on his legs and almost flying through the air, with no fence too high for him to clear and no ditch too broad.

56. The Seven Little Kids

Once upon a time there was an old nanny-goat who had seven little kids, and one day when she was going away into the forest, she said: “My dear little kids, beware of the wolf and do not let him in, or you will all be done for.” And then she left.

After a while there is a rattling at the front door and a voice calls: “Open up, open up, dear children! Your mummy has come back from the forest!” But the seven little kids knew at once by the roughness of the voice that it was not their mummy, and they cried: “Our mummy doesn’t have such a rough voice!” And they did not open up.

After a while there is another rattling at the door and a very soft and gentle voice calls: “Open up, open up, dear children! Your mummy has come back from the forest!”

But the young little kids peeked through the crack of the door and saw a pair of black feet, and they cried: “Our mummy doesn’t have such black feet!” And they did not open up.

When the wolf – for it was he – heard this, he swiftly ran to the mill and put his feet in sacks of flour until they were white all over. After that he appeared before the door again, put his feet in the crack, and softly called once more: “Open up, open up, dear children! Your mummy has come back from the forest!”

And when the little kids saw the white feet, and heard the soft voice, then they thought it was their mummy and they quickly opened up. But hardly had they done this when the wolf sprang in. Oh how shocked the poor little kids were, how they wanted to hide themselves! One leapt under the bed, one under the table, one behind the stove, one behind a chair, one behind a large milk pot, and one into the clock-case. But the wolf found them all and gathered them together. Afterwards he left the house, lay down under a tree in the garden, and began to sleep.

When the old goat returned from the forest, she found the house open and the parlour empty, and she at once thought: there’s something uncanny about this. And she began to search for her dear little kids, but she could not find them, no matter where she sought; and no matter how loud she called, there was no reply. Finally she went into the garden, where the wolf was still lying under the tree and sleeping, and snoring so loud that all the branches shook; and when she came closer to him she saw that something was wriggling in his stomach. That filled her with joy and she thought her little kids must still be alive. Now she swiftly ran into the house, fetched a pair of shears, and cut open the wolf’s stomach; then her seven little kids leapt out one after the other, all of them still alive. After that, the old goat quickly fetched seven boulders, put them in the wolf’s stomach, and sewed it shut again.

When the wolf woke up he was thirsty and went to the well for a drink; but with the first step he took, the boulders in his stomach began to knock against one another, and he said:

“What’s bumping,

What’s thumping

Inside my tum?

It was full of little kids, I swear,

But now I’ve only boulders there!”

And now when the wolf came to the well and bent over to drink, the boulders pulled him in and he drowned. And the old goat and her kids danced for joy around the well.

57. The Tale of The Land of Cockaigne

Now listen, and I’ll tell you about a good country, which many a man would emigrate to if he knew where it lay and an opportune passage.

But the way there is far for the young and for the old, and they will find it too hot in winter and too cold in summer. This beautiful region is called Cockaigne, Cuccagna in Italian, and the houses there are roofed with pancakes, the doors and walls are of gingerbread, and the beams are of roast pork. What we buy for a ducat here costs only a penny there. Around every house is a fence which is woven of bratwursts and Bavarian sausages, some of them grilled in charcoal, some of them freshly boiled, according as each person likes to eat them. All the wells are full of malmsey and other sweet wines, Champagne as well, and they simply run into your mouth if you put it to the spouts. So whoever likes to drink such wines, let him make haste to enter Cockaigne. On the birches and willows there, breadrolls grow freshly baked, and under the trees flow streams of milk; the breadrolls fall into these and soak themselves for those who like to crumble them; women and children, serving-lads and maids, will really like that! Hey Maggie, Hey Steve! Don’t you want to emigrate? Make your way to Breadroll-Stream, and mind you don’t forget to take a big milk-spoon with you.

The fish in Cockaigne swim on top of the water, are ready fried or boiled as well, and swim very close to the strand; but if you’re really too lazy and a real Cockaigner, you have only to call pst! pst! – and the fish come walking out onto the land and hop up into the hand of the good Cockaigner, saving him the need to stoop down.

You may well believe that the birds there fly around in the air ready roasted, geese and turkeys, pigeons and capons, larks and fieldfares, and if it’s too much of an effort to stretch your hand out for them, they fly straight into your mouth. The suckling pigs are surpassingly good there every year; they run around ready roasted and every one of them carries a carving-knife in its back, so that anyone who likes may cut himself a fresh, juicy slice.

Cheeses grow in Cockaigne like stones,[17] both large and small; the stones themselves are all dove’s crops with stuffing, or sometimes little meat vol-au-vents. In winter, when it rains, it rains pure honey in sweet drops, which you can lick and lap up to your heart’s content; and when it snows, it snows icing sugar, and when it hails, it hails sugarcubes mixed with figs, raisins, and almonds.

In Cockaigne the horses lay no droppings but rather eggs, large, whole basketfuls of them, and in such heaps that a thousand can be bought for a penny. And money can be shaken from the trees like chestnuts. Everyone may shake the best coins down for himself and leave the ones of lesser value lying.

In this land there are also great forests, where the finest clothes grow in the bushes and on the trees: jackets, coats, tabards, trousers, and jerkins, of all colours, black, green, yellow (for the postilions), blue or red, and anyone who needs a new garment goes into the forest and knocks it down by throwing a stone or fires a bolt up at it. On the heaths grow beautiful dresses for ladies, of velvet, satin, gros de Naples, barège, madras, taffeta, nankeen and so on. The grass consists of ribbons of all colours, ombré as well. The juniper trees bear brooches and golden pins for chemisettes and mantelets, and their berries are not black but are real pearls. On the fir-trees, ladies’ watches and chatelaines hang very artfully. On the shrubs, boots and shoes grow, also hats for ladies and gentlemen, rice-straw hats and marabous and every kind of headdress decorated with birds of paradise, hummingbirds, diamond beetles, pearls, enamel, and gold-braid.

This noble land also has two large fairs and markets with handsome privileges. Anyone who has an old wife and does not like her any more, because she is no longer young enough for him nor pretty, can exchange her there for a young and beautiful one and receive earnest money into the bargain. The old and ugly (for a proverb says: when one grows old, one becomes ugly) enter a Bath of Youth, with which the land is blessed. It is extremely potent; the old women bathe in it for some three days, or four at the most, and they become pretty lasses of seventeen or eighteen years of age.

There is also much entertainment, and many kinds of it, in Cockaigne. Whoever has no luck at all in this country has it there in gambling and shooting for sport, as in patrician tournaments. Many a man in our land will shoot to the side and far from the mark all his born days, but there he hits the target, and even if he were by far the furthest away, he would still be the best. That land is also splendid for the sleepyheads and lie-a-beds whose laziness here brings them into poverty and then into bankruptcy so they have to go begging. Every hour of sleep there brings in a florin, and every yawn a double-thaler. If you lose at the gambling-table, your money will fall back into your pocket. The drinkers have the best wine for free, and there is a reward of three batz[18] for every swig and swill, for women as well as men. Whoever teases and lampoons people the best receives a florin each time. No one is allowed to do anything for free, and he who tells the biggest lie is always given a crown for it.

In our country, many a man lies nineteen to the dozen and has nothing to show for his efforts; there, however, lying is held to be the finest art, hence all kinds of procurators and medicasters, horse-traders, and the tradesmen of ***, who always entice their customers but never keep their word, lie their way into the land.

Whoever wants to be a scholar there must have studied his Grobian. There are also such students in our land, but they have little thanks and no honour from it. He must also be lazy and gluttonous as well as clownish, those are the three fine arts. I know someone who could become a professor any day.

If you like to work, do good and shun evil, everyone there will be ill-disposed towards you, and you will be banished from Cockaigne. But if you are doltish, utterly incapable, and yet are filled with foolish vanity, you will be looked upon there as a nobleman. If you can do nothing but sleep, eat, drink, dance and gamble, you will be made a Count. But the one whom the general electorate recognise as the laziest and least suited to do any good will become King over the entire land and have a large income.

Now you know the nature and character of Cockaigne. Whoever wants to stir his stumps and make a journey thither but does not know the way, let him ask a blind man; but a dumb one will serve just as well, for he is sure not to tell the wrong way.

But there is a mountain-high wall of creamed rice surrounding the country. Whoever wishes to get in or out must first eat his way through it athwart.

58. The Little Tale of the True Liar

The true liar is of so mendacious a constitution that he lies at all times, and he is happy only when lying. He lies at night and lies by day; he lies whatever lies he can tell, he lies to his father as to his mother, he lies to his sister and even better to his brother. Always and evermore, his gob is after lying: he lies here and lies there, he lies in secret and in public, he lies year out and he lies year in. You can hear the True Liar telling the lies that a staircase leads up to Heaven and a gnat pissed a stream which drove four mill-wheels. The True Liar can never have his fill of lies. He also lies that an ant drank up the sea, and that he blew a bear over with his breath. Ah, the more he lies, the happier his spirits become. Then he lies that mountains fly faster than falcons; he fulls and felts everything together to a sack of lies. He lies that the spleen of a mite is larger than that of a sturgeon; he lies that he caught a whale with a mouse and laid it on his table, and he lies that it was as long as three roads.

The Liemaster lies without cease: he lies that he took forty bricklayers contained in a nutshell into the middle of the sea, and he bade them build two towers on a lime-leaf and adjured them to use bricks of red marble for this, or he might have Hell to pay at home. The True Liar will make you a blazing fire from ice; he lies that this ice crackles and cracks and burns like dry wood.

This same Bag of Lies will lie: he saw a sledge travelling in the clouds, as fast as if it were flying; he lies that a donkey was pulling the sledge, and on the sledge were riding seven women dressed in their finest, and all wearing crowns; and beside them twelve young pages were running, blowing trumpet blasts which were heard far away. On the sledge were hanging golden bells enough, which made a clear clinking. Behind, a thousand knights were riding on just as many packhorses. The Liar sees to it that the knights ride behind the sledge on the clouds and do not fall down from the sky, and so they pass over the sea. The True Liar lies that he saw, on a meadow, a dwarf and a giant fighting each other for half a day; then the dwarf took a sack, shoved the giant inside, ran away with it for the length of seven long roads, and tied the sack to a tree-branch a good thousand fathoms high. Then the dwarf went on his way and left the giant to dangle, and so the Liar lies on without end, and he tells you further: Before I was born on earth and came from my mother’s womb, I heard a donkey and a cow exchange snide remarks. The wife and children of an old plate basket had died; lamenting, a haystack brought him money and corn-tax. The plate basket was about to enter confinement, so the pot-board was asked with all haste to stand godfather, and then he gave birth to a cote full of good fat sheep. An empty bag, a beggar’s sack, a beer-jug and an oven-fork in ashes rejoiced and all came running up with their playmates. These were a trivet and a grill, a kettle-ring, a hatchel, a crossbow, and a junk-stand. With them there also came running a barrel of sauerkraut, and a sparrow who pecked a young dog from fear when he saw a stork’s nest bounding along in a monk’s cowl at his side. They all consulted an old cart as to how they might live in perpetual joy? A distaff and a reel were godmothers there and they all sat around the fire. An empty barn joined this company as a guest, and to feed her a bucket milked a dry wooden fence.

I was standing not far away when I saw a lame man running after three hares and catching all three of them; but then a stark naked man came, took the hares from the lame one, and swiftly put them in his bosom. This was seen by a blind mute who told it to everyone. And a hedgehog pricked a bear, and a cat caught mice in a stream, and a cake boxed the cook’s ears. The pots, kettles and pans all saw this with delight; an old fodder-bench danced with delight; a cow swung over the ditch on a rope, a donkey leapt for joy; a large black horse danced around, and a calf, it blew the pan pipes. You would not think a man had seen and heard all this! So does the Liar lie until the beams bend and many an old wall wobbles. He lies the blue from the heavens and the black from the soil, he runs off lie after lie. Newspapers are also run off.

59. The Pearl Queen

Not far from a peaceful village which lay on the sea-strand and was inhabited mostly by fisher-folk, there appeared on the shore every year, at several fixed times, a maiden of superterrestrial beauty; she would came sailing up in a wondrously beautiful little ship, which looked as if it were made of pure, light-coloured pearls fitted together, and no one knew whence she came, or whither she returned when she disappeared. But the true-hearted fisher-folk were very fond of her, particularly the children, for whom she always scattered a quantity of lovely pearls on the shore before waving to them to pick them up. Then the little ones were assiduous in picking up the pearls, and they delighted in their oriency. And then the fishermen and fisherwomen came bearing a meal for the good and beautiful Pearl Queen: fishes and bread and good wine, and the fair maiden was friendly to all, and ate a few bites and drank a little wine.

And often, at the time when the Fair Unknown would land at the shore, Princes and many nobles came from other, foreign lands to see the beautiful maiden and perhaps wed her; for it was rumoured of her far and wide that she was just as rich in earthly treasures as in bodily beauty. But all had to return home with their wish unfulfilled. The noble maiden required of everyone who wooed her that he first pass three tests she had set him. And up to the present, these had proved too difficult, too high to reach, for everyone. No one was able to accomplish them, and so the noble suitors had to fall back and, a little ashamed and disgruntled, go back home. The first task that the maiden set was to guess what colour of hair she had, for she always kept her head heavily veiled; no one had yet guessed correctly, even though all colours – black, red, blonde, brown, white, green, grey, blue – had so far been guessed. The second one was to put on the maiden’s necklace. If the bright, shining pearls then became dull, it was a bad omen, and the lovely lady would weep, and her tears became pearls just as bright as the ones on the necklace, to which they attached themselves. And when the pearl necklace hung round the maiden’s neck again, it shone brightly and wondrously once more. The third task was to guess what the maiden wore on her breast. And no one could guess this. And so no one, even were he the richest Prince, had won the maiden’s favour for her to give him her hand and her heart. She remained a mystery. Every ruse to learn some particulars of the maiden herself and of her home remained fruitless; for every time the ship of pearls disappeared on the waters all too quickly from the sight of men. Yet she came back at the fixed time, as friendly and charming as before, and scattered pearls on the shore.

And there was a boy whom she held dearest of all the children; she would take him in her arms and hug him to her heart, and the boy was also very fond of the beautiful, kind lady; but when he grew up, he became abashed and shy, and the time came when he no longer dared to pick up pearls; and most of the time he had to sail and fish with his father on the open sea.

And so the maiden had landed on the shore several times without having seen her dear fisher-boy; and she was saddened, for ah, her heart had chosen this very youth, and she wished nothing more than that this handsome fisher might one day be able to accomplish the three tasks and then follow her to the beautiful Isle of Pearls, her home, for ever. She secretly decided, when she again pushed her ship off the shore without having seen her beloved fisher-youth, to return that same evening and approach the dear one unseen. And indeed, when the golden moon had risen and was mirrored in the waters, the ship of pearls sailed again through the waves towards the friendly shore, where her beloved had long since lain in the arms of Morpheus in the fisherman’s little hut. The fair maiden walked into the chamber and gently leaned over the sleeper, who used only moss for a bed. And she unclasped the pearl necklace from her neck and put it on the youth, and the pearls remained as bright and clear as before – oh, what joy then flowed through her loving heart! She kissed the dear one in blessing and departed, and returned every evening and hung the pearls around the youth’s neck every time, and every time the pearls kept their lustre and brilliance. The youth had also fallen deeply in love with the beautiful Pearl Queen, and he was pious and good to boot; only, he was all too shy and timorous to approach her openly.

Now when she was at the youth’s bedside one night, he awoke; but as he kept still, she believed him to be asleep. Then she took her pearl-necklace from her neck and put it on him, and wept warm tears on his cheeks, and, throwing back her veil, she took her hair and dried the tears with it. And the youth saw that her hair was golden. Then she lifted her neckcloth, and a bright mirror shone on her breast, out of which the youth’s image looked, gentle and handsome. But when she departed she was always troubled and sad; for were the bright pearl necklace to become dull around the neck of her beloved fisher only one single time, she would never be able to come close to him again.

And so the appointed time arrived when the beautiful Pearl Queen disembarked on the shore near the fishing village and, after her usual fashion, scattered pearls for the happy children; and this time many noble Princes and Lords had come to win the rich and beautiful Princess; the fisher-youth also stood, at a distance, and plucked up the courage to approach his idol. Yet it was not his turn until the end, when all the others had, again, retreated from her in shame. Then he modestly stepped forward and asked for the three tasks, and the maiden glowed with joy and gave them to him, and secretly sent imploring looks towards the heavens, that her beloved youth might in fact pass the tests. No one else had been able to accomplish them, after all. The handsome fisher bowed modestly before the fair one and said, “Oh, your hair must be golden.” And in an instant her veil had fallen off and her golden locks flowed down. Then the joyful maiden hung the pearl-necklace around the youth’s neck and it kept its purity and lustre. And the fisher spoke again: “And your breast must be a pure and beautiful mirror, fair maiden!” And her neckcloth also rustled to the ground in an instant, and the clear mirror on the maiden’s breast showed a gentle, handsome image, the image of the youth. Then there rang out from the ship of pearls loud cheering and joyous strains of music, and a circle of beautiful ladies and blooming men joyfully rose up from the ship and received the fair couple, and the lovely little barque of pearls glided away over the crystal-clear water, towards the wondrously delightful Isle of Pearls, the home of the fisher-youth’s beloved bride, never, never to return.

60. Little Snow White

Once upon a time there was a Queen who had no children, and she wished for one because she was so very lonely. Now one day when she was sitting at her embroidery and looking at the frame of dark ebony, while it snowed outside and snowflakes fell from the sky, she was so lost in thought that she sharply pricked her finger, causing three drops of blood to fall onto the white snow; and then she could not help returning to the thought that she was without child. “Ah!” sighed the Queen, “if only I had a child as red as blood, as white as snow, as black as ebony!”

And after a time this Queen had a child, a baby girl. She had a body as white as snow and her cheeks bloomed like blood-red roses and her hair was as black as ebony. The Queen rejoiced, named the child Snow White, and soon afterwards she died. As the King had now become a widower but did not wish to remain one, so he took another wife, who was indeed a woman of a fine presence and great beauty, but was also full of unspeakable pride, and so vain withal that she held herself to be the most beautiful woman in the whole wide world. She was particularly induced to vanity by a magic mirror, which invariably said to her when she looked in it and asked:

“Mirror, mirror on the wall,

Who is the fairest of them all?”

“You, my Queen, are the fairest of them all.”

And yet the mirror did not flatter, but told the truth as mirrors do.

Little Snow White, the Queen’s stepdaughter, grew up to be the most beautiful Princess there could possibly be, and became far lovelier than the beautiful Queen. When Snow White was seven years old, the Queen asked her faithful mirror once again:

“Mirror, mirror on the wall,

Who is the fairest of them all?”

The mirror did not answer as usual, but replied:

“My Majesty, you are the fairest here,

But Snow White is a thousand times fairer, I fear.”

These words gave the Queen a deathly shock, and she felt as if a knife were being turned in her breast; and so her heart turned against innocent Snow White, who could not help her excessive beauty. And because her wicked, envious heart gave her no rest, neither by day nor by night, she summoned her huntsman and said: “You are to take the child, Snow White, into the depths of the forest and kill here there. Bring me her liver and lungs as a mark that you have carried out my command!”

And so poor Snow White had to follow the huntsman into the wild wood, and in a deep thicket he drew his weapon, ready to run the child through. Snow White wept piteously and implored him to let her live, for she had done no wrong, and the tears and the lamentation of the innocent child touched the huntsman to the heart, so that he thought to himself: Why should I burden my conscience by murdering this pretty, innocent child? No, I will rather let her go! If the wild beasts devour her, as they probably will do, the Queen may answer for it before God. And then he let Snow White go whither she pleased, and caught a young deer, cut its throat, disembowelled it, and brought its liver and lungs to the wicked Queen. She took these and fried them in salt and grease, and consumed them, and was pleased that she, as she supposed, was now once more the one and only fairest in the land. In the forest, Snow White soon became terribly afraid as she walked through the thicket so desperately alone, as she felt the hard, sharp stones for the first time, as the thorns tore her clothes, and, above all, when she first set eyes on wild beasts. But the wild beasts did her no harm at all; they looked at Snow White then passed into the bushes. And the girl walked all day long and passed over seven mountains.

In the evening Snow White came to a little cottage in the heart of the forest, and she went in to take her rest, for she was very tired, as well as being very hungry and very thirsty. Inside the little, little cottage everything was really too cute and dainty, and very clean to boot. There was a little table in the room that was covered with a snow-white cloth, and on it there lay seven little plates with a small portion of vegetables and bread on each one, seven little spoons, seven pairs of little knives and little forks, and there stood seven little goblets. And against the wall there were seven little beds, all with pristine white covers. Hungry Snow White now ate from the seven little plates, only a very little bite from each, and drank a little drop of wine from each little goblet. Then she lay down in one of the seven little beds to rest, but the little bed was too small, and she had to try out another one, but none of them was the right size – until in the end she came to the seventh one, it was just right, so Snow White slipped in, pulled up the covers, prayed to God, and fell asleep, the deep and sound sleep of pious children who have said their prayers.

Meanwhile night fell, and there came the masters of the cottage, seven little men of the mountains, each one with a burning miner’s-lamp on the front of his belt, and they saw at once that someone had been there. The first one asked: “Who has been sitting on my little chair?” The second one asked, “Who has been eating from my little plate?” The third one asked, “Who has been breaking my little bread?” The fourth one: “Who has been nibbling at my little vegetables?” The fifth: “Who has been cutting with my little knife?” The sixth: “Who has been stabbing with my little fork?” and the seventh one asked: “Who has been drinking from my little goblet?” After asking these questions, the dwarves looked round at their little beds, and asked: “Who has been lying in our little beds?” up until the seventh one, who asked not that question but rather: “Who is lying in my little bed?”, for Snow White was lying in it. Then the miners all shone their lamps over the bed and were astonished to see the lovely child, and they did not disturb her, but they let the seventh one sleep in their beds, an hour in each one, until the night was over. Now when dawn shone its early rays into the dwarves’ little, little cottage, Snow White awoke and was afraid of the dwarves. But they were very kind and friendly, and told her she need not be afraid, and asked her what she was called. So Snow White now told them everything that had befallen her. When she had finished, the dwarves said, “You can stay with us in our cottage, Snow White, and you can keep house for us; you can cook our food, wash our linen, and keep everything spick and span, and also make our beds.” That was fine with Snow-White, and she kept house for the dwarves. During the day they did their work in the mountains, deep underground, where they sought gold and precious stones, and in the evening they came and ate and lay down in their seven little beds.

In the meantime the wicked Queen had become glad in her evil heart that she was now the fairest once again, as she thought; and she tried the mirror again, asking it:

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Who is the fairest of them all?”

And the mirror replied:

“Your Majesty! You are the fairest here,

But Snow White over the seven horns,

Where the seven good dwarves sojourn,

Is still a thousand times fairer, I fear!”

Again the Queen felt as if a dagger had been thrust into her vain heart, and she now passed her days and nights thinking of an expedient to take Snow White’s life; and she finally came upon the idea of setting out herself, in disguise, to visit Snow White, and she made her face unrecognisable, put on shabby clothes, took a basket of trinkets, and travelled over the seven mountains, until she arrived at the dwarves’ little, little cottage. Then she knocked on the door and cried, “Hallo! Hallo! Buy my pretty wares!” But the dwarves had told Snow White that she should beware of strangers, and of the wicked Queen above all. Therefore the girl cautiously looked out, and she saw the pretty knick-knacks the woman had brought for sale, the pretty necklaces and laces and all sorts of finery. And Snow White suspected no evil but let the huckstress in and bought a necklace off her, and the woman wished to show her how to put this necklace on, and standing behind her she tied it so tightly around her neck that Snow White stopped breathing on the instant and fell down dead. “There you have your reward for your excessive beauty!” said the wicked Queen, and she took herself off.

Soon afterwards the seven dwarves came home, where they found their dear, lovely Snow White dead and they saw she had been throttled with the necklace. As quick as lightning they cut the necklace in two and dribbled some drops of potable gold on Snow White’s pale lips; then she began to breathe softly, and gradually came back to life. When she was able to speak, she told how the old peddler-woman had wickedly throttled her, and the dwarves cried: “That was no other woman than the false Queen! Be on your guard and do not let a single soul into the cottage when we are not here.”

The Queen, when she had returned home from her evil errand, at once walked up to her mirror and asked it:

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Who is the fairest of them all?”

and the mirror replied:

“Your Majesty! You are the fairest here,

But Snow White over the seven horns,

Where the seven good dwarves sojourn,

Is still a thousand times fairer, I fear”.

Then the Queen’s heart swelled with rage, like the stomach in a toad, and she again spent her days and nights plotting Snow White’s undoing. Soon, she assumed the fake form of a different woman by disguising her face and donning outlandish clothes, prepared a poisoned comb which she put in amongst the other bits and bobs, and went over the seven mountains to the dwarves’ little, little cottage. There she again knocked on the door, and cried, “Hallo! Hallo! Buy my pretty wares.” Snow White looked out of the window and said, “I’m not allowed to let anyone in!” But the peddler-woman cried, “What a shame about the beautiful comb!” and she showed the poisoned comb, which sparkled golden all over. Snow White wanted a golden comb with all her heart, and suspecting no evil, she opened the door and let the peddler-woman in and bought the comb.

“Now I will show you, my most beautiful child, how to pass the comb through your hair and how to wear it,” said the fake huckstress, and she raked it through Snow White’s hair; the poison instantly took effect, and the poor child fell down, dead. “Well, you won’t be able to get back up this time, I should think,” said the wicked Queen, and she fled from the cottage.

Soon afterwards – and that was fortunate – evening came, and the seven dwarves returned home, believed poor Snow White to be dead, and found the poisoned comb in her lovely hair. They quickly pulled it out of her hair and then she soon came round. And the dwarves cautioned her anew, very strongly, to let no one – no one – into the cottage.

At home the wicked Queen again stepped before her mirror and asked it:

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Who is the fairest of them all?”

And the mirror replied:

“Your Majesty! You are the fairest here,

But over the seven horns,

Where the seven good dwarves sojourn,

Snow White is – a thousand times fairer, I fear!”

The Queen could neither contain nor restrain her venomous fury at all her evil intrigues against Snow White proving fruitless, and she swore a dreadful oath that Snow White must die, even should it cost her, the Queen, her own life. And thereupon she secretly put poison into a shining apple, but only into the side which was ruddiest, took a basket full of ordinary apples, disguised her face, dressed herself as a peasant woman, and once again went over the seven mountains and knocked at the door of the dwarves’ cottage, crying: “Hallo! Buy my lovely apples! Buy them!”

Snow White looked out of the window and said: “Go away, woman! I’m not allowed to open the door or to buy anything!”

“Very well, dear child!” said the fake peasant woman, “I’ll get rid of all my lovely apples even without you! Here, you can have one for free.”

“No, thank you very much, I’m not allowed to accept anything!” cried Snow White. “I suppose you think the apple might be poisoned, do you? Look here, I’m biting into it myself! Oh, that tastes good! You’ve never eaten an apple like this, never in your life.” The deceitful woman had bitten into the side of the apple that was not poisoned, and Snow White’s mouth began to water and she reached out for the apple, and the peasant-woman handed it to her and stood still. No sooner had Snow White taken a bite of the apple’s other side, which had a lovely red cheek, than her red cheeks turned white as a sheet and she fell down, dead.

“And that is the end of you, wench!” said the Queen, and she departed; and at home she stepped before the mirror once more and asked:

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Who is the fairest of them all?”

and this time the mirror answered:

“You, Queen, are the one and only fairest of them all!”

Now the wicked Queen’s heart was satisfied, insofar as a heart full of malice and spite and murderous guilt can be satisfied.

But how shocked were the seven good dwarves when they returned home in the evening and found Snow White as dead as a doornail. In vain did they search for the cause, and in vain did they try their potable gold with its miraculous power: Snow White was, and this time remained, dead.

Then the grieving dwarves laid the dear child on a bier and sat down around it, and wept for three whole days, and after this they were going to bury her. However, because Snow White still did not look like she was dead, but rather had the fresh-coloured look of a girl in sleep, they did not want to lower her into the earth, and so they made a beautiful glass coffin, and laid her inside, and wrote on it: Snow White – a Princess – and then they laid the coffin on the summit of one of the seven mountains, and there was always one of them keeping watch over it. Then the animals came from the forest and wept over Snow White, the owl, the raven, and the dove.

And so Snow White lay in the coffin for many years without decaying; she rather looked as fresh and as white as newly-fallen snow, and still had red cheeks like fresh Mandarin Roses, and hair as black as ebony. Then a handsome young Prince, who had lost his way in the seven mountains, came to the dwarves’ little cottage, and he saw the glass coffin and read the inscription on it: Snow White, a Princess – and he asked the dwarves to let him have the coffin with Snow White, he wished to buy it from them. But the dwarves said, “We have gold in abundance and don’t need yours! We won’t part with the coffin, not for all the gold in the world!” – “Then make me a present of it!” pleaded the Prince, “I cannot be, without Snow White; I will hold her in the highest honour and revere her, and she shall stay in my finest room; I beg of you!”

Then the dwarves were moved to compassion, and they made him a gift of Snow White in the glass coffin. This he gave to his servants with orders to carry it away with care, and he followed them, deep in thought. And one of the servants stumbled over a tree-root, causing the coffin to shake, and they came very close to dropping it; and with the jolt, the poisonous piece of apple that yet lay in Snow White’s mouth (for she had fallen down before swallowing the bite) shot out, and she suddenly came back to life.

The Prince quickly had her set down, opened the coffin and lifted her out in his arms, and told her everything, and now came to love her more than ever, and took her to wife, and conducted her straight away to his father’s castle; and preparations for the wedding were made with great splendour, and many noble guests were invited, among them the wicked Queen. She arrayed herself most beautifully, stepped before her mirror, and asked again:

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Who is the fairest of them all?”

to which the mirror answered:

“Your Majesty, you are the fairest here,

But the young Queen is a thousand times fairer, I fear!”

Then for envy and jealousy the Queen did not know what to say or do, and her heart sank, and at first she did not in the least want to go to the wedding; then, however, she wished to see the woman who was fairer than she, and so she went. And when she entered the hall, Snow White walked up to her as the most beautiful royal bride there has ever been, and she was so shocked that she wished the earth would open up and swallow her.

Now, Snow White was not only the Fairest of Them All, but she also had a great and noble heart, which did not seek vengeance for the misdeeds the Queen had committed against her. However, a poisonous worm came and ate away at the Queen’s wicked heart, and this worm was Envy.

61. The Monk and the Bird

In a monastery there was a monk by the name of Urban, a very pious and industrious man, who was entrusted with the key to the cloister library; and he guarded this treasure with care, wrote many a fine book himself, and studied much in the other books and the Holy Scriptures. There he found a saying of the Apostle Peter, which read: To God a thousand years are as a day and a watch in the night.[19] This seemed simply impossible to the young monk, he would not and could not believe it, and he struggled with tortuous doubts. Then it happened one morning that the monk walked down from the gloomy bookroom into the bright, beautiful cloister garden, and there in the garden was a colourful little woodland bird, searching for grains of corn. It flew on to a branch and sang as sweetly as a nightingale. This bird was not the least bit shy, but let the monk draw near; and he would gladly have caught it, but it flew away from one branch to the other, and the monk followed it a good while. Then the bird sang again in a loud and high voice, but it would not let itself be caught, although the young monk pursued it, a while longer, out of the cloister garden and into the wood. At last he desisted and went back to the monastery, but everything he saw there seemed to be different. Everything had become broader, large, and more fair – the buildings, the garden – and in place of the lowly old monastery church there stood a proud minster with three towers. This seemed very strange, even magical, to the monk. And as he came to the monastery-gate and hesitantly rang the bell, a wholly unfamiliar gatekeeper stepped towards him – only to shrink back in consternation. The monk now strolled through the monastery graveyard, in which there were so many headstones that he could not remember having seen before. And when he walked towards the brethren, they all drew aside, utterly horrified. Only the Abbot – however, not his Abbot, but another, young one – stood his ground; but he held out a crucifix to him and cried: “In the name of Christ who died on the Cross, Spirit, who are you? And what do you, who have escaped the caverns of the dead, seek among us, the living?”

Then a shudder ran through the monk’s body, he tottered like an old man totters, and he lowered his gaze to the ground. Behold – he had a long, silver-white beard, flowing down over the belt on which the bunch of keys to the barred bookcases yet hung. The man seemed to the monks to be a miraculous stranger, and they led him with timid reverence to the Abbot’s seat. There he gave the keys to the library to a young monk, who unlocked and entered, and returned with a chronicle in which it was said that three hundred years ago the monk Urban had vanished without a trace, nobody knowing whether he had fled or met with some fatal mishap. “O little woodland bird, was that your song?” the stranger asked with a sigh. “For barely three minutes did I follow you, hearkening to your song, and three centuries have since flown by! You have sung to me the Song of Eternity, which I was unable to comprehend! Now I grasp eternity and worship God as dust, and unto dust!” Thus did he speak, and he bowed his head; and his body crumbled into a heap of ashes.

62. The Seven Swans

There was once a young knight who was handsome and rich and had a magnificent castle. One day he rode with his hounds into the forest to hunt, where he saw a hind that was whiter than snow, and it started up and fled from him through the wild tall bushes into the mountains. The knight followed it at a great pace and came at last to a wild, dark valley where he lost sight of the hind because of his dogs, so he rode hither and thither calling his hounds back together. Thus he arrived at a river, by the side of a beautiful maiden stood washing herself, and she held a fine golden chain in her hand. And as this maiden pleased him greatly, he softly dismounted, crept up close to her and suddenly took the golden chain from her hand. This chain possessed special power and the magic of the planets, and the young lady was a wish-maiden, and so fair that the knight forgot the hind and his hounds in contemplation of her beauty and thought to take her home as his wife. And he did so, and took her back to his castle.

Now the young knight had a mother who was greatly incommoded by her daughter-in-law, for up till then she had ruled the household on her own and she now feared that she would lose power and standing at the castle. And she took a dislike to her daughter-in-law, and came to hate her, and often exhorted her son not to hold her all too dear, and would only too willingly have encompassed strife and discord between them. But she could not bring this to pass, for her son would not listen to her words and grew indignant at her every time. Now when she perceived this, she affected to be very submissive and obliging, in all matters, towards her son and his young wife, but everything she said and did came from a false heart, in which she had particularly conceived feelings of cruel malice towards the young wife, even though she outwardly appeared to honour her very much. And then the time came when the young wife went into confinement and was delivered of six sons and a daughter who all bore golden rings around their necks. At once the wicked old woman, the mother of the young lord, came and took the seven little children while their mother was sleeping, carried them away, and placed seven young puppies who had been littered that night in their stead. Now this false and faithless woman had a trusted servant, and she placed the seven children in his hands, binding him on his faith and oath to take them into the wild forest and kill and bury them in the earth, or drown them in the water. The servant swore to do this, and taking the children into the forest, he laid them under a tree and prepared to throttle them. But then a horror of this murder crept over him, and recoiling from so faithless a deed, he let the children live and went and told the woman he had executed her command.

But the Creator of all beings, who directs all things for the best, took pity on the children and sent them a foster father, a wise old master who lived in the forest to cultivate wisdom; he took the children to his hermitage and fed them with the milk of hinds, which were accustomed to come to him, for seven years.

When that wicked woman had taken the children away from their mother, she led her son to the young woman, showed him the puppies, and said: “Look, son, the children your wife has borne you – they are young dogs.” She did this to her son for revenge, because he loved his wife so much. When he saw this, he believed his mother, and there rose up in his breast a hatred for the wife he had previously loved so dearly, and he would not listen to a word of an excuse but had her buried up to the breast in the courtyard in front of his castle’s palace, and he had a wash-bowl full of water placed over her head, and he commanded all his servants to wash themselves over her head and dry their hands on her beautiful hair. Furthermore, she was to receive no other food than that given to the dogs.

And so the poor woman had to remain standing in the pit in terrible distress for seven whole years, and not a soul was allowed to take pity on her. As a result, her fair figure wasted away, her clothes mouldered, and nothiing remained but the skin over her bones.

In the meantime, the young children in the forest learned to shoot game and birds and live on their meat, and then it so happened that the knight, their father, went hunting in the forest once again. There he caught sight of the children as they ran around playing in the wood, and they were all wearing golden chains around their necks. And his heart was moved to take a liking to them; he would happily have seized one or the other, but they would not let themselves be caught, disappearing instead into the depths of the forest. At home he related to his mother and other lords and friends how he had seen little children with golden chains around their necks in the forest. Hearing this, the mother was secretly alarmed, and taking the servant to task, she asked him: “Did you kill the children at that time, or did you let them live?” Then the servant confessed that he had not been able to kill them with his own hand but had laid them down under a tree, where they must surely have perished soon afterwards. At this she commanded the servant to ride into the forest immediately, search for the children, who were certainly not dead, and take their golden chains away, or they would both be put to shame. The servant fearfully obeyed and sought the children in the forest for three days, but did not find them. Not until the fourth day did he come across them; they had taken off their chains and were now in the form of swans, and they played on the water. But the girl still had her human form, and she watched the swans as they played on the water. Then the servant stealthily crept up and took the six golden chains away; but the girl ran away from him and he could not catch her.

When the servant brought the chains to the old woman, she sent for a goldsmith and bid him fashion a goblet from them. Now when the goldmith began to cast a goblet from these chains, he found that the gold was so precious and pure that it could neither be worked with a hammer nor be made to flow by fire, except for one chain, which he shattered and made into a ring; the others he weighed on his scales, laid aside, and replaced with other gold of an equivalent weight, which he made into a goblet, and he gave this to the woman together with the ring; and she locked them both away in her cabinet.

As for those swans which could not now regain their human form, they were deeply distressed, and sang, in sweet, mournful voices, melancholy songs which sounded like the crying of small children. At length they beat their wings and rose up high to see whither they should turn. Then they descried a large, crystal-clear lake, and they alighted there. The lake surrounded a high mountain, with a big, hanging rock face on which there sat a handsome castle. The rock face was so sheer and the water lay so close to the mountain that, apart from a very steep and narrow track, there was no access whatsoever to the castle. And that just happened to be the castle of the young knight who was the father of those children, and because the windows of the castle’s dining-hall faced the water, the lord soon perceived the swans, and he fell to wondering, for he had never seen such beautiful birds before. So he threw bread and other foods down to them and gave all his servants the command that no one was to chase or drive them away, but bread should always be thrown down to them, until such time as the swans felt quite at home there. This command was diligently executed, and the swans grew accustomed to being there and became so tame that they would unfailingly come to receive their food when it was time to eat.

Now the poor, abandoned girl, their sister, had retained her human form, to be sure, but she was helpless all the same, and she walked up to her father’s castle begging for alms. There she was given the scraps from the table, and she shared these with the poor woman in the ditch, for whenever she saw her she could not help crying bitterly. Yet neither of them knew the other. The maiden also brought some leftover crumbs down to the lake under the castle and gave them to the swans, her brothers. Every time, when she approached, the swans would come up flying and flapping and giggling, and they ate their food out of the maiden’s pinafore. She caressed them fondly and oftne took them in her arms, and then towards evening she would go back up to the castle and sleep all through the night before the woman who stood in the ground, without knowing that this was her mother.

All the inmates of the castle saw this with great amazement, and saw that she cried whenever she was with the woman, and also that she looked very similar to her. And the knight’s heart was moved as well, so he observed the maiden more closely and saw the similarity with his wife, and he also saw the golden chain around her neck. And he had the girl appear before him, when he asked: “My dear child, tell me – where are you from, where do you come from? Who are your parents, and how have you tamed the swans so that they eat out of your lap?”

Then the poor child fetched a sigh from the very bottom of her heart and said, “Dear lord! The parents I had, I have never known. Nor do I know if I have seen them. But if you ask about the swans, they are my brothers, who fed with me on the milk of the hinds in the forest. At one time it happened that my brothers took off their golden chains because they wanted to bathe, and they were turned into swans; and because the chains were stolen, they could not regain their human form and had to stay as swans.”

These words were heard by the false, untrue woman and the servant, her accomplice, and they started violently, both turning pale from the consciousness of their guilt. The knight noticed this and reflected upon it while walking down the mountain. The old woman incited the servant to kill the maid, and taking a naked sword, he followed the girl when she went, as was her custom, down to the swans. But the lord espied him and approached him, and just when the servant was about to commit the misdemeanour he struck the sword from his hand. Then the servant fell to his knees and confessed everything. Thereupon the knight went to his mother and compelled her with threats to a confession; then she opened her cabinet and gave her son that goblet which was supposed to have been fashioned from the chains. The knight immediately sent for the goldsmith and made earnest enquiries of him about the goblet. As this man also now stood in fear of punishment, he confessed the truth, how he still had the chains in their entirety except for one, from which he had fashioned a ring. The knight bid him bring the chains, and gave them to the girl; she placed them around the swans’ necks, one for each. Then they all regained their human form except for one – he had to remain a swan. The numerous strange adventures this swan underwent can be found described in many a book. Now the knight had the poor woman taken out of the ground without delay, and he had her revived with fine perfumes and precious spices, so that she became a beautiful woman again. His false mother he had set in that very hole in which his innocent wife had languished and suffered for seven long years because of her malice. So it befell her according to the words of the Prophet: Whoso diggeth a pit for others shall fall therein.[20]

63. Rosethorn

Once upon a time there was a King and a Queen who had no children and wished for a child every single day. At one time it happened that the Queen was bathing and, being all alone, she sighed, “Oh, if only I had a child!” Then a frog hopped out of the water and said, “What you wish for shall be granted you!” And after that the Queen had a little daughter who was pretty beyond compare, and the King took the utmost delight in the fulfilment of his dearest wish, and he ordained a great feast to which he invited all of his friends. Now there also lived in the land Wise Women who were endowed with magical and miraculous powers and enjoyed the great reverence of all the people; they too were invited by the King and were to eat off golden plates. But at that time kings did not have as many bowls and plates as they do today, and this King had only a dozen, or twelve of them, and there were thirteen Wise Women, so he could invite only twelve, and the thirteenth remained uninvited, which she took ill.

The Wise Women endowed the royal child with the most exquisite attributes: not beauty, for she possessed that already, but kindness, cheerfulness, grace, gentleness, modesty, piousness, demureness, virute, sincerity, understanding, and wealth; and the twelfth Wise Woman was just about to speak her wish when the thirteenth one, who had not been invited, walked into the room and angrily cried out: “Fifteen years from now the King’s daughter shall prick herself on a spindle and fall down dead!” With these words the wicked sorceress disappeared and the others stood paralysed with horror, for the Wise Women utter no idle words. It was fortunate that the twelfth Wise Woman had not yet spoken her wish. She could not alter a threat that a Wise Woman had made, but she could give it a mitigatory turn, so she cried, “The King’s daughter shall only fall into a deep sleep which shall last a hundred years and no longer.” The King at once issued a government mandate throughout the land, by virtue of which all spindles were to be abolished and spinning-wheels introduced instead.

In the meantime, the beautiful king’s daughter grew up to be a young lady who had no equal for beauty, sweetness, congeniality, gentleness, humility, modesty, kind-heartedness, virtue, and understanding, and so she entered her fifteenth year, loved – indeed, adored – by all who knew her. And then the Princess was seized with sudden a desire to look around the castle a little, and passing through several chambers, she came to a flight of stairs which led up to an old tower; she climbed up these and came to a low chamber door which had an old, rusty key in its lock, and being as curious as very young girls tend to be, the Princess turned the key and the door opened straightaway. There sat an ancient spinning-woman, busily spinning with a spindle; she probably had not heard or read the King’s law, or had forgotten it long since. As it danced around and whirled up and down, the spindle gave the young king’s daughter much pleasure; wanting to spin herself, she made a grab at it and pricked herself, for this was the very day on which the enraged Wise Woman’s prophecy was to be fulfilled. And the king’s daughter fell down in a sleep. And the same sleep also came over the King and the Queen and the entire castle. It must have been pretty boring there! The whole household fell asleep, from the major-domo to the kitchen-lad whose hair the cook was that very moment tousling because of a blunder, ready to give him a box on the ear; and the cook and the waiter, the lady-in-waiting and the chambermaid, the whole kit and caboodle – the dog and the cat, why, the pigeons and sparrows on the roof, the peacocks and parrots, and even the flies on the wall – they all slept. And the fire on the range died down and fell asleep, and the wind also died down, and there was not a peep to be heard, not even the nibbling of a mouse anywhere in the castle, for the mice too were asleep. And no more people came into the enchanted slumbering chateau, around which a mighty hedge of thorns grew up, a few feet higher every year, until it had topped the highest tower so that not even the flag nor the weathercock could be seen any longer, and it was so thick that no living soul could work his way through it. And gradually all remembrance of the castle was lost, and there remained only a legend, which ran that behind the thorns was a castle in which Rosethorn, the enchanted Princess, was sleeping; how long she had been, how long she would be, no one knew. From time to time, King’s sons did come and try to force their way through the hedge, but it was far too thick for them to succeed; they remained hopelessly entangled in the thorns and perished dismally.

And now a hundred years had passed, and the time had come for Rosethorn to awake, although no one knew this for certain; and another prince came, and he heard the tale of the sleeping Rosethorn from the mouth of an old man who assured him of its truth, for his father and great-grandfather had often told him about it, and the old man had to take the King’s son to the notorious hedge of thorns. And that happened precisely a hundred years to the day on which Rosethorn had fallen into her enchanted sleep. And the hedge of thorns was covered all over with roses, which had not been the case in living memory; and the King’s son could walk freely through the hedge, no thorn touched his clothes, but the hedge closed behind him as he passed. And then he found everything intact; no wind had blown, no rain had dampened, the century had flown over the heads of the slumberers as softly as a swan over a placid lake full of dreaming water-lilies. They were sleeping still, all the flies and all the mice; they were sleeping, cock and hen, cat and dog, maid and lady’s maid, chamberlain and page, and King and Queen as well. The prince observed all this in great amazement, then he went up into the tower and came into the chamber where sweet Rosethorn was lying, and sleeping so softly, sublimely encompassed with the halo of her innocence and the radiance of her beauty. Then the prince bent down and kissed Rosethorn, and she instantly opened her eyes. He told her all that had come to pass and led her down into the castle. Then everything awoke, King and Queen, dwarf and lady’s-maid, dogs and horses, fire and water, wind and weathercock, and the cook gave the kitchen-boy the clip round the ears which he had been owing him for a hundred years, and everything was back to normal again; and a magnificent wedding was arranged, namely that of Rosethorn to the prince who had delivered her from her slumber, and they lived together happy and contented until the end of their days.

64. Of the Little Boy, the Little Girl and the Wicked Stepmother

Once upon a time there were two children and they had a wicked stepmother who grudged them the air they breathed. One day while the woman was sitting spinning the boy came in and said: “Mother, give me an apple.” Then the woman devised a malicious trick and said: “Go into the box room, you know the chest with the apples is in there, and take one for yourself.” As the boy walks into the box room the wicked mother is after him, and when he lifts up the heavy lid of the apple-chest and reaches for a rosy-cheeked apple, the stepmother shoves the poor boy into the chest and slams the lid shut, and he must suffocate to death inside.

A little later the girl came and asked, like her brother: “Mother, give me an apple.” Then the woman span the thread of her malice further, saying: “Go into the box room, you know the chest with the apples is in there, and take one for yourself.” As the girl walks into the box room the stepmother is after her, and when she lifts up the heavy lid of the apple-chest and reaches for a shiny apple, the stepmother shoves the poor girl into the chest and slams the lid shut, and she must suffocate to death inside. Then she sat herself back down at her spinning-wheel. Late in the evening the father came in and asked: “Where are my dear children?” “They’re sleeping, the urchins,” said the stepmother. Then something rattled, something pecked at the window. The father looks over in amazement and sees two hail-white veil-white birds at the window, who sing:

Stepmother did us both to death;

She shut the lid of the apple-chest.

Then the woman is cut to the quick, and she falls from her stool with a single groan and is no more. In a flash she was turned into a black bird that darted wildly around in the room, and at last it flew through the window as if it wished to pursue the white birds.

There was a whirring in the father’s head, and his heart broke for his dear children.

65. Swan, Stick on!

Once upon a time there were three brothers, the eldest of whom was called Jacob, the second Friedrich, and the third and youngest Gottfried. The youngest one was the butt of his brothers’ teasing and the usual deflector of their ill-humour. Whenever anything crossed their wishes, Gottfried had to pay for it, and he had to put up with all this because he had a puny physique and could not defend himself against his stronger brothers. It made his life a misery, and he thought night and day about ways of making his fate more bearable. One day when he was in the forest to collect wood, and bitterly weeping, a little old woman walked up to him and asked him the reason for his distress, and he confided his troubles to her. “Well, my boy,” the little woman then said, “is the world not big? Why don’t you seek your fortune elsewhere?” Gottfried took these words to heart, and early one morning he left his parental home and set out on his way into the wide world to, as the little woman had said, seek his fortune. But the parting from the place where he had been born, and had at least spent a happy childhood, grieved him to the heart, and he sat down on a hillside to take one last good look at his home village. Behold, the little woman was standing behind him, and clapping him on the back, she said: “You’ve done well, my boy! But what will you do now?” Gottfried now thought for the first time about what he was going to do. Up to that moment, he had thought that fortune would just fall from the sky into his lap. The little woman may have guessed his thoughts: she said with a grin, “I’ll tell you what you should do. Why? Because I’m fond of you, and because I believe that you won’t forget me when you’re sitting in the lap of Lady Luckfortune.” Gottfried solemnly promised that he would not, and the old woman continued, “This evening, when the sun sets, go to the large pear-tree which stands at the crossroads there. Under it a man will be lying asleep, while a large, lovely swan will be tied to the tree; take care not to wake the man up – and that is why you must go just when the sun is setting – but untie the swan and take it away with you. People will be infatuated with its beautiful feathers and you may allow them to pluck one out. But when the swan is touched it will clang, and if you then say, ‘Swan, stick on!’ then the hand of the person touching it will stick fast, and it will not come unstuck until you tap it with this little stick, which I make you a present of herewith. And when you have caught a brave train of human birds, then lead them straight onwards. You will come to a large city, and a King’s daughter lives there who has never laughed in her life. If you can bring her to laugh, your fortune is made; but do not forget me then, my boy!” Gottfried made his promise once more, and punctually with the sunset he was at the designated tree. The man lay there asleep, and a large, lovely swan was tied to the tree with a string. Gottfried bravely untied the bird and took it away without the man waking up.

Now it so happened that Gottfried, with his swan, passed by a building-site where several men with hitched-up breeches were kneading clay; they admired the bird’s beautiful feathers, and a forward boy, who was covered all over with clay, said out loud: “Oh, what I’d give to have one of those feathers.” – “Pull yourself one out!” Gottfried said pleasantly; the boy grasped the bird’s tail, the swan clanged, “Swan – stick on!” said Gottfried, and the boy could not free himself, try as he might. The others laughed all the more, the more the boy yelled, until a maid came running over from a nearby stream, where she had been washing with her skirts gathered up high. She took pity on the boy and reached him her hand to help him break free. The swan clanged, “Swan, stick on!” said Gottfried, and the maid was likewise caught. When Gottfried had gone some distance with his catch, he met a chimney-sweeper who laughed at the peculiar couple and asked the maid what she was up to. “Oh Hans, my dearest,” the maid miserably replied, “pray give me your hand, and free me from this infernal boy.” – “Well, if that’s all there’s to be done!” laughed the chimney-sweeper, and he gave the maid his hand, the bird clanged, “Swan, stick on!” said Gottfried, and the black man was likewise bewitched. Now they came to a village where a fair was being held at that time; a company of tightrope walkers were giving performances, and the clown was in the middle of his foolish antics. His jaw dropped when he saw the strange trefoil that was clinging to the swan’s tail. “Have you become a fool, Blackie?” he laughed. “It’s no laughing-matter at all!” replied the chimney-sweep. “This wench is gripping me so tightly that my hand feels nailed fast. Help to free me, Clown; one day I’ll return you the favour.” The Clown grasped the black man’s outstretched hand, the bird clanged, “Swan, stick on!” said Gottfried, and the clown became the fourth member of the league. Now in the foremost row of the spectators was the pompous, portly village magistrate, who put on a very serious look and was greatly annoyed at this apparition, for the devil seemed to be in it. So far did his zeal go that he seized the clown by his free hand to tear him away and deliver him up to the bailiff; the bird clanged, “Swan, stick on!” said Gottfried, and the magistrate shared the fate of his precursors. The magistrate’s wife, a long, scrawny spindle of a woman, was appalled at her husband’s mishap and pulled with might and main at his free arm, the bird clanged, “Swan, stick on!” said Gottfried, and the poor magistrate’s wife, scream though she might, had to follow along. From that time on, no one else felt a desire to augment the company.

Gottfried could now see the towers of the capital before him, when a wondrous equipage came in his direction, in which there sat a beautiful young – but serious – lady. But when she caught sight of the colourful procession, she burst out into peals of laughter, and her servants laughed with her. “The King’s daughter has laughed!” everyone cried with joy. She alighted, inspected the matter more closely, and laughed more and more at the capers the spellbound figures were cutting. The coach had to turn around and it travelled slowly, beside Gottfried, back to the city. When the King heard the tidings that his daughter had laughed, he was absolutely delighted, and he himself looked closely at Gottfried, his swan, and his extraordinary entourage, and he could not help laughing until his eyes were brimming with tears. “You foolish fellow,” he said to Gottfried, “do you know what I have promised to the man who makes my daughter laugh?” – “No,” said Gottfried. – “Then I’ll tell you,” the King replied. “A thousand golden guilders or a handsome estate. Choose between the two.” Gottfried decided in favour of the estate. Then he touched the boy, the maid, the chimney sweeper, the clown, the magistrate, and the magistrate’s wife, with his stick; and when they felt themselves to be free, they ran away as if all the devils in Hell were hot on their heels, and this gave rise to a new burst of inextinguishable laughter. Now, the King’s daughter was moved to stroke the beautiful swan and admire its plumage. The bird clanged, “Swan, stick on!” said Gottfried, and in this way he won the Princess. The swan then rose up into the air and disappeared into the blue horizon. Gottfried now received the present of a duchy; but he remembered the little old woman to whom he owed his good fortune, and he appointed her as stewardess to him and his chosen bride in their majestic royal castle.

66. The Garden in the Well

Following the death of his first wife, who had borne him a girl and a boy, a farmer had married a second and received from her another son, who was called Casper. She was a wicked stepmother to the first two children, treating them badly, having them walk around in tattered clothes, and giving them barely enough to eat, whereas she did Casper’s will in everything, saw that he walked around in the finest clothes, and gave him the preference in every way. The father could not say anything about this, no matter how often the poor children poured out their sorrows to him, for he became sickly little by little and was himself made to suffer extreme vexation by his wife. In the end, the wicked stepmother even took it into her head to put the two children out of the way and turn the inheritance solely towards her offspring. So one day she took the children deep into the forest to search for strawberries; evening drew near, and when the children looked around the mother had disappeared. The girl cried bitterly, for she thought she would have to perish in the forest; but the boy comforted her, saying: “We’ll surely get back home, for on the way here I snapped twigs off the hedges and trees.” And the children did indeed arrive back home, to their stepmother’s annoyance. She thought to now manage the matter more cunningly and led them even deeper into the forest, but the boy had scattered peas on the way and the children again came back from the terrifying dark wilderness.

This failure of her plans made the wicked stepmother more and more furious, and one day when the boy was drawing water from the deep well in his father’s garden, she threw him in. But instead of falling into the water, the boy came into a beautiful garden which was full of flowers and trees. He could not look his fill, and he ran up to everything he saw; but eventually he realised that looking had not really filled him, for he was very hungry. Then he saw a tree full of lovely red apples, and full of longing, he said:

“Start shaking, start quaking, you dear little tree,

And throw your apples over me.”

And the tree shook itself, and a great many lovely reddish apples lay on the grass. The boy ate his fill and walked on. Then he saw a tree which was gold all over. It flashed very brightly in the boy’s eyes, and he said:

“Start shaking, start quaking, dear little tree,

And throw leaves of gold over me!”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than his clothes were shimmering with the finest gold. But now a longing for his father and his sister came into his heart, and he sighed: “Oh, if only I were with my father!” Behold, a little grey man was standing before him, and he showed the boy a pathway and said: “Just keep going straight on until you come to the place whence you came; your sister will be drawing water, so hang on to the bucket.” The boy did so, and everything fell out as the little man had said. His sister was most astonished when she saw her brother, covered with gold, hanging onto the bucket. She was overjoyed to see him, and after her brother had told her everything, she had him lower her down the well too. The girl had the same adventures and she was pulled back out in the same way. Now both the children went to their father and said: “Be joyful, for now we have wealth enough, and we’ll be happy!”

The wicked stepmother was tremendously angry about this, but she kept her feelings to herself and had the children tell her everything exactly. Then she gave instructions to her son Caspar and threw him down the well.

Caspar came likewise into the beautiful garden. When he became hungry, he too saw a tree full of apples. Then he spoke:

“Start shaking, start quaking, dear little tree,

Throw your apples over me!”

Then the tree shook itself and the apples rained down very hard on Caspar’s head. He hastily grabbed the first one and bit into it, but the apple tasted so sour that it made him grimace, and there was a nasty worm inside. However, hunger forced him to eat of it. Soon afterwards he saw a tree that glittered like gold, and he said.

“Start shaking, start quaking, dear little tree,

Throw your blossoms over me.”

Then something began to drip down from the tree, and suddenly he was coated with a crust of pitch. He wept and bawled and longed for his mother, that she might release him from this uncomfortable skin. And the little grey man was standing before him, and he said: “Go over there and hang on to the bucket which your mother will draw water with.”

The stepmother had been waiting at the well, and when she felt a heavy load clinging to the bucket her greed made her rush to pull it up. She thought nothing could be more certain than that Caspar would return covered with gold. How furious she became when she found the young boy in such a state! She scolded and even struck him. The pitch would not come off at all, and as she had just baked bread, she hit on the idea of sticking him in the warm oven; that will soon make the pitch run off, she thought. She did this, but forgot about the boy, and when she at last opened the oven the pitch flowed towards her – but Caspar had suffocated and been burned to a crisp.

Not long after this, the stepmother died of vexation and grief, while the father lived off the fat of the land with his happy children.

67. The Three Dogs

A shepherd left both his children, a son and a daughter, nothing but three sheep and a cottage, and he spoke on his deathbed: “Share them between you as a brother and sister should, so that strife and discord do not arise between you.” Now when the shepherd had died, the brother asked the sister which she would rather have, the sheep or the cottage? And when she chose the cottage, he said, “Then I’ll take the sheep and go out into the wide world; many a man has found his fortune before now, and I’m a Sunday’s child.” After that, he left home with his portion of the inheritance; but a long while passed and fortune was not to be found. One day he was sitting, sorely irked, at a crossroads, and uncertain which way to take; suddenly he saw beside him a man with three black dogs, each one of which was larger than the last. “Well, young fellow,” said the man, “those are three fine sheep you have there. I tell you what – give me the sheep, and I’ll give you my dogs in return.” In spite of his melancholy, the boy could not help laughing. “What am I to do with your dogs?” he asked, “my sheep feed themselves, but the dogs will have to be fed.” – “My dogs are of a special kind,” the stranger replied; “they will feed you instead of you them, and they will make your fortune. The smaller one there is called, ‘Bring a Meal, ‘ the second one, ‘Tear-to-Shreds,’ and the big, strong one, ‘Break-Iron-and-Steel.’ The shepherd eventually suffered himself to be persuaded into parting with his sheep. To test the particular virtues of his dogs, he said, ‘Bring a Meal!” and straight away one dog ran off and returned with a large basket full of the most exquisite dishes. The shepherd now did not regret the exchange; he lived well and wandered around the land a long while.

One day he met a coach drawn by two horses and covered with black cloth; the coachman also was attired in black. Inside the coach there sat a supremely beautiful maiden in black apparel, weeping bitterly. The horses trotted sadly and slowly and hung their heads. “Coachman, what’s the meaning of this?” asked the shepherd. He was given a gruff reply, but he would not cease asking until the coachman told him: a large dragon lived in the region, and to save his land from being laid waste, the King had been forced to promise it the yearly tribute of a virgin, whom he devoured bones and all. Every time the lot was cast among those maidens of fourteen years of age, and on this occasion it had fallen to the King’s daughter. This had plunged the King and the whole land into the deepest anguish, and yet the dragon had to receive its sacrifice. The shepherd felt pity for the beautiful young maiden and followed the coach. It eventually came to a halt at the foot of a high mountain. The maiden alighted and slowly walked towards her dreadful fate. The coachman now noticed that the stranger intended to follow her and warned him against this, but the shepherd would not be dissuaded from his purpose. When they had climbed up half the height of the mountain, there came down from the summit a frightful monster with a scaly body, wings, and immense claws on its feet; a red-hot stream of sulphur blazed out from its throat, and it was just about to pounce on its prey when the shepherd cried, “Tear to Shreds!” and the second of his dogs hurled himself at the dragon, sank his teeth firmly into its flank, and harried it so hard that the monster eventually sank down and breathed out the last of its venomous life; the dog ate it up completely, leaving nothing but a pair of teeth which the shepherd put into his pocket. The Princess had passed out from terror and from joy; the shepherd brought her back to her senses, and now she fell at her saviour’s feet and besought him to go with her to her father, who would reward him richly. The youth replied that he wished to see something of the world first, but he would come back after three years. And he kept to this resolve. The maiden sat down in the coach again and the shepherd went away by another road.

However, dark thoughts had hatched in the coachman’s mind. When they were driving over a bridge, which a large river flowed under, he stopped the coach, turned round to the King’s daughter, and said: “Your saviour has gone and has no desire for your thanks. It would be nice of you to make a poor man happy. Therefore tell your father that I killed the dragon; if you will not, then I’ll throw you into this river and no one will ask after you, for everyone will think that the dragon has devoured you.” The maiden lamented and pleaded, but in vain; in the end she had to swear to pass the coachman off as her saviour and not to betray the secret to a soul. So they travelled back to the city, where all the people were beside themselves with delight; the black flags were taken down from the towers and colourful ones raised in their place, and with tears of joy the King embraced his daughter and her supposed saviour. “You have delivered not only my child, but the entire land from a great scourge,” he said. “And so it is fitting that I reward you. My daughter shall become your wife; but because she is yet too young, the wedding shall not take place until a year from now.” The coachman expressed his thanks, then he was fitted out in splendid clothes, made a nobleman, and instructed in all the refined manners that his present rank required. The King’s daughter was terribly shocked and wept bitterly when she heard this, and yet she did not dare break her oath. When the year was up, she could achieve nothing more than one year’s grace. This also came to an end, and she threw herself at her father’s feet and asked for one more year, for she had in her mind the promise made by her true saviour. The King could not resist her pleas and he granted her request, but with the rider that this would be the last extension he would permit her. How quickly the time elapsed! The wedding day was now fixed, red flags fluttered on the towers, and everyone was in a mood of jubilation.

On that very day it so happened that a stranger with three dogs arrived in the city. He inquired after the cause of the general rejoicing and learned that the Princess was about to be wed to the man who had slain the frightful dragon. The stranger called this man an impostor who had adorned himself with borrowed plumes, but he was seized by the watch and thrown into a narrow prison with iron doors. Now when he was lying on his bundle of straw and reflecting on his unhappy fate, he suddenly thought he heard the whimpering of his dogs outside – and a bright idea dawned on him. “Break Iron and Steel!” he cried as loudly as he could, and at once he saw the paws of his biggest dog at the barred window through which daylight filtered scantily into his cell. The bars broke and the dog sprang into the cell and chewed through the chains which fettered his master; then he sprang back out and his master followed him. He was now free, it was true, but he was grievously pained by the thought that another was to reap his reward. He was hungry as well, so he called to his dog, “Bring a Meal!” Soon afterwards the dog returned with a serviette full of exquisite dishes, and embroidered in the serviette there was a royal crown.

The King had just sat down to table with his entire royal household when the dog had appeared and pleadingly licked the hand of the maiden bride. With a joyous thrill she had recognised the dog and tied her own serviette on to him. Regarding this as a sign from Heaven, she asked her father for a word in private and confided the whole secret to him. The King sent a messenger after the dog, who soon afterwards brought the stranger to the King’s cabinet. The King took him by the hand into the hall; the former coachman blanched at sight of him and begged for mercy on his knees. The King’s daughter recognised her saviour in the stranger, who gave further proof with the dragon’s teeth he still carried in his pocket. The coachman was thrown into a deep dungeon and the shepherd took his place at the Princess’s side. This time she did not request that the wedding be postponed.

The young married couple had lived in blissful content for some time when the former shepherd remembered his poor sister and expressed the wish to share his good fortune with her. He sent a coach off to fetch her, and it was not long before she was in her brother’s arms. Then one of the dogs began to speak, saying, “Our time is now up; you have no further need of us. We remained with you all this time only to see if you would not, even in prosperity, forget your sister.” And with these words, the dogs turned into three birds and disappeared into the heavens.

68. Quaverling

Once upon a time there was a poor day-labourer who had two children, a son by the name of Abraham and a daughter called Christiania. Both children were yet very young when their father died and benevolent souls had to take care of them to save them from perishing, so poor were they. The girl bloomed into a marvellous beauty who had no equal far and wide. Abraham grew into a sturdy youth and, through the agency of a patron, became servant to a wealthy Count. But before he parted from his sister he had a good friend paint her portrait, and he took this with him, for he loved her dearly. The Count was very well satisfied with Abraham, yet he often noticed him taking a woman’s portrait out from his bosom and kissing it, and this astonished him because Abraham was quiet and modest, and rarely went forth from the house. Therefore he asked him if the portrait represented his beloved, and when Abraham said it was his sister, he looked at it more closely. “If your sister is so beautiful,” said the Count, “she is certainly worthy of being a nobleman’s wife!” “She is far more beautiful still!” replied Abraham. The Count was delighted and secretly sent his old wet-nurse to the place where Christiania lived, to bring her to his castle.

The nurse drew up in a four-horse carriage before the house of Christiania’s foster-parents, gave her greetings from her brother, and said she was to travel with her to the comital castle. Christiania, who ardently longed to see her brother again, was willing to obey. Now, she possessed a little dog that she had once saved from drowning, its name was Quaverling, and it clung to her most devotedly. This little dog leapt into the carriage beside Christiania. However, the nurse had made a wicked plan. When they were driving along the steep bank of a large river, she drew Christiania’s attention to the dories which played in the blue waves, and when Christiania ingenuously looked through the coach door, she cast her down into the river while the coach drove on. The nurse had a cousin who was already an old maid, and they had previously arranged that the cousin should wait at a certain place; and when the coachman was watering his horses she secretly climbed into the coach. She wore a thick veil and the nurse instructed her to tell the Count she had taken a vow not to lift her veil before half a year was over.

The veiled lady was led before the Count, who implored her to raise her veil, but she steadfastly refused, making the Count all the more eager. He had trust in the honesty of his Abraham, who had described his sister as being far more beautiful than her portrait. He therefore offered to elevate her to be his wife. A priest was called and the wedding rites performed. After this ceremony the lady no longer refused to lift her veil, but how shocked was the Count when he saw a face of faded beauty instead of one fresh with youth! He fell into a raging fury and had Abraham thrown into a prison, in spite of his asseverations that this lady was not his sister; and the deceptive portrait he had hung up in the chimney.

One day, a strange apparition came to the servant who slept in the Count’s anteroom. A white figure stood at the foot of his bed rattling its chains, and it spoke in a soft, lamenting tone: “Quaverling, Quaverling!” At this the little dog, who had hitherto been allowed to stay in the castle, crept out from under the bed, where it had been sleeping, and replied, “My dearest Christiania!” “Where is my brother, Abraham?” the figure asked. “He lies cruelly confined in chains and fetters!” the little dog answered. “Where is my portrait?” – “It hangs in smoke.” – “Where is the old lady-in-waiting?” – “She lies in the Count’s arms.” – “Heaven have mercy! Now I shall come twice more, and if I am not delivered, I shall be lost to this life.” And then the figure dissolved like mist. The servant thought he had been dreaming and said nothing to his lord about the apparition. But the following night the same scene was enacted at the foot of his bed, save that the figure rattled her chains more than on the previous occasion and said she would now come only one more time. This time, the servant went on sure ground, and he revealed the occurrence to his lord, who became thoughtful and decided to eavesdrop on the apparition. At the midnight hour he stood behind the bedroom door, which was left ajar, and he listened. Finally, he saw the white figure suddenly appear in the darkness of the anteroom, and he heard it rattle its chains and say: “Quaverling, Quaverling!” and the little dog answered, “My dearest Christiania!” – “Where is my brother, Abraham?” – “He is cruelly confined and lies in chains and fetters.” – “Where is my portrait?” – “It hangs in smoke.” – “Where is the old lady-in-waiting?” – “She lies in the Count’s arms.” – “Heaven have mercy!” Then the Count swiftly opened the door, grasped the apparition and found himself holding a heavy chain which had that moment slipped off the figure. The ghostly apparition had become a fair lady who was smiling at him, and although she bore a similarity to that portrait, she far surpassed it in beauty. The Count was delighted, and he asked her to unriddle the mystery. Now Christiania recounted how the old nurse had maliciously cast her into the water, but the nixies had caught her with their green veils and taken her to their subterranean palace. She was to have become one of them, but she had refused, and in the end the nixies had allowed her to appear in the Count’s antechamber for three nights. If she was not freed of her chains on one of these three occasions, then she was irrevocably bound to become a nixie. The Count was as delighted as he was astonished at this account. Abraham was released from imprisonment and raised to the Count’s favour; the wicked nurse was thrown into the same dungeon, and her cousin was whipped out of the castle; Christiania’s portrait was removed from the chimney and the Count wore it on his breast, while Christiania herself became his wife. Quaverling coaxingly licked her mistress’s hand, but when she promised the little dog, with caresses, that it would now want for nothing, it changed into a beautiful princess who told the astonished Christiania her story. She had been bewitched by an evil enchantress, and Christiania’s deliverance had also delivered her.

69. Broomsticklet

Once upon a time there lived a merchant who had three daughters, of whom the two elder ones were proud and haughty, but the youngest, even though she far surpassed her sisters in beauty, was modest and demure. She dressed simply and so, unknowingly, accentuated her beauty more than they were able to do with the most sumptuous finery. Annie, as the merchant’s youngest daughter was called, had one single bosom friend who was very poor but just as beautiful as virtuous; she was the daughter of a broom-maker, and therefore old and young alike just called her Little Broomstick. Both girls were as one heart and soul; they entrusted their small secrets to each other, and between them all class distinctions had fallen away. This made the two other sisters very angry, but Annie let them rail and loved her Little Broomstick none the less for it.

One day the merchant was ready to undertake a journey into distant parts, even though the year had already run most of its course. He asked his daughters what they wished him to bring them back. The eldest said, “Bring me back a golden necklace!”, the second, “Bring me back a pair of earrings, so pretty as to make me the envy of all women!” The youngest said she had no wish, as her father in his goodness had already provided for her; but when the merchant pressed her, she answered with a smile: “Well, then bring me three roses which have grown on one stem.” She was convinced that her father would not find this in the midst of winter. He kissed her for being so modest and began his journey.

He was already on his way back home when he remembered the presents he intended to take to his daughters. A golden necklace and a pair of splendid earrings were soon found, but not so the three roses for Annie. The father had made up his mind to buy some other expensive present for his favourite when he suddenly found himself, to his astonishment, before a green enclosure; and after walking through a wide gateway he came into a large and blooming garden which adjoined a magnificent castle. Without, snow lay on the ground, but in the garden the trees blossomed, nightingales sang in the bushes, and at length he saw even a rosebush in bloom and, on one of its branches, three of the prettiest half-opened buds. The merchant was delighted to think that he would now be able to fulfil Annie’s wish, and he broke the branch off. No sooner was this done than a monstrous beast with an ugly long snout, low-hanging ears, and matted fur and a tail, was standing before him, and it laid its paws, which were armed with long, sharp claws, on his shoulders. The merchant was scared to death, and his terror increased when the beast began to speak and threatened him with death for his trespass. The merchant pleaded, telling the end to which the roses were meant, and the beast replied: “Your youngest daughter must be a true pearl of her sex; well then, if you promise me to give me her hand in marriage in seven months’ time, you shall return alive to your family.” Deeply shocked as the merchant was at this unreasonable proposal, he promised everything nevertheless, in the fear of his heart, all the while thinking of how he could deceive the monster.

The merchant returned to his family and handed out the presents, but he was miserable and melancholic, and one could tell that some heavy care was weighing on his heart. Annie pressed him with pleas to reveal to her the cause of his heartache, but he had shift to excuses; he had discovered the secret only to his two elder daughters, who rejoiced at it in the malice of their minds. Annie was hardly allowed to leave the house, so that her father could always keep an eye on her. She only visited Little Broomstick from time to time.

One day, the seventh month having just passed, she was together with Little Broomstick again when an equipage halted before the door and a silent servant handed the merchant a note on which nothing was written but the words: “Fulfil your promise!” The merchant started, but regained his composure and sent for Little Broomstick. The girl came, suspecting no evil; the merchant pointed at her, she was lifted up into the carriage, and off it went at a rattling gallop.

However, the monster was well aware of the deception when Little Broomstick was presented to him; he ordered that the girl be returned at once and the right one brought back. The coach halted once again before the merchant’s house, and when Little Broomstick alighted Annie threw her arms around her neck to give her friend a heartfelt greeting. But she was instantly seized and pushed into the coach, which drove off with its booty as swift as an arrow.

As you may suppose, Annie was terribly shocked, but she soon regained her composure, and when she was received with deference, albeit in dumb show, in the strange, beautiful castle, she forgot her anxiety. Silent servants brought her the most exquisite dishes and showed her to a bedchamber where a dazzlingly white four-poster bed invited her to rest. She soon abandoned herself to the arms of sleep, after having said her prayers; however, when she awoke, she was horrified to see a loathsome shaggy monster lying beside her; but as it was quiet and still, she let it be; it withdrew from the bedroom, and Annie had time to reflect on her adventure. The ugly beast gradually became her sleeping companion, and she grew ever less afraid of it; it snuggled up to her familiarly, Annie stroked its shaggy fur, and she even suffered it to touch her lips with its long cold snout. This lasted for four weeks, then one night the beast did not come. Annie could not sleep for worry and anxiety about what might have happened to the beast, whom she had come to hold dear. When she was walking in the garden the next morning, she saw, on the verge of the pond which served for bathing, the beast lying, stretched out; it did not stir a muscle and exhibited all the marks of death. Then such a bitter pain shot through her breast that she wept at the demise of the poor beast. But no sooner had her tears begun to flow than the monster turned into a surpassingly handsome youth, who rose up before her, pressed her hand to his breast and said: “You have delivered me from a dreadful enchantment. I was supposed to follow my father’s will in wedding a wife I did not love; I steadfastly refused, and in his fury my father had an enchantress turn me into a monster, and a monster I was to remain until such time as a pure maiden would love me in spite of my hideous form and shed tears for me. You, with your angelic heart, have done it, and I cannot thank you sufficiently; but if you will become my wife, I shall repay what you have done for me, with love.” Annie gave him her hand and he took her to wife; the deathly silent castle now awoke to bustling life. Joy reigned everywhere and the young husband and wife lived in blissful happiness. Now, it had been stipulated that the young wife was not to long to return to her father’s house within a period of one year; yet she received a mirror in which she could see everything that happened in the circle of her family and friends. Annie looked closely into the mirror and saw her father in great heaviness of heart while her sisters, on the other hand, were cheerful and in good spirits. She also saw Little Broomstick, and how she mourned for her lost friend. But at length, she neglected to look into the mirror for some time, and when she did look in again, she saw her father on his deathbed and her sisters in the next room among a merry company. This greatly distressed the good daughter, and she confided her sorrow to her husband, who comforted her with these words: “Your father will not die; in my garden there grows a plant whose sap can call back fleeing vital spirits. Your year is nigh at an end; then we shall fetch your father, and you shall not part from him again.”

Annie was delighted at this, and when the year was up the married couple drove with a dazzling entourage to Annie’s home town. The two elder sisters almost burst with envy and vexation, while the father regained his health from sheer delight at a stroke of bad fortune having turned out for the best. The sap mentioned by the Prince restored him to health and full strength. Little Broomstick was also delighted, and Annie was the same old friend to her. She and the merchant accompanied Annie to the Prince’s castle.

Annie was of a forgiving temper, and although she had been so grievously wronged by her sisters, she wished to share her good fortune with them nonetheless. To this end, she sent for them and showed them all her riches. At the sight of all the splendour, the sisters became even more infuriated and they decided on the death of their fortunate sibling. One day, when Annie was bathing, they ducked her under the waves until she drowned. But no sooner was this done than a tall female figure rose up before the sisters, her eyes flashing fury at them. She touched the dead girl with a rod, and she came back to life. “I am the enchantress who formerly laid the spell upon the Prince,” the tall figure said, “I have seen the excellence of your heart and taken you under my protection. These wretched girls killed you; now you decide their fate!” Annie asked that they be shown mercy, but the enchantress shook her head, saying: “They must die, for you will never be safe from their malice, and once they have been punished, my power will be at an end.” – “Then do with them what you will!” sighed Annie. “Then they shall be turned into pillars, so to remain until such time as a man falls in love with them, and that will never happen.” She touched the sisters with her hand, and they were instantly transformed into two stone pillars, which stand in the garden of the magnificent castle to this day, for no man has yet taken it into his head to fall in love with cold, heartless stone.

Good Little Broomstick remained Annie’s truest friend and is sharing her good fortune even now, if the two of them have not died in the meantime.

70. Ashgrubber

A man and a woman had two daughters, and there was a stepdaughter also, the man’s first, beloved child, who was very pious and good but was not regarded with favour by her stepmother and stepsisters; thence she was badly treated. She had to stay in the kitchen all day long, do all the kitchen-work, get up early, cook, wash, and scrub, and at night she had to sleep in the garret. Every now and then she would creep into the ashes on the kitchen-hearth to warm herself, and as it was impossible for her to look clean afterwards, then her mother and sisters, on top of everything else, called her Ashgrubber in mockery and malice.

One day the father went travelling to the fair, and he had asked the girls what he should bring them back. One of them wished for beautiful dresses, the second one for pearls and jewels; but Ashgrubber asked only for a green sprig of hazel. And the father granted these wishes. The sisters dressed and decorated themselves, while Ashgrubber planted the sprig on her mother’s grave and watered it with her tears every day. So the sprig grew very quickly and became a beautiful little tree, and every time that Ashgrubber wept on her mother’s grave a little bird would come flying up and look at her with compassion.

Then it came to pass that the King ordained a round of festivities to which all the maidens in the land were invited, for his son was to choose himself a bride from among them. And the sisters made themselves up to look extremely attractive, and Ashgrubber had to comb their hair and plait it into beautiful tresses; and the thought that she too would have liked to go to the dance did not cross a single mind. When she at length ventured to ask permission, everyone roared with laughter at her for having a fancy to go to the dance when she had no fine clothes, not even shoes. The wicked stepmother snatched a bowl of lentils, cast them into the ashes, and said, “There, there, Ashgrubber, set to work and pick those lentils; then you shall go with us, but you must be finished in two hours.”

The poor child went into the garden and called to the bird on the hazelnut-tree, and also to the doves, that they should pick the good ones into the pot and the bad ones into their crop, and soon the air was filled with doves and other birds, so it did not take long at all for the bowl full of lentils to be picked perfectly clean. But when the good girl joyfully presented the lentils, her stepmother was angry and now tipped two bowls of lentils into the ashes, and these also had to be picked in two hours. Ashgrubber wept, but she called the birds again, and soon this task was also done. However, the promise made to her was not kept, but she was laughed at, for she ought to consider that she had no clothes and no shoes, and with the way she looked, she could never show herself; also, the Prince would need to have to have bad taste, as would any other man, to dance with her; and so the proud ones departed, leaving behind a deeply sorrowful Ashgrubber. She went to her tree and wept bitterly, and the bird came flying up and cried:

“My darling child, O tell me true,

What you wish for, I’ll give you.”

Then Ashgrubber cried, grasping the tree:

“Dear little tree, shake your crown for me,

Dear little tree, shake your boughs for me,

Rain lovely garments down for me!”

Then a beautiful dress flew down, and sumptuous stockings and shoes, and Ashgrubber swiftly put them on and went to the ball; and the girl was so beautiful, ah, so beautiful that not a soul recognised her, not even her mother or her sisters, and the Prince danced only with her, and with no other maiden; and when she went home in the evening he would have followed her, but she escaped him, quickly slipped off her dress and shoes on the grave under the tree, and lay down in her ashes. The clothes and the shoes instantly vanished.

This happened two more times: Ashgrubber would come to the dance unrecognised and in ever more beautiful clothes, the Prince would dance only with her, and would follow her, and on the third occasion she chanced to lose one small golden shoe; the Prince picked it up, admired its daintiness, and roundly declared – and also had it proclaimed by heralds – that only the maiden whose foot the little shoe would fit should become his wife; and he rode from house to house to put the shoe to the test.

In vain did the two sisters try on the little shoe; it just seemed to make their feet grow bigger, so the Prince asked if there were not three daughters there. And the husband said, “Yes, Your Highness! There is also little Ashgrubber!” and the mother at once added, “who is not fit to be seen.” Nevertheless, the Prince wanted to see her; Ashgrubber washed herself nice and clean and walked in, outshining her sisters with her beauty even in her ash-grey smock. And when she put on the golden shoe, it fitted marvellously, as if cut out for her. And at that moment the King’s son recognised her and cried out: “This is my fair dancer, my dear bride!” and he took her by the hand, conveyed her to the castle, and ordered that a magnificent wedding feast be prepared.

On the way to church Ashgrubber wore a dress all of gold and a golden crown on her head; her sisters walked, full of envy, to her right and to her left. Then the bird from the hazel-tree came and pecked at each of them in one eye, making it go blind. Now when the bride left the church, the bird came back and pecked out their other eye, and so for their envy and malice they were smitten with blindness for the rest of their lives.

71. Sambar the Mouse, or, the True Friendship among Animals

In a great forest filled with game there was a large tree with many branches in which a raven had its nest. One day he saw a bird-catcher come and stretch a net under the tree; alarmed, he reflected awhile, thinking: “Is this huntsman stretching his hunting gear for you, or on account of other animals? Let us wait and see!” In the meantime the bird-catcher scattered seeds on the ground, prepared his net, and lay down in wait. Soon afterwards there came a dove with a whole flock of other doves, of which she was the leader; and because they saw the seeds but paid no heed to the net, they went for the bait and the net drew together, covering them all. The fowler was well pleased, while the doves flapped to and fro in agitation. Then the dove who was the leader spoke to the other doves: “Let no one rely solely on her own strength, and let no one hold herself dearer than the others, but let us all soar up at the same time; it may be that we lift the net up into the air with us, and in this way everyone will free herself and the others with herm.” The doves followed this advice and flew up in concert, raising the net with them up into the air. The bird-catcher was forced to follow with his eyes and with his legs to find out where his net would fall back down to earth, while the raven thought to himself: “You want to follow to see what becomes of this wondrous occurrence, don’t you?”

When the clever leader of the doves saw the hunter down below following their line of flight, she said to her companions: “Look, the huntsman is pursuing us; if we persist in flying over the path he will stay in sight of us, and we shall not escape him. But if we fly up hill and down dale, he will not be able to keep us in his sight and will have to abandon his pursuit, as he will despair of finding us again. Not far from here is a gorge where there lives a mouse, my friend; I know that when we come to her, she will gnaw through the net and release us.”

The doves followed their leader’s advice and were soon lost to the fowler’s sight. The raven flew slowly along behind them, to see what the end of the matter would be, and in what wise the doves would free themselves from the net, and if he might not learn to use their means of salvation when in danger himself.

Meanwhile the doves reached that gorge where the mouse lived, and as they alighted they saw that the mouse had at least a hundred holes and exits and entrances to her underground habitation, giving her many places to hide in when peril was imminent. The mouse was called Sambar, and the clever dove now called to her friend: “Sambar, come out!” Then the mouse called from inside: “Who are you?” and the dove cried, “It is I, the dove, your friend!” And then the mouse came, peeped warily out of one of the holes, and asked: “O dear companion, who has been able to ensnare you so?” The dove said: “O dear friend! Don’t you know that there is no one alive who is not sent an adverse fate by God? And the most cunning of deceivers is Time! She scattered sweet grains of wheat for me and hid the deceitful net from my sight, so that I fell in with my friends. No one can provide against Providence which comes from above; indeed, the moon and the sun both suffer eclipses, and the wiles of men lure the fish from the bottomless depths of the sea, just as they pull the bird down from the airy ocean in their false snares.”

When the dove had finished her highly eloquent speech, the mouse began to gnaw at the net, and she began at the end where her companion the dove was lying. But the dove said: “Begin with the others, my sisters, and when you have freed them all, then free me also.” But the mouse did not comply, even though she soon repeated her request; and when she made this appeal to the mouse yet another time, the latter asked: “Why do you say this to me so often, as if you did not also wish to be free?” Thereupon the dove replied: “Do not be displeased at my request; these sisters of mine trusted me as their leader; they followed me willingly and confidingly, and through my carelessness they fell into the net; and so it is only proper that I think of their rescue before my own, especially as it was only through their united efforts that I too was successfully lifted up with the fowler’s net. Also, you may grow tired while helping the others, but if you know that I, your dearest friend, am still in the net, then you will not forsake me.”

Thereupon the mouse said: “O my dear, good dove, dear heart; these sentiments do you honour and can only strengthen the love between you and your companions.” And she gnawed through the net on all sides, and the doves freely and joyfully flew on their way, while the mouse slipped back into her hole.

The raven, who had alighted on a nearby tree, had seen and heard everything, and he soliloquised: “Who knows,” he said, “but that I, too, may find myself in the same situation and danger as these doves? Then it is a truly splendid thing to have noble friends who will help us out of our plight. The friendship of this mouse would assuredly be a boon to me!”

And then he flew down from his tree, hopped to the gorge, and called: “Sambar, come out!” And the mouse called from inside: “Who are you?” Then he said, “I am the raven, and I saw what happened to your dear friend the dove and how God released her through your faithfulness, and therefore I have come to seek your friendship.” Then Sambar the clever mouse spoke, without coming out: “There can be no friendship between you and me; a wise man strives to attain only what is possible, and he who wants to achieve the impossible is considered a fool. One might as well try to sail ships over land and drive carriages over the sea. How could there be fellowship between us when I am food for you, and you feed on me?” The raven said: “Little mouse, listen carefully and ponder my words. How would I benefit, if I ate you up, from your death? Your life shall be helpful to me, and your friendship be as enduring as ambergris, which emits a sweet scent even when covered.”

To this the mouse said: “Know, raven, that the hatred which comes from covetousness is the greatest hatred. The lion and the elephant hate one another on account of their strength, and that is a noble and equal hatred, a matter of courage and feud; but the ingrained hatred of the strong for the weak, that is an ignoble and unequal hatred: so does the hawk hate the partridge, the cat the rat, the dog the hare, and you – me. You may heat water over a fire until it burns you like fire, but that does not make it fire, nor ever a friend to fire; it will rather, if poured into the fire, douse it. Wise men say: “He who associates with his enemy is like the man who takes a poisonous snake in his hand; he never knows when it will bite him. The clever man never trusts his enemy, but he keeps his distance from him, or the same will happen to him which once happened to the man with the snake.” The raven asked: “What happened to him?” and so the mouse told him the following fairy-tale:

72. The Man and the Snake

Once upon a time there was a man in whose house lived a snake, and it was well looked after by his wife, receiving its food every day. It had its dwelling very close to the hearth, where it was always nice and warm, in a hole in the wall. The man and his wife, in line with the superstition prevailing at that time, had the notion that having a snake in your house brought you luck! Now it happened on a Sunday that the head of the household had a headache, so he stayed in bed that morning, bidding his wife and servants go to church without him. So they all went out, and now it was very quiet in the house, when the snake softly slipped out from its hole and very warily looked all around. This was seen by the man, whose bedroom door stood open, and he wondered to himself at the snake looking around so cautiously, contrary to its usual custom. It crawled from corner to corner and even came to the bedroom and peeped in, but it saw no one, for the master had hidden himself. And now it crept on to the hearth, where there was a pot of soup over the fire, and it hung its head over the pot and spat its poison inside, then secreted itself in its den. The master got up straightaway, took the pot, and buried it, food, venom and all, in the ground. Now when the time to eat came around, when the snake would habitually come out, the man positioned himself beside the hole with an axe, with the intention, the moment the snake slipped out, to hew its head from its body. But the snake very cautiously stuck its head out of the hole only a tiny way, and when the man struck, it started back as fast as lightning, thus giving proof that her conscience was not clear. A few days later the woman exhorted her husband to make his peace with the snake, it would certainly never do so evil a deed again; the master was willing, and he sent for a neighbour to be witness to his peace alliance with the snake and to draw up a treaty between them, to the effect that the one should be safe from the other. Thereupon they called to the snake and made the proposition to it, but the snake said: “No! Hereafter we cannot associate on a footing of good faith, for when you think of what I did to you in your pot, and when I consider how you hewed at my head with a sharp axe, then neither of us could possibly trust the other. For those reasons we do not belong together; give me safe-conduct, that is all I crave of you, and let me go my way, the further from you the better, while you stay at your ease in your house.” And this is what happened.

The raven, after hearing this tale from the mouth of Sambar the mouse, began as follows: “I well understand the lesson that your little tale contains, but consider your character and my sincerity, be less severe, and do not deny me your society. There is a difference between the noble and the ignoble; a beaker made of gold lasts longer than one of glass, and when a glass cup shatters it is finished, but a gold cup that is damaged does not lose its value. The friendship of wicked and ignoble minds is no friendship at all, but you have a noble disposition, as I have clearly discerned, and so my heart yearns for your friendship, and needs it, and I shall not budge from the entrance to your dwelling, and I shall neither eat nor drink, until you have lent an ear to my request!”

Thereupon Sambar the clever mouse said: “I now accept you as a companion, for I have never yet failed to grant a just request. But you may as well bear in mind that I have not pressed myself on you, also that I am safe from you in my dwelling; I simply desire to be useful to all who desire my help. So do not boast, saying for instance: Ha ha, I have found a careless and stupid mouse! – so that you do not fare like the cock with the fox.”

“How was that?” asked the raven, and so the mouse related a parable:

73. The Cock and the Fox

On a cold winter’s night a hunger-starved fox crept out of its den to go hunting. Then he heard a cock at a farm crowing without cease; it was sitting up in a cherry-tree and had been crowing the whole night long. The fox now skulked over to the tree and asked, “Mr. Cock, why are you singing on this cold, dark night?” The cock said, “I am announcing the day, whose advent my nature has taught me to recognise.” The fox rejoined, “O Cock, then you must have something divine inside you, if you know things which will come to be!” and the fox at once began to dance. The cock now asked, “Mr. Fox, why are you dancing?” The fox answered him, “As you are singing, O Wise Master, so is it proper that I dance, for it behoves one to rejoice with those who are joyful. O Cock, you Noble Prince among birds, not only do you have the talent to fly in the skies, no, nature has also given you gifts of high prophecy! Oh, how she has preferred you before all other animals! How happy would I be, were you to grant me your favour! How dearly would I like to kiss your revered head, permeated with wisdom! O how envied would I be, could I announce to my friends: I was the fortunate one to whom a prophet inclined his head to be kissed!” The foolish cock, believing the flattering words of the fox, flew down from the tree and bent his head towards him to be kissed. With one snap it was bitten off and the fox said, laughing, “I have found this prophet to be quite devoid of intelligence.”

Now when the mouse had finished the fable, he spoke further to the raven: “I have not told you this because I believe myself to be the cock and you the fox, I the fare and you the feeder; I rather wish to believe that your words are not spoken with a snake’s bifid tongue.” And then the mouse went into the opening of her door-hole. The raven asked, “Why do you take your place under the door? What makes you so fearful to come out to me? Do I still inspire you with fear?” And the mouse replied, “I have put my belief and my trust in you, for I like you, and it is not fear that you will prove dishonest that prevents me from coming out. But you have many brethren of your kind, yet not perhaps of your character, whose friendship is not extended to me as yours is. If one of them sees me, I cannot but fear that he will devour me.” The raven said to the contrary: “True friendship requires before all else that one be the true friend of his friend, and the enemy of his enemy; rest assured, o friend Sambar, that I have no friend alive who will not be just as true a friend to you as I am myself. Also, I have power and strength enough to shelter and to shield you.” Now Sambar the Mouse finally came out of her hole, and she and the raven swore an inviolable pact of friendship, and when this was done, they lived with and beside one another in peace and friendship, and told each other delightful tales every day.

But at length, the raven said to the mouse one day: “Listen, my dear friend Sambar, your dwelling is well known and too close to the road; I worry that some day someone will come who will kill or cripple you or me; besides, it is difficult for me to find my food here. But I know a pleasant and more convenient abode where there is water and meadowland, fruit and fodder, and in the lake there lives an old friend of mine, a true boon companion; I wish you would move there with me.”

“I shall happily do so for your sake,” said the mouse, “for I myself am afraid here and do not consider myself to be truly safe – hence you see the many entrances and exits for my dwelling. Believe me, dear friend, I have encountered manifold perils before now, and I shall tell you about them once we have reached our new abode.”

After that they both took their leave of their old dwelling-place, and the raven gripped the mouse’s tail in his beak and flew with her to the place he had in mind. Then an animal popped its head above the water but took fright at the mouse, which it did not recognise as the raven released her from his beak, and quickly ducked back under. The raven flew on to a tree and called: “Corax, corax!” Then the animal emerged from the lake, and it was his friend, a turtle; she was pleased to see the raven again, and she asked him what had induced him to tarry abroad so long? Then the raven told her the story of the dove and the mouse, and introduced his friends to one another; and the turtle, astonished at the great good sense of the mouse, crawling over to her, gave her her hand, and was delighted to make her acquaintance. Afterwards the raven asked the mouse to tell him and his old friend the story of her life, and Sambar, showing herself quite ready and willing to do so, narrated as follows:

74. The Life-Story of Sambar the Mouse

“I was born in the house of a devout hermit; there were many of us siblings, and apart from my dear, departed parents, there also lived in this house their brothers and sisters, aunts and cousins and their children, all together. We never wanted for any kind of foodstuff, for every day the charitable people in the neighbourhood brought the hermit bread, flour, cheese, eggs, butter, fruit and vegetables, far more than he needed, so that he would pray for them. Whether he did pray for them, and whether that helped them in any way, I do not know. Now the hermit was not willing for me and my relatives to help ourselves to everything, and so he hung a basket up in the middle of his kitchen, out of our reach. But as I had already, as a young mouse, shown myself to advantage through courage coupled with wiliness and caution, so I leapt from the near wall into the basket, in spite of all, ate till my appetite was sated, and threw what remained down to my relatives, who celebrated that day as a veritable feast-day. When the hermit walked in and saw what had happened, he took the measure of hanging the basket even higher. Now he was visited by a pilgrim, whom he entertained according to his means, and when they had eaten and drunk together the hermit put the leftovers in the basket and hung it in its new place, intending to keep a watchful eye on it to see if the mouse could reach even there. Meanwhile his guest began to talk, relating his travels by land and by sea, and the adventures he had experienced and passed through, but he perceived that his host was listening to him with only half an ear all the while, his body and eyes permanently half-turned towards the basket. Then the pilgrim became indignant and said: “I am recounting the finest adventures to you, but you are not paying attention, and seem to take no pleasure in them.” – “Not at all,” replied the hermit, “I am listening to your words with great pleasure, but I must keep watch to see if the mice get into the food-basket again, for these vermin eat up all of my food, leaving scarcely anything for me; and there is one in particular who leaps into the basket for all the others.” By this he meant me, little Sambar. Thereupon the pilgrim said,“Your words bring to my remembrance the fable of a woman who told her friend: “This woman is not giving winnowed wheat for unwinnowed wheat without a reason.” “How so? What was that?” asked the hermit, and the pilgrim said: “Let me tell you. Once, on my travels, I lodged with a worthy man, and in the night I heard him – I was in bed in the next room – saying to his wife: “Wife, tomorrow I shall invite several friends over to be my guests.” The woman replied: “You cannot invite guests and do business every day; you’ll fritter away everything we have, and in the end we’ll have nothing to call our own in our house and home.” Then the husband said: “Housewife, do not be displeased with my will, especially in such matters as this! I’m telling you, he who stints everywhere and always takes in and scrapes together but never gives back out, and has no proper enjoyment of what is his, will come to the same end as the wolf.”

“And what end did the wolf meet with?” the wife asked, and her husband related: “Once upon a time, so they say, there was a hunter who went into the forest with his gun, crossbow, and arrows, and he encountered a roebuck which he shot and loaded onto his shoulders to carry home.

However, he then encountered a bear which rushed towards him, and to fend it off the hunter hurriedly cocked his crossbow and loaded a bolt, but he was not able to take aim because the roebuck hampered him; and quickly laying down his crossbow, he drew his hunting knife and began to fight the bear, and he ran his knife through its body in the same moment that the bear clasped him in its arms and squeezed him to death. Feeling the pain of its severe wound, the bear roared and, in its fury, tore the wound further open, and so soon bled to death. That evening, a wolf passed by, and he found a dead roebuck, a dead bear, and a dead hunter. He was heartily delighted at this, and he said to himself: Everything that I find here, everything shall be mine, I can live on it for a long time. My brothers shall receive none of it. Provisions make the master, as the proverb says. Today I shall save it and not touch anything, so my treasure will last long, even though my hunger is great. But a crossbow lies there whose string I could gnaw. And as the wolf began to busy himself with the cocked crossbow, the spring snapped, and the loaded quarrel or arrow shot through the middle of his heart! – You see, wife,” continued the man to whom I was listening,” said the pilgrim to the hermit, about whom Sambar the Mouse was telling his friends, the raven and the turtle: “You see, wife, there you have an example of its not always being a good thing to collect and not want to have your true friends share your enjoyment of what you have collected.” And his wife said, “You may be right.” Now when morning came, she got up, took some husked wheat, washed it, spread it out to dry, and sat her child down to watch over it, and then she moved on to attend to the rest of her tasks. But the child did as children do: he played and did not keep an eye on the wheat, and then the sow came along and gobbled some up, fouling the wheat it did not devour. When later the woman came and saw what had happened, the leftover wheat revolted her, so she gathered it up and took it to market, where she offered it in exchange for an equal measure of unhusked wheat. Then I heard one of her female neighbours, who had observed her doing this, mockingly remark to a third woman: “Look how the woman gives husked wheat away so cheaply, for unhusked! Nothing happens without a reason.” – This is also the case with the mouse, who you say leaps into the basket for all the other mice – there must also be a reason for that. Give me a pick, and I’ll dig into the mousehole, and I don’t doubt I’ll find the reason.” “I listened to these words,” Sambar continued his narration, “in the small mouse-hole of one of my female playmates; in my hole, a thousand golden florins lay hidden, without my or the hermit’s knowing who had placed them there, and I would amuse myself by playing with them every day. The pilgrim dug and soon found the gold, which he took, saying: “You see, the power of the gold has given the mouse the strength to leap up so boldly into the high basket. It will now no longer be able to do this.” It pained me to hear these words, and sadly I soon found them to be true. When day dawned, the other mice all came to me so I would feed them as usual, and they were hungrier than ever; however, I was not able to leap into the basket, as I previously could and did, for the strength had left me; and I saw myself forthwith treated with utter disdain by the other mice, my closest friends and relatives; indeed, they worried that they would end up having to give me something, and feed me, and so every one of them went his separate way and none of them would now spare me a glance, as if I had insulted them in the bitterest way.

So, sick at heart, I said to myself the following words: “Our friends in time of need are floaty stuff indeed; Should our hard state persist, they dissipate like mist. Who has no possessions, has no brothers; who has no brothers, has no relatives; who has no relatives, has no friends; and who has no friends is forgotten. Poverty is a hard condition; poverty sickens life. No wound stings as severely as poverty. Much praise goes the way of the rich man, but when he becomes poor, he receives twice and three times the censure: if he was gentle and hospitable, he has been a spendthrift; if he was noble and liberal, he is now called proud and quarrelsome; if he is silent and reserved, he is called melancholy; if he is talkative, he is called a chatterer. Death is less harsh than poverty. The poor man will sooner find help sticking his hand into the open jaws of a poisonous snake than by craving help of a miser.”

I then saw that the pilgrim and the hermit divided the found golden florins between themselves half and half, and took a joyful leave of one another; and the hermit placed his money under the pillow he slept on. Now I proposed to appropriate some of it to restore my lost strength, but the slight noise I made awoke the hermit, who gave me such a blow that I did not know whether I was coming or going, nor how I found my way back to my hole. Nevertheless my greed for the gold gave me no rest, and I made a second attempt, when the hermit hit me once again, so hard that I escaped to my hole bloodied and wounded nigh to death. That was enough for me, and the thought of gold and money now filled me with horror; and in my pains and in my sadness I recited to myself four sayings: Nothing shows better sense than to look contentedly upon one’s own possessions and not strive after others’. No one without morals can be noble. There is no better wealth than sufficiency. Wise is he who does not strive after that which is out of his reach. So I resolved to persevere in poverty and nobility of mind, and leaving the hermit’s house I wandered into the wasteland. There I made myself a home and made the acquaintance of the peaceable doves, who sought my help, which was the cause of your joining me, Friend Raven, who told me much about his friendship with you, Turtle Corax, so that I harboured a great longing to make your acquaintance, for there is nothing finer in the world than the company of true friends, and there is nothing more distressing than to be lonely and friendless.”

Thus did Sambar the Clever Mouse end the tale of his life, and the turtle spoke, very gently and amiably: “I thank you warmly for your most instructive story; you have experienced much, and wisdom, which is worth more than gold, has become your treasure. Now, here with us, forget your sufferings and your loss, and reflect that a noble disposition is honoured even when unaccompanied by earthly possessions. The lion, whether asleep or awake, remains feared; and wherever he goes, his strength goes with him. The wise man likes to change his abode that he may learn the ways of foreign lands, and for his companion he chooses not gold, no – but reason.”

When the raven heard this speech, he took heartfelt pleasure in the union of his friends and spoke cordial words to them; meanwhile, a stag came running along, and when the faithful beasts heard it they fled, the turtle into the water, the mouse into a small hole, the raven onto a tree. And when the stag came to the water, the raven flew up into the air to see if perhaps a hunter was tracking it; but as he saw no one, he called to his friends and they came back out. The turtle saw the stag standing with outstretched neck at the water, apparently afraid to drink, and called to him: “Noble sir, if you are thirsty, then drink; you need fear nobody here!” Then the stag bent his head, greeted the turtle, and approached her; and she asked whence he came. He replied, “I have been in the wild wood for a long time, where I have seen the snakes moving from one end to the other, and seized with the fear that hunters might surround the wood, I have retreated here.” The turtle spoke: “No hunter has ever yet come hither, so have no fear. And if you wish to live here, you may become one of our company; there is good pasture all around.” The stag was pleased to hear this and did indeed stay there, and the animals chose a spot under the boughts of an umbrageous tree, and every day they would all come together and tell one another the course of the world and lovely fairy-tales besides.

Now one day the three animal friends came together, the raven, the mouse, and the turtle, but the stag failed to appear. They were worried about him – perhaps something had befallen him because of a hunter – and the raven was sent out to search for the stag and bring back tidings. After a while he saw him in the forest, at no great distance from their abode, lying captured in a net, then he returned and informed his dear companions. As soon as the mouse heard this, she asked the raven to take her to the stag, and there she said to him: “Brother, who could have overcome you like this? Why, you are praised for being one of the sagest animals!” Thereupon the stag sighed and said: “Oh, dear sister! Intelligence is no safeguard against the judgement that falls on us from above. Neither the speed of the runner nor the power of the wrestler can tear the net called Fate.”

While these two were talking the turtle came along, having crept as quickly as she could; the stag turned to her and said, “Oh dear sister, why have you come here to us? And what benefit does your presence bring us? Only the mouse is able to set me free, and if the hunter comes near, I shall escape very easily, the raven will fly hence, and the mouse will slip away. But you, whom nature made to be unhurried, not swift of step, nor skilled in flight, you face the threat of ignominious captivity.” The turtle replied: “A true friend, who is endowed with understanding, will not deem himself worthy of life if he loses his friends. And if it is not granted him to be able to help, he may at least give comfort to the best of his powers. A true friend will pull the heart from his breast and offer it to his true friend.” Before the turtle had finished speaking – the mouse having by this time assiduously gnawed through the net – the animals heard the hunter approaching, so the stag ran away, the raven flew away, and the mouse slipped away. The hunter, finding his net gnawed through, gave a start, looked around, and found no one but the turtle. He took her, while the raven and mouse looked on with regret, and bound her tightly with a shred of the net. The mouse cried to the raven, “Alas! Alas! When a stroke of good fortune comes, the next one is slow to follow; but when a stroke of misfortune falls, a second one comes hot on its heels. Did I not have sorrow enough to bear with the loss of my gold? And now I am devoid of the sister I had come to hold dear, she whom I had taken to my heart before all others. Woe, woe is me, I who run from one net of affliction into another, on whom nothing is bestowed save only adversity.”

Then the raven and the stag spoke to the mouse: “O clever friend, do not lament so much; it is not lamentation that will profit our friend, and your and our sorrow will not release her from her bonds. Let us devise some ruse so we may set her free!”

And Sambar the Clever mouse pondered awhile, then she said: “I have it. You, stag, quickly reach the road the hunter has taken and fall down close by its edge as if half-dead, and you, raven, stand on the stag as if you were eating of him. When the hunter sees that, he will lay down what he is carrying: then do you, friend stag, leisurely drag yourself somewhat deeper into the forest, so he will pursue you, and in the meantime I shall gnaw through the net and liberate our dear sister.”

This piece of advice was quickly executed. The stag and the raven took a by-way and hurried ahead of the hunter, then they did as the mouse had advised. The hunter, coveting the stag, threw down everything he was carrying; the stag crept into the thicket, the raven flew after him, and the hunter ran after him; and the mouse gnawed through the turtle’s net and went home with her, and they found the raven and the stag already there, these latter having very soon escaped from the hunter’s sight. When the hunter returned to the place where he had thrown down his things, which he had to spend a good while looking for, he found the net gnawed through, and his surprise knew no bounds. “That must be the work of the devil, no good spirit could have done it!” he cursed, thinking that evil spirits and wizards must dwell in this region which, in the forms of animals, made fools of hunters; and he went back home in fear and never hunted in that forest again. And there the animal friends now lived together in peace, harmony, and bliss, and from time to time the dove came into this beautiful seclusion and visited Sambar the Clever Mouse, her dear friend, bringing news from the wide world and all kinds of lovely stories which gave joy to one and all.

75. Brother Saver and Brother Waster

Once upon a time there was a farmer who had two sons, and he had each one learn a trade, “Because,” he said, “a trade in hand finds gold in every land.” One son became a shoemaker, the other a tailor, and when their apprenticeships were completed they set out to see the world. They were a couple of merry brothers, but the shoemaker wasted all his money on tobacco, snuff and schnaps, while the tailor did not smoke tobacco, did not take snuff, and did not drink schnaps. From time to time he advised his brother to be economical with his money, but the shoemaker laughed at him, saying, “And why should I save? You save, don’t you? A saver needs a spender – so goes the proverb.”

So the good companions wandered on together for a whole year. The tailor had a special purse, and every time his brother spent money on unnecessary things, he put into it the same amount from the common coffers, which were never full, for a rainy day; he did this the whole year through, and it gave him pleasure to see the purse’s little belly becoming ever rounder.

Now one day they had a heated exchange of words, once again about saving and wasting; the tailor boasted about the hoard he had saved, and the shoemaker said, “What you have saved is a mere trifle.” By this time they had come onto a bridge which had handsome, broad, and smooth stones on its parapets, and the tailor wished to convince his brother that saving was a good thing, for the proverbs say, “Make hay, while you may, / For a rainy day,” and, “Youth, be sage, and save your wage! Penury nips in old age.” They took off their knapsacks and the tailor pulled out his purse and counted the lovely silver-groschen and six-kreuzer coins, which had acquired quite a reddish sheen with being carried around so long, on a capstone; it was a tidy sum, and he was as pleased as Punch with it. The shoemaker watched this with complete indifference, filled a pipe, and was just striking a light when suddenly such a violent gust of wind came their way that the little tailor would have been blown right into the river if the bridge had not had a parapet; but the money – the wind blew it all down into the water. The tailor stood paralysed with horror, but the shoemaker placed the burning tinder in his pipe and asked, with the calmest face in the world, “Well, Brother Saver, how much do you have now?” And the tailor threw back his head and howled, “So much as you-hu-hu-hu! So much as you-hu-hu-hu!”

76. The Boys with the Golden Stars

Once upon a time there was a young Count who did not yet know love, handsome though he was, and so had still not yielded to the remonstrances of his mother and his friends that he should take a wife. But he took pleasure in sneaking around the village at night and spying on the young lads and lasses, what they were doing, singing, and saying in their spinning-rooms. Now one night he heard a conversation of which he was the subject. “Well, if our Count took a wife,” said one of the girls, “then I would, if I were she, cook him the tastiest dishes.” – “And I,” a second girl put in, “would tend his children with the utmost care.” – “While I,” said the third girl, “would give him two boys, if he took me to wife, who should bear golden stars on their breast.” The others laughed, but various thoughts passed through the Count’s mind, and he went back to his castle.

On the following day he had the three girls summoned and they had to repeat to him everything they had said to one another, the day before, about his taking a wife. The last girl refused for a long time, for she was ashamed; but when she finally confessed her bold wish, the Count took her warmly by the hand and said, “You shall be my wife if you bear me two such children as you have said; if you do not, I shall drive you in disgrace from my castle.” The girl consented, for she was in joyful spirits and bore in her heart hidden love for the Count. The wedding was celebrated accordingly, although the old Countess looked very sour about it. Now when several months had passed and the young Countess felt herself to be expecting, it came to pass that the Count had to travel far abroad, and he asked his mother, who affected a great deal of affability towards her daughter-in-law, to write to him the moment his wife gave birth. The time of labour approached and the young wife was delivered of two fair little boys, each of whom bore a golden star on his breast, but she was so exhausted that she lay long in a swoon; when she came round and asked for her children, she was told she had given birth to two deformed cats which had been drowned. She wailed bitterly over this news, more than she did over the misfortune which now followed. Ignominiously was she ordered out of the castle, like a beggarwoman, and no one took pity on her except for one servant; he secretly confided to her that she had given birth to two lovely little boys with a golden star on their breast; they had been handed over to him in a basket with the order to throw them into the water, as if they were cats; but he had opened the basket, and as he felt sorry for the innocent little mites, he had placed them in the care of an aunt, who would raise them. At these words, the outcast greatly rejoiced amidst her grief, thanked the compassionate man many thousands of times, hurried to her children, and lived with them in secret seclusion for several years.

The boys grew up and became ever more handsome, and the poor woman thought again of her husband – if he could see the boys, he would make good all the injury his wicked mother had done her. Then she dreamed that she should look under a large lime-tree at the crossroads, she would find a heap of linseed husks there; she should fill her pockets with them but be sure to take no more, and then go to Portugal, where her husband was entangled in a love-net cast by an enchantress or fairy. The young wife went to the tree, found the linseed husks, and filled her pockets with them.

In a forest she was attacked by robbers and utterly plundered, to the very last penny; she had to help herself along by begging, her feet were torn and bloody, and no end to her road could yet be seen. Then once again, a dream comforted her in her misery and promised her eventual success. One day she begged at the gate of a handsome castle; the noblewoman saw her boys and was greatly surprised at their beauty. She asked the poor wife for one of her boys and promised to grant any request in return. It touched the poor woman sorely to be without one of her children; however, she consented at last, requesting in return the golden spinning-wheel that the noblewoman had in front of her. The lady was surprised at this request, but she gave up the wheel, and one of the two boys stayed behind with her. The poor young wife walked onwards and onwards and eventually had to part with her second boy as well, for whom she received a golden reel. She was very careful to keep these precious items safe, and she continued her arduous journey.

After endless hardships, she arrived nonetheless in Portugal and came to the castle where her husband was living. The servants told her that their master was married, but no one had, up to that time, beheld the countenance of his wife, for she was only in the castle at night and no one knew where she went during the day. Now when the sun had set, she crept into the castle-garden, sat down under the Countess’s window, and turned her spinning-wheel so that it shone like a star through the night. This was seen by the enchantress, the Count’s wife, and she went out to the young woman and asked her for the strange plaything. The young wife offered to make her a present of it if she would grant a request in return, namely that she might stay with her husband for one night. The Countess wondered greatly at this, but gave her consent; however, she secretly gave the Count a sleeping potion so that he never awoke during the night, and the despairing young wife at his side saw dawn beginning to break as the enchantress came to take her away. On the next evening, she sat before the castle again, turning her golden reel; again, the enchantress came and had to grant her the same request. This time, she made a mistake and did not mix her husband’s sleeping potion to be strong enough; so before dawn began to break he awoke, and was surprised to find beside him an emaciated, withered woman, who now poured out her whole heart to him. Then the Count was seized with an unspeakable longing for his children, and he promised her that he would acknowledge her as his wife. And he pretended to be asleep when the fairy came and conducted the woman out. He then told the fairy that he had had a peculiar dream. A man had erroneously repudiated his wife and wed another; the first wife had sought him out, sacrificing her body and her beauty. Now what should the husband do, were she to find him?” “Then he must leave the second wife and reutrn to the faithful one!” said the fairy.” “You have pronounced your own sentence,” replied the Count, and he told her all that had passed. Then the fairy sorrowfully parted from him. Now the Count returned home with his faithful wife after redeeming his boys. His wicked mother was not allowed to enter his presence again; his wife, on the other hand, he held very dear; and he richly rewarded the compassionate servant. The boys with the golden stars grew up to the delight of their parents, and they later became great, valiant warriors, who fought and won many battles.

77. Helen

Once upon a time there was a beautiful girl called Helen. Her mother had died young and the stepmother she had received persecuted her in every possible way. Helen took the greatest pains to win her love, diligently and indefatigably performing the hard tasks that were imposed upon her, but the wicked stepmother’s hard heart remained unmoved, and she demanded ever more of the girl. For, Helen being so industrious and tireless that she always finished her chores in good time, the stepmother thought the work she had set the girl had been too easy and too slight, and so she devised new and onerous tasks. One day, the old woman demanded of Helen that she strip off twelve pounds of feathers in one day, and she threatened her with severe chastisement if she came back home in the evening with her work unfinished.

The poor, tormented girl sat down to her work in anguish and tears and could hardly make a start for sorrow. When she at last had a heap of stripped feathers lying before her, she could not help thinking of her plight and crying bitter tears, and her sighs scattered the feathers. So it happened with her again and again, and her fear became extreme. Covering her face with both hands, she bent over the table and cried out through her tears, “Oh! Isn’t there anyone on God’s earth who will take pity on me?” And all at once a kindly voice answered, “Be comforted, my child, I have come to help you.” Startled, Helen looked up and perceived a fairy, who gently asked, “Why are you crying so?” It was long since Helen had heard a friendly word; placing her trust in the apparition, she told her what kind of task she had been set, and how she could not possibly finish it by the appointed time. “Be without worry, my child!” spoke the friendly fairy, “just you lie down and sleep; in the meantime I shall carry out your task.” Helen laid herself down to rest, and under the fairy’s hand sthe feathers flew from the quills by themselves, so that the work was finished long before the set deadline. Then the fairy roused Helen, who had slept all her sorrow away, and disappeared just as she was about to thank her. In the evening the wicked stepmother came home. What was her amazement when she found Helen calmly sitting beside the finished work! She did indeed praise her industry, but at the same time she privately devised further and more onerous tasks.

On the following day, she ordered Helen to ladle out, with a spoon, a large pond which lay nearby, and the spoon she gave her for the task was full of holes. Helen got down to her work, but she soon realised that it was impossible to carry out the command of her wicked and spiteful stepmother. Filled with deep grief and anxiety, she was on the point of throwing the spoon away when suddenly the good fairy was standing before her, kindly asking her why she was so distressed? When Helen had told her about the stepmother’s command, she said, “Depend on me; I shall perform your task for you. In the meantime just lay yourself down to sleep.” Helen was comforted and laid herself down to rest, but she was soon gently wakened by the fairy, and she saw that the work had been completed. Filled with joy, she hurried to her stepmother, hoping that her heart would finally soften. But the stepmother was annoyed that her malicious acts had been so miraculously foiled, and her mind turned to even more difficult tasks.

When the next day dawned, she ordered Helen to build, by evening, a beautiful castle that was ready to move into at once, and which must be lacking nothing, neither kitchen nor cellar nor any matter of thing. Helen sat down dejectedly on the rock which had been assigned her to build on, finding comfort only in the hope that the good fairy would help her out of trouble this time also. And it did happen so. The fairy appeared, promised to build the castle, and sent Helen off to rest again. At the fairy’s command, rocks and stones rose up and fitted into one another, soon giving rise to a magnificent castle. By evening everything inside was also ready, in all its splendour. How grateful and joyful Helen was when she saw the onerous task completed without her having done anything. The stepmother, however, was not pleased, but went sniffing and questing through the whole castle from top to bottom, looking to see if she could not find some fault for which she could scold and punish Helen. Finally, she wanted to examine the cellar as well, but the moment after she lifted the trapdoor and began to climb down, the heavy door suddenly swung back, causing the wicked stepmother to tumble down the steps and so fall to her death.

Now Helen was the mistress of the castle and lived in peace and quiet. Soon there came many suitors who had heard of her great beauty. Among them was a King’s son by the name of Flashman, and he won the love of fair Helen. One day they were sitting together quite familiarly under a tall lime-tree in front of the castle when Flashman told Helen that he had to leave her and travel to his parents to obtain their consent for his marriage, and he asked her to wait for him under the lime-tree. He swore that he would return to her as soon as possible. At their parting Helen kissed him on the left cheek and asked him, for the time he was away from her, not to let himself be kissed on that cheek by anyone else. She would wait for him under the lime-tree.

Helen had an unshakeable trust in Flashman’s fidelity and sat three full and entire days, from morning to evening, under the lime-tree. But when her bridegroom still did not return, she became deeply concerned, and she resolved to set out in search of him. She took as much of her jewellery as she could, and she took three of the most beautiful of her dresses, one embroidered with stars, the second with moons, and the third with so many suns of pure gold. She wandered far and wide throughout the world, but nowhere could she light upon a clue as to her bridegroom’s whereabouts. In the end she utterly despaired of finding him and gave up her search, but she did not wish to return home to her castle, for without her bridegroom everything there would be bound to strike her as dreary and desolate; she would rather remain in foreign lands. So she hired herself out to a farmer as a herdswoman and buried her jewellery and her beautiful dresses in a secluded spot.

So she lived now as a herdswoman and watched her herd, while thinking of her bridegroom. She habituated one calf from the herd to her, and it became her pleasure; she fed it out of her hands and trained it to kneel down before her when she said to it:

“Calf, go down on your knee,

And do not forget your honour, as he

Did, Prince Flashman, forgetting poor Helen,

While she sat beneath the green lime-tree.”

After she had passed several years in this way, she heard that the daughter of the King of the land where she was living was to marry a King’s son by the name of Flashman. All the people were rejoicing, but there came over Helen a greater pain than any she had suffered before, for she had always trusted in Flashman’s fidelity. Now it just so happened that the road to the royal capital passed not far from the village where Helen had hired herself out as a herdswoman; and so it happened oftimes when she was watching her herd that Flashman rode past her without noticing her, being wholly immersed in thoughts of his bride. Then it occurred to Helen to put his heart to the test and see if it were not possible to bring herself back to his remembrance. Not long afterwards Flashman came past once again; then Helene said to her calf,

“Calf, go down on your knee,

And do not forget your honour, as he

Did, Prince Flashman, forgetting poor Helen,

While she sat beneath the green lime-tree.”

When Flashman heard Helen’s voice, he thought it reminded him of something, but nothing took distinct shape in his mind; and he had not heard the words clearly, for Helen had spoken very quietly and in a trembling voice. Also, her heart had been far too agitated for her to be able to pay any heed to the impression her words made, and by the time she had composed herself Flashman was far away. Yet she saw that he rode slowly and thoughtfully, and so she did not yet entirely give herself up for lost.

Around this time a great feast, lasting through several nights, was to be held in the royal capital. Placing her hopes in this, Helen resolved to seek out her bridegroom there. Once evening had arrived, she secretly set out and went to her hiding-place, where she put on the dress that was adorned with golden suns and her jewellery; and she let loose her beautiful hair, which she had kept hidden under a headscarf all this while. Thus embellished did she go to the town and the feast. When she appeared, all eyes turned towards her, and everyone was astonished at her beauty, but no one knew who she was. Flashman also was like a man enchanted by her beauty, without suspecting that he and this girl had formerly been one heart and one soul. He did not leave her side until morning, and only with difficulty could she escape from him in the crowd when it was time to return home. Flashman sought her everywhere and eagerly awaited the next night, when she had promised to come again. On the second evening, fair Helen betook herself to the feast again as early as she could. This time she had on the garment that was all adorned with silver moons, and she wore a silver half-moon on her forehead. Flashman was happy to see her again; she seemed to him far more beautiful than on the previous day, and he danced throughout the night with her alone. But when he asked for her name, she replied that she must not tell it or he would be shocked. Thereupon he implored her to come again the next evening, and she promised him she would. On the third evening, Flashman went to the hall early, unable to wait, and he did not take his eyes from the door. Finally, Helen arrived in a garment that was embroidered all over with gold and silver stars and held fast by a star-studded belt; she had tied a starry ribbon around her hair. Flashman was more enchanted by her than ever, and he pressed her with pleas to finally reveal herself to him. Then Helen silently kissed him on the left cheek, and now Flashman suddenly recognised her again, and full of remorse, he asked for her forgiveness; and Helen, pleased to have won him back, did not keep him waiting long to receive it.

78. Goldcrest

Once upon a time there lived an old man in a little house in the forest, and he had, apart from several children, a goldcrest, which is the smallest of European birds and belongs to the kinglet family. The old man was very fond of this dear bird, and the children were no less fond of it; and when the old one was on his deathbed, he told his children: “See that you do not sell the goldcrest, for it is a lucky bird.” But after the old man had died, poverty and want visited the house of children. Now every week the goldcrest laid an egg the size of a pea and of a pea-yellow colour. The father had always taken these eggs away and returned with money and provisions. Now that their food had run out, the eldest son decided to take the eggs which had recently been laid and offer them for sale. But everywhere he offered the goldcrest eggs he was laughed at, until in the end a man who felt sorry for the poor, starving boy gave him a few pennies for them out of pity. When these had been consumed, and hunger had become stronger than ever, then the boy set out once more; this time, he had only one single egg, and he was more fortunate. He found the man to whom his father had always sold the eggs, and who was well aware of their value, for they were of pure gold. But when the man realised that the youth knew nothing of the secret, he said: “What good is the egg to me? Sell me the bird, and I’ll pay you very well for it.” And he went with the boy to the little house in the forest right away. The other children wept and wailed when the oldest brother sold the goldcrest to the man, who placed some shiny silver coins on the table in payment. The bird flapped restlessly to and fro in its cage, and it seemed to the children to be squawking: “Don’t sell me, don’t sell me!” But it was sold nonetheless.

And when the bird was gone and away, away went good fortune from the little house in the forest; unable to maintain it, the children had to go begging and they ended up far apart from one another.

Around this time it so happened that the king of the land died, and when the period of mourning was over, his fair young widow let it be proclaimed that she would give her hand to, and share the throne with, the man who could carry a suspended crown away with his lance while blindfolded. At that time the goldcrest sang without ceasing: “Who eats me will be King! Who eats me will be King!” This pleased the man who had bought it, and although he would have to relinquish the golden eggs if he ate up the bird, he killed it nevertheless, had it plucked and marked with coloured silk so he could recognize it after it had been fried, and gave the cook strict orders to take the most particular care with it. He had invited many friends to a celebratory meal, that he might receive their homage when he had eaten the bird and on the instant become King.

Now while all the preparations that could be made for the feast were being made, the youth who had sold the goldcrest came to the house door as a poor, idle beggar and asked the cook for alms or a piece of bread. She said, “You shall have something, but you must work for it!”, and he was perfectly willing. He fetched water, chopped wood for the fire in the hearth, turned the roasting jack, and kept an eye on the birds which were frying in the pan, among which was the goldcrest. Quite by chance, he bumped the pan with a piece of wood and the goldcrest fell out into the red-hot coals.

“Shame about the bird!” the youth thought, although he was quite alarmed; and he shoved it into his mouth and ate it up, even though he burnt himself badly. He did not know that this bird had formerly been his goldcrest. When the cook entered the kitchen, she counted the birds, saw that one was missing, and chased out the new and perfidious kitchen-lad with much railing and reviling; then she quickly marked another little bird and served up the dish to her master. He ate the marked bird, and he is still sitting there today waiting to become King; and he is annoyed that he treated his friends for nothing.

Having been driven away, the youth crept miserably through the streets and begged at a miller’s door. This man was looking for a donkey driver, and he bestowed the position on the poor lad; he would have to sleep with the donkeys in the stable. And behold – on the next morning the miller, while strewing new straw and clearing away the old, found golden eggs in the straw on which his donkey-driver had slept. This was pleasing to him, and he thought: you must keep this lad here as long as you can; he’s a golden hen, while the one before him was a dunghill cock.

Now the appointed day arrived for the Crown-Tilt, and the donkey driver thought that if anyone could try his luck at the tilt then he might as well have a go too, and he asked the miller for a lance and a horse. The miller roared with laughter, but thinking that this would be capital sport, he gave him an old, lame, spindly jade, and an old lance, and sent him to tilt for the King’s crown.

Everyone laughed when the strange Knight of the Doleful Countenance came trotting along, and the Queen looked indignant that so wretched a lad should thrust himself into the Crown-Tilt, which so many distinguished knights and lords were attending; however, as she had opened the tournament to all and sundry, so she could not now exclude him.

The tournament began with Counts and Knights, one after the other, tilting blindfolded at the crown, which none of them were able to attain; and it ended with the donkey-driver having the good fortune to catch the crown and bring it down. This made the Queen sorely vexed, but she had to become the donkey-driver’s spouse, for she had sworn an oath; and so he became King, and the miller, his master, found thereafter no more golden eggs in the straw of his stable, but only those eggs donkeys are wont to lay.

Now, the Queen not loving her husband on account of his humble origins, she passed her days and nights thinking of a way to rid herself of him. To that end, she very soon had recourse to an old, powerful enchantress, who gave her a herb with the power to change a human form into an animal one. The evil Queen mixed this herb in with her lord and master’s food, and behold – when the King had partaken of the food, he began to metamorphose, and he became a donkey in the flesh, he who had previously been a very handsome young man. Thus he was driven from Court in disgrace and dishonour, and another was chosen to be King, whose choice was wisely not entrusted to Fortune and blind Chance; for people were afraid of seeing yet another ass attain the highest position.

The poor former donkey-driver, now a donkey himself, had to experience all the arduous circumstances of his new station. He had made his way to the mill where he had at one time contentedly driven the donkeys and slept on straw. The miller, seeing him approach, was unable to tell him apart from the other donkeys, although there was something human in his eyes. And then he was placed with the other donkeys in the mill, where he had to carry sacks of grain and flour year in, year out, and he was not a whit better nor worse off than the others.

Now this poor donkey, in the time when he was yet a man, had had a sister who had gone her separate way in search of alms; and after she had begged for bread in a convent she had been taken on as a maid, for she was a vigorous young lass. Being devoted and diligent, she eventually became a nun herself, and she was entrusted with the office of portress. Now this convent’s grain was ground at the very mill where this particular donkey was to be found, and when he approached the convent gate with his sacks for the first time, he immediately recognised the portress as his sister, for he still had human thoughts and human memories. Then he gave a loud bray to make manifest his joy, and the portress also felt a certain sympathy with this donkey swelling in her breast; the voice of Nature was speaking. Now the portress was knowledgeable about all kinds of herbs, and she herself cultivated the best and most potent herbs in the convent garden. So she went there, picked a magic herb which had the power to change an animal form conferred by magic back into a human one, and gave it to the donkey to eat. And he became a man again, the same as before, and he expressed his gratitude to his good sister with many kisses and tears. However, he had borne enough sacks and blows over seven years to have no wish to return to human society. In the vicinity of the convent where he had found his good, devout sister again, he built for himself a hut made of twigs and became a devout hermit and pilgrim. There he lived on roots and herbs and took delight in the charming song of the woodland birds, and he fed and tended them, with the exception of goldcrests, which he could not stand; he cursed them, for one of them had brought him nothing but misfortune, and he caught them and killed them whenever he could lay his hands on one.

79. The Tale of Knight Bluebeard

Once upon a time there was a powerful knight who was rich in money and goods and lived off the fat of the land at his castle. As he had a blue beard, he was called simply Knight Bluebeard; his real name was actually something else, but it had been lost. This knight had already married more than once, but the rumour had spread that all of his wives had died in rapid succession without anyone having actually heard anything about their illnesses. Now Knight Bluebeard had a mind to marry once again, and among his neighbours was a noblewoman who had two beautiful daughters and several chivalrous sons, and these siblings loved one another most tenderly. Now when Knight Bluebeard wished to marry one of these daughters, neither of them particularly desired this, for they feared the knight’s blue beard and were unwilling that they should be parted. But the knight invited the mother, the daughters and the brothers – each and every one of them – as guests to his beautiful large castle, where he supplied them with so much pleasant diversion, and gave them so much amusement through hunts, meals, dances, games, and other festivities, that in the end the younger sister plucked up her courage and decided to become Knight Bluebeard’s wife. Soon afterwards the wedding was celebrated with great splendour.

After a while Knight Bluebeard said to his young wife: “I must go on a journey, and I am handing over to you the care of the whole castle, dwelling and demesne; with all that appertains thereto. And here are the keys to all the rooms and apartments, you may enter any of these at any time. But this little golden key fits the backmost cabinet at the end of the large suite of apartments. This room, my dearest, I must forbid you to enter, as you hold my love and your life dear. If you were to open this cabinet, the most terrible punishment would await you for your curiosity. I would then have to separate your head from your body with my own hand!” – After these words the wife did not want to accept the little golden key, but she had to, in order to keep it safe; and so she parted from her husband with the promise that it would never occur to her to unlock and enter that cabinet.

When the knight had gone, the young wife received a visit from her sister and her brothers, who liked to go hunting; and now the treasures in the many, many rooms of the castle were scrutinised with delight every day, until the sisters came to at the cabinet. Although the wife was herself burning with curiosity, she was dead set against opening it, but her sister laughed at her scruples, thinking that Knight Bluebeard was keeping the most precious and valuable of his treasures hidden inside from pure caprice. And so the key was placed, with some trepidation, in the lock, and the door instantly flew open with a dull thud; and in the sparsely lit room were visible – a hideous sight! – the bloody heads of all the previous wives of Knight Bluebeard, who had been as helpless to resist the urging of curiosity as the present wife, and whom the evil man had all decapitated with his own hand. Shocked to death, the wife and her sister shrank back; in her horror the wife had dropped the key, and when she picked it up there were bloodstains on it which could not be rubbed off, and the attempts to shut the door again were equally unsuccessful, for the castle was enchanted, and in the meantime horns announced the arrival of riders before the castle gate. The wife breathed a sigh of relief, believing it to be her brothers whom she was expecting back from the hunt, but it was Knight Bluebeard himself, who had nothing better to do than to ask after his wife; and when she stepped up to him, pale, trembling, and thrown into confusion, he asked about the key. She went to fetch the key, and he followed hot on her heels; and when he saw the stains on the key, then his behaviour changed completely, and he yelled: “Wife, you must now die by my hand! I let you have control over everything! Everything was yours! Your life was rich and beautiful! And your love for me was so slight, you reprobate wench, that you did not heed my single slight request, my solemn command? Prepare yourself for death! It’s all over for you!”

Filled with horror and scared to death, the wife hurried to her sister and asked her to swiftly climb up to the tower battlements and look out for their brothers and, the moment she caught sight of them, to give them a distress signal, while she threw herself to the ground and supplicated God for her life. And in between her pleas she cried: “Sister! Don’t you see anyone yet?” – “No one!” rang the disconsolate answer. – “Wife! Come down!” yelled Knight Bluebeard. “Your respite is over!”

“Sister! Don’t you see anyone?” screamed the trembling wife. – “A cloud of dust – but oh, it is sheep!” answered the sister. – “Wife! Come down, or I’ll come for you!” yelled Knight Bluebeard. “Mercy! I’ll be right down! Sister! Don’t you see anyone?” – “Two knights are approaching on their steeds, they saw my signal, they are riding like the wind.”

“Wife! Now I’m coming for you!” thundered Bluebeard’s voice, and he came up the steps. But the wife found courage, slammed her room-door shut, and held it fast, while she and her sister screamed for help at the top of their voices. Meanwhile the brothers rushed over like lightning, stormed up the steps and arrived on the scene just when Knight Bluebeard burst the door open and invaded the room with drawn sword. A short fight, and Knight Bluebeard lay dead on the floor. The wife was saved, but it was long before she could recover from the consequences of her curiosity.

80. The Nun, the Miner, and the Blacksmith

A nun, a miner, and a blacksmith were wandering through the world together. One day they lost their way in a large and dark forest, so they were of course delighted when, at last, they caught sight of some walls in the distance, inside which they thought to find shelter. So they walked towards them and found an old and desolate castle, already half dilapidated, but with enough of it preserved for people to live inside, at any rate, should the need arise. So they decided to stay there and deliberated how they should manage their domestic affairs. Soon they came to the agreement that there should always be one of them staying at home to keep house while the two others were out procuring provisions.

The lot to stay at home fell to the nun first. Now when the miner and the blacksmith had gone into the forest, the nun attended to the cooking, and as her companions did not come home at lunchtime she ate her share of the meal in the meantime. All of a sudden a little grey man walked in through the door, shivered, and said, “Oh, I’m freezing!” The nun replied, “Sit down at the stove and warm yourself.” The little man did as the nun commanded, but he soon cried out, “Oh, I’m starving!” The nun said, “There’s food on the stove, so eat.” Then the little man got stuck into the food and speedily ate it up, all that there was. This incensed the nun and she scolded him for not having left even a morsel for her companions. Then the little man in his turn flew into a rage, and he seized the nun, beat her, and hurled her from one wall to the other. And then the wicked little man left the nun lying and went on his way. In the evening both of the nun’s companions came home, and when they hungrily demanded their food but found nothing left, they reproached the nun vehemently and would not believe her when she told them what had befallen her.

On the following day the miner volunteered to keep house, and he promised he would certainly see to it that no one would have to go to bed hungry. So both the others went into the forest and the miner attended to the food, consumed his share, and placed the remainder on the stove. Then the little man walked in, but what a shock the miner got when he saw that this time he had two heads. The man shivered and said, “Oh, I’m freezing!” Quite terrified, the miner pointed him to the stove. Soon afterwards he began to moan, “Oh, I’m starving!” – “There’s food on the stove, so eat!” replied the miner. Then the little man pitched into the food with both his heads and soon everything was consumed and the bowl looked like every inch of it had been licked clean. When the miner scolded the little man for this, he fared as the nun had fared – the little man beat him black and blue, hurled him against every wall with such force that there was a crash! and the miner did not know whether he was coming or going, and then, leaving him lying there, the little man went away. Now when the blacksmith came home with the nun in the evening and they both found nothing to still their hunger, he and the miner fell to quarrelling, and he solemnly promised, by all he held holy, that tomorrow, when it was his turn to keep house, no one should want for food.

When the food was ready on the next day, the little man came again, and this time he had three heads. He complained about the frost and the blacksmith bid him sit down by the stove. When he then complained of hunger, the blacksmith dealt out a portion of food and set it down for him. The little man swiftly made an end of that, then looked greedily around with his six eyes and demanded more; and when the blacksmith refused to give him more, he made to treat him as he had the nun and the miner. But the blacksmith, not letting the grass grow under his feet, took his large smith’s hammer, went for the little man, and knocked off two of his heads, making him duck his third head and hurriedly take flight. The blacksmith chased him through many passageways until he suddenly disappeared, right in front of him, through an iron door. Now the blacksmith had to give up pursuing the little man any further, but he determined not to rest until he, with both of his companions, had brought everything to a successful close. In the meantime the miner and the nun had returned home. The blacksmith brought them their food, as he had promised, told them about his adventure, and showed them both of the knocked-off heads, which stared at them with rolled eyes. Thereupon they all three decided to free themselves entirely from the little grey man, if it were possible; and the very next day they set to work. They had to seek a long time before they found the iron door through which the little man had disappeared the previous day, and only after great exertions were they able to force it open. Then a white vault opened before them; inside a beautiful young girl sat working at a table. She leapt up and fell at their feet, thanking them for setting her free, and telling them how she was a King’s daughter who had been spellbound hither by a powerful wizard; around noon on the day before, she had suddenly felt that the spell was broken, and since then she had hoped every hour for liberation. But besides her there was yet another King’s daughter spellbound in this castle. So they went and sought out this other Princess and set her free. She likewise thanked them delightedly and said that she too had felt, around noon on the previous day, that her bewitchment was broken. Now the two Princesses told their liberators that there was a great pile of treasure in hidden cellars of the castle which was guarded by a fearsome dog. So they went after it and at length found the dog, and the blacksmith slew him with his heavy hammer, try to defend himself as he might. The treasure was gold and silver, in overflowing vats, and a handsome youth sat by it as guardian. He came up to them and thanked them for having delivered him. He was the son of a King but had been spellbound in this castle and turned into the three-headed man by a wizard. When he had lost two of his heads the enchantment of both the King’s daughters had been lifted, and when the blacksmith had slain the terrible dog, then he too had been delivered. For doing this, they should now have the whole treasure as their reward. So the treasure was divided up, and it took no little time to bring this task to an end; and from gratitude for their deliverance, the King’s daughters married, the one the blacksmith and the other the miner, and the handsome King’s son married the nun. And they lived together in peace and pleasure until the end of their days.

81. The Three Stupid Devils (1845 version)

Once upon a time there was great astonishment in Hell because only men – no women – came to Hell, and they wished with all their hearts for women to be there too. Then a very young devil rose up and said, “What do you bet that I’ll bring one here?” While the other devils are pleased to hear this, they do not quite believe what that young one is saying. The devil departs at once and the others wish him the best of luck. So he comes onto the earth and meets a pretty, young woman, and he says to her, “Hey, Miss! Wouldn’t you like to get married?” –“Why not, if you’ve money and bread for me.” –“That have I.” Now the wedding is celebrated, and life up on earth is a bed of roses. But before the honeymoon is over the young wife is demanding money and clothes, and fine ones at that, and the devil can barely earn his bread; he often has to save his jaws and leave his food for his wife, whereby he becomes skinny and scrawny and is not in nearly such high spirits as he used to be. The wife had expected more from this gallant – lots of money, lovely clothes, and so being truly and deeply loved. So she ups and becomes cold towards her devil. He cajoles;– he hits. –But she scolds terribly and threatens him with blows. The devil laughs at this and thinks: “I’ll bend you to my will in the end, you’ll see.” But if he scolds with one word, she scolds with ten, and so it goes on each and every day. What happens? In the end, the devil is dealt hefty thwacks. Then he thinks: “Now, why bother yourself with this wife, just you go on home, and – ” so he went home. When he arrives back in Hell not bringing a wife along, the devils hoot with laughter at him, and everywhere they cry, “Stupid devil! Stupid devil!” He replies, “I don’t want a wife again, even if the whole of Hell were given me. Be happy I didn’t bring her here, she would have made Hell all the hotter for every one of us!” Then another, somewhat older, devil speaks: “Now I’ll go, I have no doubt I’ll bring one back!” He takes his leave, like the first one, and comes to a field of peas, where he meets an old maid. And he thinks, “Stay – she’s no spring chicken, she’ll do for you.” So he says to her, “Hey there, Miss! Wouldn’t you like to get married?” – “Oh yes! If you’ve money and bread for me.” – “Oh yes!” says the devil. The wedding is celebrated. The honeymoon passes very well. The newlyweds initially consumed the wife’s fortune; because she liked the devil very much, she gladly gave him her money. But when this had been squandered, it was the devil’s turn to hand over his money; however, as he did not have any, his wife made him the bitterest reproaches and raised such a riot that the devil’s arms and legs trembled. Now she gives him nothing to eat, even though he has a terrific hunger. And his stomach has the very gripes from hunger, and his tongue hangs down a yard from his throat, yet she still takes no pity on him. If the devil wants something to eat, he must go out and scrabble for potatoes. If he comes back in the evening without a big sackful, he gets a beating, and so it goes on each and every day. Finally, the poor devil grows tired of this and says to himself: “Now, why should you bother yourself with this woman? I’m leaving, she’s a sulphurous beast!” He goes and returns to Hell. Here he is immediately asked where he is keeping his wife – “Aye, wife! Some hope! I don’t want one! I’ll remember the one I had up there for the rest of my days! Bring her back with me into Hell, indeed! I’m happy to be rid of her.” –And all around the cry rang out: “Stupid devil! Stupid devil!”

But now a very old devil speaks: “Now I’ll go. I don’t doubt I’ll make women pay!” –The old devil departs and arrives on earth; walking through a young birchwood, he sees a female in the distance. He walks up to the lady, has a long look at her, and finally addresses her very affably: “Hey! Pretty Miss! Wouldn’t you like to get married?” –“Oh yes! If you can pass a test.” –“What does it involve?” – “Well, it’s a difficult test and a final rehearsal.” – The devil says, “Bring it on, I can do anything!” – “Yes, that’s what my first husband said.” – Quite astonished, the devil asked, “Have you had a husband, then?” – “Indeed!” she said, “I was sadly deceived by him.” – “How come?” asked the devil. She said only, “Oh!” The old devil, being shrewd, asked no further, but undertook the test. What kind of a test this was, we have not been able to discover. But the woman was satisfied with the devil and wedded him. All is a bed of roses – but this woman also was a very miserly Xanthippe. Every piece of the devil’s bread was cut to size, and every drop of his soup was measured out. Little by little, he became as thin as a rake and lost all his strength, and his wife became ever more dissatisfied with him. She scolds and nags; he begs and beseeches. – All this is no use; he should do his duty in every description of work, and he just can’t do it, from hunger and weakness. She mistreats him and beats him, and he is too weak even to defend himself – and then his wife even shoves him under the fireside bench, saying to him, “If you want bread, go out and see where you can get some!” Now the beguiled devil sets out, weak as he is, and drags himself into the forest, where he picks berries and subsists on this meagre diet; in the evening he goes home and crawls back under the fireside bench. His wife kicks him and thumps him, and fear drives him to his wits’ end.

One day, this devil was among the berries again when he came upon a charcoal burner, and he poured out all his woes to him then asked for something to eat. The charcoal burner said, “Why, my good old man, I myself have seven children and often not a bite of bread.” The devil replied, “Charcoal burner, you black fellow, give me some advice how I can tame my shrewish wife. I beg you, for God’s sake, help me!”

The charcoal burner returned:

“A waspish wife, an albatross,

Woe to the man who bears that cross.”

The devil thinks: oh, if that’s the size of it, you’d better go back home. If only I had never left there in the first place! –He thinks of avenging himself on women – and says to the charcoal burner, “Hey! Brother! You are poor too, I’ll make you rich, but you must follow me.” The charcoal burner replies, “Oh yes, I’d like to be rich, and I’ll do whatever you want.” Then the devil says, “Listen, Brother Charcoal Burner, I know of a King who has two daughters. Now I’ll possess the youngest one and you shall be the doctor. After I’ve possessed the Princess, the King will have a proclamation issued for a doctor who can cast out devils just like that. Then you go to this King and say, ‘Lord King! I wish to help the Princess, but I must be quite alone with her in a room; in good faith, it goes without saying.’ When, after that, you are admitted to the Princess, you say to me: ‘Thunder and devil, get out!’ – open a window, and I’ll get me hence. However, you may do this only twice; if you do it a third time, I’ll have to break your neck!” – The charcoal burner asked, “Even if I find you a beautiful, good wife?” The devil replied, “We’ll see.” –One evening when the charcoal burner came home from the forest, his wife said to him: “Husband, the rich King has announced that his Princess is at death’s door, very sick indeed; whoever helps her shall receive from him half the Kingdom or as much gold as the King and the doctor both weigh. If only you, old ’un! knew a good household remedy and could help the Princess, so we could escape our poverty!” –Hereupon the charcoal burner said to his wife, “I’ll have a try, I may be lucky,” and left. When he came to the King, he was asked, “Old man, do you venture to restore my Princess to health?” –“Oh yes, Lord King!” replied the charcoal burner. “First I must have some simples from the apothecary and I must fetch them myself and then I must be quite alone with the Princess.” To which the King said, “Old man! As you ask, so shall it be. If you make my Princess healthy again, you shall receive half of my kingdom or as much gold as you and I weigh.” -The charcoal burner now did as the devil had enjoined him, and the beautiful Princess got better on the spot. The King left the choice up to the charcoal burner – gold or land – and the charcoal burner took the gold.

In a short space the other Princess was possessed by the devil. The King sends for the charcoal burner him again and says to him, “Old man, you restored my first daughter to health when she was sick, now help this one!” –The charcoal burner said, “I’ll have a go, Lord King!” And behold, he helped the second Princess also, and the King gave him just as much gold as before.

The charcoal burner was now very rich, but he fretted nonetheless at not being allowed to cast out the devil who had resolved to thoroughly torment women a third time. It had been agreed for the first two times, but the third time he would have to leave the devil in the Princess, or the devil would break his neck; and if he could not cast out the devil the third time, he would have to risk the King having him put to death; he wondered if he might not succeed in duping the devil on the third occasion.

Now the first Princess fell ill again, for the devil had possesssed her a second time. Once again the King sent for the old charcoal burner and told him, “You, old man, your first cure did not last! If you don’t help my Princess, I’ll have you hanged!” Then the charcoal-burner replied, “My most gracious Lord King! I’ll make the attempt, but it is necessary that every girl in the entire town, dressed in white garments, with red sashes and hair-buckles, and all your priests in their vestments, with the Princess in their midst, assemble before the castle tomorrow morning, and that I, with the Princess at my side, be accompanied up the mountain by the song of the maidens and the priests. Once we have reached the topmost height, I will make the attempt.” The King at once had all preparations made for these conditions to be met. The next morning the large assembly stood before the castle. The procession moved uphill, and on the topmost height the charcoal burner cried, “Thunder and devil, get out!”

And the devil did indeed get out, but he cried to the charcoal burner: “You villain, is this how you keep your word? Just wait – I’m going to break your neck!” But the charcoal burner defended himself with the words, “Hold on! I made a proviso, don’t you remember that I said to you, ‘And if I find you another wife, a good one?’ You cannot gainsay this, can you? Now here you may choose from all these beautiful, innocent maidens – take whichever one you wish!” – But the devil said, “You rogue! I have no power over these, I may not take any of them! And I’m not going back to my hellhag! So I’ll rather have none at all and go home!”

And so the devil went back home to Hell, and when he arrived all his comrades asked him, was he not bringing a wife back? And when he said: he was not bringing one back, again the cry rang out, “Stupid devil, stupid devil,” and there were high jinks and a hell of a hullabaloo and diabolical laughter, and with all the crashing and thundering, the whole of Hell wobbled and cracked like an old wall. And there are no women in Hell to this day, except for the devil his old grandmother.

(The 1853 version, with alterations in bold:)

Once upon a time there was great astonishment in Hell because only men – no women – came to Hell, and they wished with all their hearts for women to be there too. Then a very young devil rose up and said, “What do you bet that I’ll bring one here?” While the other devils are pleased to hear this, they do not quite believe what that young one is saying. The devil departs at once and the others wish him the best of luck. So he comes onto the earth and meets a young maid; and he says to her, “Hey, Miss! Wouldn’t you like to get married?” –“Why not,” she said. “The wedding can be tomorrow, if you want.” –“Fine by me,” said the devil. When the next day came, he went to the priest and took the maid to wife. But before the honeymoon is over the young wife is demanding money and clothes, and fine ones at that, and the devil can barely earn his bread; he often has to save his jaws and leave his food for his wife, whereby he becomes skinny and scrawny and is not in nearly such high spirits as he used to be. The wife had expected more from this gallant – lots of money and lovely clothes. So she ups and becomes cold towards her devil. He cajoles;– he grumbles. –But she scolds terribly and threatens him with blows. The devil laughs at this and thinks: “I’ll bend you to my will in the end, you’ll see.” But if he scolds with one word, she scolds with ten, and so it goes on each and every day. What happens? In the end, the devil is dealt hefty thwacks. Then he thinks: “Now, why bother yourself with this wife? Just you go on home, and – ” so he went home. When he arrives back in Hell not bringing a wife along, the devils hoot with laughter at him, and everywhere they cry, “Stupid devil! Stupid devil!” He replies, “I don’t want a wife again, even if the whole of Hell were given me. Be happy I didn’t bring her here, she would have made Hell all the hotter for every one of us!” Then another, somewhat older, devil speaks: “Now I’ll go, I have no doubt I’ll bring one back!” He takes his leave, like the first one, and comes to a field of peas, where he meets an old maid. And he thinks, “Stay – she’s no spring chicken, she’ll do for you.” So he says to her, “Hey there, Miss! Wouldn’t you like to get married?” – “Oh yes! If you’ve money and bread for me.” – “Oh yes!” says the devil. After they had celebrated their nuptials, the wife noticed that the devil had lied, for he was a poor, penniless devil who did not have anything and could not do anything. This backfired on him, for he had fallen in with a skinflint, who skimped on salt on the potatoes and put a button instead of a farthing into the alms bag on Sundays. She gives the devil much to do and little to chew, but he could have as many curses as he liked, and blows were not uncommon either. And his stomach has the very gripes from hunger, and his tongue hangs down a yard from his throat, yet she still takes no pity on him. If the devil wants something to eat, he must go out and scrabble for potatoes. If he comes back in the evening without a big sackful, he gets a beating, and so it goes on each and every day. Finally, the poor devil grows tired of this and says to himself: “Now, why should you bother yourself with this woman? I’m leaving, she’s a sulphurous beast!” He goes and returns to Hell. Here he is immediately asked where he is keeping his wife – “Aye, wife! Some hope! I don’t want one! I’ll remember the one I had up there for the rest of my days! Bring her back with me into Hell, indeed! I’m happy to be rid of her.” –And all around the cry rang out: “Stupid devil! Stupid devil!”

But now a very old devil speaks: “Now I’ll go. I don’t doubt I’ll make women pay!” –The old devil departs and arrives on earth; walking through a young birchwood, he sees a female in the distance. It was a widow, who was still a fine figure of a woman. He looks at her, and she looks at him, and with polite speeches and courteous replies they come to an agreement, and the priest nails and rivets them together, as tightly as heart may desire. But after the wedding, the devil saw all too clearly that it is a mistake to buy a pig in a poke and to woo widows on the highway. She knew a trick or two, as holy matrimony was not new to her; slender fare and well-water to drink was the least of it; it was open shop for everyone, and the husband had to sit by and watch, and when it became too much for him – for no devil can bear to see such sights – then she hung him on the wall and went for a beer with her sweethearts. When she returned, she took him down, and he had to learn how to catch mice, saving the need for a cat. But this becomes too much for the devil, he runs way into the forest – for he is too ashamed to go to Hell – and he starts to search for berries, which are at least better then mice.

One day, this devil was among the berries again when he came upon a charcoal burner, and he poured out all his woes to him then asked for something to eat. The charcoal burner said, “Why, my good old man, I myself have seven children and often not a bite of bread.” The devil replied, “Charcoal burner, you black fellow, give me some advice how I can tame my shrewish wife. I beg you, for God’s sake, help me!”

The charcoal burner returned:

“A waspish wife, an albatross,

Woe to the man who bears that cross.”

The devil thinks: oh, if that’s the size of it, you’d better go back home. If only I had never left there in the first place! –He thinks of avenging himself on women – and says to the charcoal burner, “Hey! Brother! You are poor too, I’ll make you rich, but you must follow me.” The charcoal burner replies, “Oh yes, I’d like to be rich, and I’ll do whatever you want.” Then the devil says, “Listen, Brother Charcoal Burner, I know of a King who has three daughters. Now I’ll possess the eldest one and you shall be the doctor. After I’ve possessed the Princess, the King will have a proclamation issued for a doctor who can exorcise just like that. Then you go to this King and say, ‘Lord King! I wish to help the Princess, but I must be quite alone with her in a room; in good faith, it goes without saying.’ When, after that, you are admitted to the Princess, you say to me: ‘Thunder and devil, get out!’ – open a window, and I’ll get me hence. However, you may do this only twice; if you do it a third time, I’ll have to break your neck!” – The charcoal burner asked, “Even if I show you a beautiful, good wife?” The devil replied, “We’ll see.” But he thought: “I can easily promise him this, for it won’t be necessary. We devils know women.” –One evening when the charcoal burner came home from the forest, his wife said to him: “Husband, the rich King has announced that his Princess is at death’s door, very sick indeed; whoever helps her shall receive from him half the Kingdom or as much gold as the King and the doctor both weigh. If only you, old ’un! knew a good household remedy and could help the Princess, so we could escape our poverty!” –Hereupon the charcoal burner said to his wife, “I’ll have a try, I may be lucky,” and left. When he came to the King, he was asked, “Old man, do you venture to restore my Princess to health?” –“Oh yes, Lord King!” replied the charcoal burner. “First I must have some simples from the apothecary and I must fetch them myself and then I must be quite alone with the Princess.” To which the King said, “Old man! As you ask, so shall it be. If you make my Princess healthy again, you shall receive half of my kingdom or as much gold as you and I weigh.” -The charcoal burner now did as the devil had enjoined him, and the beautiful Princess got better on the spot. The King left the choice up to the charcoal burner – gold or land – and the charcoal burner took the gold.

In a short space the second Princess was possessed by the devil. The King sends for the charcoal burner him again and says to him, “Old man, you restored my first daughter to health when she was sick, now help this one!” –The charcoal burner said, “I’ll have a go, Lord King!” And behold, he helped the second Princess also, and the King gave him just as much gold as before.

The charcoal burner was now very rich, but he fretted nonetheless at no longer being allowed to cast out the devil who had resolved to thoroughly torment women, and would certainly not desist just yet. It had been agreed for the first two times, but the third time he would have to leave the devil in the Princess, or the devil would break his neck; and if he could not cast out the devil the third time, he would have to risk the King having him put to death; he wondered if he might not succeed in duping the devil on the third occasion.

Now the third Princess fell ill, for the devil had possesssed her. Once again the King sent for the old charcoal burner and told him, “You, old man, if you don’t help my Princess, I’ll have you hanged!” Then the charcoal-burner replied, “My most gracious Lord King! I’ll make the attempt, but it is necessary that every good and fair girl in the entire town, dressed in white garments, with red sashes and hair-buckles, and all your priests, assemble before the castle tomorrow morning, and that I, with the Princess at my side, be accompanied up the mountain by the song of the maidens and the priests. But they must not, under any circumstances, include any common wenches, or any old maids who still yearn to marry, or widows who would like to tie the knot again; and you must give your priests strict orders on this point. Once we have reached the topmost height, I will make the attempt.” The King at once had all preparations made for these conditions to be met. The next morning the large assembly stood before the castle. The procession moved uphill, and on the topmost height the charcoal burner cried, “Thunder and devil, get out!”

And the devil did indeed get out, but he cried to the charcoal burner: “You villain, is this how you keep your word? Just wait – I’m going to break your neck!” But the charcoal burner defended himself with the words, “Hold on! Our pact has a proviso: you may not lay a finger on me if I show you a beautiful, good wife. Now just look around, look at these.” Then the devil looked around and he looked at one maiden after the other, and he clearly realised that he had no power over them. And he was ashamed to remain on earth, and he was afraid of his battleaxe, so he crackled and made a stench and went away as he had come.

And so the devil went back home to Hell, and when he arrived all his comrades asked him, was he not bringing a wife back? And when he said: he was not bringing one back, again the cry rang out, “Stupid devil, stupid devil,” and there were high jinks and a hell of a hullabaloo and diabolical laughter, and with all the crashing and thundering, the whole of Hell wobbled and cracked like an old wall. And there are no women in Hell to this day, except for the devil his old grandmother – because all women are so very good.

82. The Grateful Beasts

Once a pilgrim was on a journey, and on his way through a forest he came upon a wolf’s pit and perceived that there was something alive inside. And when he looked down, he saw a man inside, who was a goldsmith, and by him were an ape, a snake, and an adder; they had all fallen into the pit unawares. Then the pilgrim thought to himself: Use mercy with the wretched, and help man from his foes. So he threw a rope down into the pit and held one end of it firmly in his hands, intending to pull up the goldsmith; but the ape quickly leapt onto it, climbed up, and sprang out of the pit. A second time did the pilgrim throw the rope down, and the adder wriggled up it. And the third time, the snake grasped the rope and also came up to the surface. These three animals thanked the pilgrim for his kindness and said to him: “We shall seek to repay you for the good turn you have done us, and when your path brings you near to us, you may count on our being at your service to the best of our powers; but be warned in good faith against the man down there, for there is nothing alive so ungrateful as he. We have experienced this, and we tell it to you that you might be on your guard.”

With that the three animals parted from the pilgrim, but he recalled his duty, how it behoves man to help man, and he threw the rope into the pit again and pulled the goldsmith out. This man rendered thanks in many words for the mercy and compassion the pilgrim had shown him, and he asked that he pay him a visit in the royal capital, where he lived, and so left him.

The wanderer continued his journey and came into the vicinity of the capital, and to the place where the ape, the adder, and the snake lived. They were delighted to see him, and the ape brought the wanderer, who was very weary, fruit and sweet figs, while the adder showed him a cool, pleasant grotto where he could rest and repose; and it lay itself down before the entrance to guard the sleeper, for no one dared go where the great adder was lying. The snake, meanwhile, slipped into the royal castle and stole some golden jewels which it gave to the wanderer as a gift, but it did not tell him whence it had taken them. When he had taken his leave of the animals, the pilgrim entered the royal city and sought out the goldsmith; he showed him the jewels and offered them to him for sale. The goldsmith recognised them to be the King’s property, but he held his tongue, then went to the King and announced that he was holding the jewel thief prisoner in his house. He received a handsome reward for this, and the King sent out his bailiffs; they caught the wanderer, beat him, and led him through the streets and out of town to the gallows to hang him. On the way the old man remembered the animals’ warning and gave a loud sigh: “Oh, had I followed your advice, faithful beasts, this tribulation would not have been my lot!” Now the snake just happened to have its residence by the road that led to the scaffold, and hearing the laments of the innocent man, for whose misfortune it also was to blame, it was troubled and began to consider how it could help him. So when the King’s son, a young boy, was brought down this road that he might watch the thief’s punishment, the snake crept towards him and bit him in the leg, which soon swelled up. Then everyone stopped short in horror, and doctors and astrologers were urgently sent for, to help if possible. The doctors brought theriac with them, a medicine praised for its efficacy against snakebites, yet it was no use. But the astrologers read in the stars that the wanderer being taken to his death was innocent, and the King’s son himself cried out in a loud voice, “Bring the pilgrim here to me, and let him lay his hand on my wound and my tumour, then shall I be whole again!”

Then the pilgrim was brought before the King, who asked about his adventures, and he truthfully told the King everything, about the good, grateful beasts and about the abominable ingratitude of the goldsmith whom he had saved from death. And then he raised his hands and his eyes to Heaven and implored: “Oh almighty God, as truly as I am innocent of this theft, so truly may Your hand heal this boy!” And thenceforth the King’s son was restored to health. When the King saw this, he was glad and gleeful at heart, and he honoured the pilgrim with precious gifts, let him have all those jewels for the sake of which he had suffered mortal anguish, and had the goldsmith hanged on the spot as punishment for his great and black ingratitude.

83. The Three Brides

Once upon a time there was a miller who had three beautiful daughters of a sprightly temper; but the youngest was the most sensible one of the three. One day, they had been to town and were now returning to their mill. On the way they chatted about this and that, and the eldest one said: “If only we were not kept on such a short leash, we would have lovers, and mine would undoubtedly have bought me a silk scarf just as fine as the one Margaret received from the hands of her sweetheart.” “Yes,” the second one then said, “and mine would undoubtedly have taken me to the dance, where all girls are taken by their boyfriends.” The third sister said nothing; her sisters’ sorrow seemed to touch her heart but lightly. But before they knew what was happening, a handsome man was with them, addressing them cordially and bringing forth all kinds of small presents, which he distributed among them; the girls accepted them blushingly, and after he had promised to see them again at their father’s he went on his way. The girls now exchanged observations and conjectures about him, but all were agreed that he was a handsome, loveable man. The miller shook his head when they told him of their adventure, yet what was his astonishment when, one day, the stranger appeared in the mill, took the miller to one side, and asked him for the hand of one of his daughters. The two men conversed at length, with the result that the miller left the choice of which daughter to wed to the suitor’s pleasure. The stranger chose the eldest; chests and coffers were packed, and the young bride journeyed with her bridegroom to his far distant castle. Here everything was appointed as well as could be, and there was no wish of the young bride that was not granted.

Now one day her husband spoke to her: “You shall be the Lady of my castle when I have found you obedient in all things. Bind this white napkin to your body, it has an egg inside; and here you have the keys to all the apartments of my castle, you may enter every one, save only the one that will open to this large key. I am going on a journey; if I return and find you to have been obedient, I shall hold you in high regard and honour as my faithful wife; if not, you will find me to be a harsh husband.” After he had departed, the young wife walked around the castle with the serviette, the egg, and the keys, unlocked all the doors, and had a look around the rooms; at last, in a remote part of the castle, she came to the door which the large key fitted. She thought of her husband’s prohibition, but curiosity won the day, she had turned the key in the lock; the door creaked, she stepped over the threshold – then let the egg fall from the serviette in terror and fled. When her husband returned, he saw at once what had happened, and he put the disobedient woman to death, in spite of her entreaties. Then he went to the miller, lamented that he had lost his wife to a short but incurable illness, and asked him for the hand of his second daughter. The miller did not refuse him this, and so once again the stranger travelled to his castle with a young wife. But it fared with her no differently than with the first sister, and the stranger turned up at the miller’s once again, saying his young wife had run away with one of his servants and asking for the third daughter. Although the miller was sorely distressed at the thought of losing all his children, he at length gave his consent.

Now when the third bride had arrived at the castle with her husband, he set her the same test he had given her sisters. However, she was cleverer than them, and thinking, “Why should you trail the egg around with you? What a bind!” she left the egg and the serviette in her chamber while she inspected the castle. She also could not resist the temptation to open the forbidden door, and when she stepped over the threshold she saw, to her horror, a row of corpses, and the last ones were her two sisters. At once she thought of bringing the villain to justice, but she also knew that she had to manage the matter with cunning. Taking the severed head of her last murdered sister, she carefully locked the door again, concealed the head in a flower-pot, poured soil over it, and planted a hyacinth therein. She received her husband cordially on his return, and when he saw that the egg was undamaged he was affectionate towards her and praised her obedience.

After some time had passed, she asked him if he might take her to her father, who must be uneasy about her fate. He could not refuse her this request, and so they travelled in a splendid carriage to the mill; she took along the hyacinth, which was now blooming superbly. The miller was delighted to see his daughter safe and sound and apparently happy, but she could not gain a moment alone with her father; her husband watched her at all times, whether by chance or because his guilty conscience gave him a foreboding. So she wrote a short letter to be slipped to her father, and just when she was pondering how this was to be done a raven flew on to her shoulder and sang in her ear:

“Give, give, give!

We’ll capture the thief!”

The raven took the letter in his beak and flew to the miller; he read it with horror and sent to the nearest town for the officers of justice, and one morning, before the stranger had time to rub the sleep from his eyes, he found himself seized and bound. His denials availed him not; when the hyacinth was pulled out of the pot, everyone saw the half-decayed head of the miller’s daughter, which the miller recognised from her beautiful brown plaits. The robber’s castle was destroyed and the murderer executed as punishment for his crimes.

Now the executed man had still some companions, who resolved to avenge the death of their leader. One day, when the unfortunate young widow happened to reach under her bed, she felt a hairy object; she was startled, for she well knew it to be a man’s head, but she pretended to take it for a cat, crying out: “Are you back again, Kitty? Well, you may stay there for today, but see that you don’t bring your kittens onto my bed!” She pottered around the room for a while longer then went out the door and revealed the secret to her father; he mustered the mill-servants, the house was diligently searched, and the companions of the executed robber were found concealed in various rooms. They were all given over to justice. Now, the young woman could, it is true, live in peace from that time on, but she could not forget the man who had been a murderer and whom she yet had loved. She grieved to her dying day, and her aged father saw her sink into her grave before him.

84. The Haughty Bride

A parish priest had a beautiful daughter who was so inordinately vain and haughty that she looked down her nose at every young lad who fell for her baby-doll face; for such high airs did she carry that she imagined some rich Count or even a Prince would surely come and take her away as his wife. This sorely saddened the priest, because he would have liked to marry her to a worthy man, most of all to a fellow clergyman. But if one were to think that the priest’s beautiful daughter was never on the lookout for a man, one would be much mistaken; with surreptitious glances did she scrutinise every handsome young man, so long as he was elegantly dressed, to see if she could not find any hint of a prince in disguise. This grieved the father even more, and he did not have nearly enough eyes to keep watch over her. One day, he had to depart on a necessary journey and leave his daughter in the care of the old maid. He charged her in the strictest manner to stay nice and demure at home, indeed not even to look out the window; but it is a well-known fact that you need only forbid many a woman to do something for her to be certain to do it. No sooner had the father turned his back than the obedient daughter was at the window looking out, and behold! As chance would have it, a handsome young gentleman came thundering along on a proudly prancing steed; she could not have her fill of looking at him, and he, for his part, had noticed her, for he turned his head towards her several times. She suddenly began to feel a quite singular sensation, as if she were smitten, and she had neither rest nor respite; and she could have shouted out loud with joy when she received a delicately folded note, in which she was requested to present herself at a certain place at such and such an hour. The bell had still to strike the hour when she was on her way, dressed in her best, the old maid having been placated with a white lie; and soon the priest’s daughter was standing before the handsome young man whom she had taken to her heart. He too was not shy, but confessed to her that he was in love with her, kisses and oaths were exchanged, and the stranger, who gave himself out to be a baron, promised her to return in the next few days and take her back home to his castle, the name of which he told her.

From this time on the priest’s daughter swam in joy and rapture; to become a baroness would admittedly not be to attain the goal of her wishes, but the Baron was so handsome and refined, which many a prince was certainly not. But one day passed after another and he did not come for her, nor did her father yet return from his journey. This made the fair young bride impatient, and she shortly resolved to pay the baron himself a visit. So she decorated herself with her finest garments and all her jewellery, tucked a large piece of ham in her pocket, and set out on her journey at night-time. But before the door there lay a large bandog, which began to growl as she tried to cautiously sneak away, and it grumbled:

“If you stay, you’ll be discreet;

If you go, you’ll see deceit!”

However, she paid no attention to this but cut off a chunk of ham and threw it to the guard-dog, and while he snapped at the meat and started to chew it she hurried away. She had to walk a long, long way before she could see her beloved’s castle rising before her; with a pounding heart she climbed the mountain and walked without let or hindrance through the door, which stood open. It was guarded by a large, powerful dog which looked upon her with fiery eyes and growled:

“Turn around, it’s better so;

If you stay, you’ll see blood flow!”

But she threw him, too, a chunk of ham and he let her enter. But everything in the castle was so strangely quiet that she almost shuddered. She walked up the spiral staircase and entered the first apartment she came to, where various items of men’s clothing lay untidily around; from this room into a second one, which was filled with all kinds of weapons; so into a third, which still bore the traces of a wild carousal; and finally into a fourth, which had large barrels on both sides. She was just about to enter the next apartment when she heard voices; quickly she hid behind a barrel, and soon she saw the Baron entering with several wild-looking companions who were dragging along a young, beautifully adorned woman. The woman whimpered softly and wrang her hands imploringly when the Baron told her in a rough voice: “Prepare for death!” She implored him, by his love, to spare her; he might take all her jewellery and she would swear to him not to betray anything, if he would only let her return home to her poor father. The Baron said coldly: “You must die! And you will soon have company, the daughter of a priest, another haughty thing, just like you, will follow you!” Of course, the hidden girl’s blood ran to ice in her veins, but she had enough presence of mind not to betray herself through the sound of a breath. And soon she heard the death rattle of the young woman, whose blood flowed over the floorboards into her hiding-place, and she had to see the wild companions eagerly taking the jewellery off her arms and trying to pull the rings from her fingers; however, the fingers were swollen, so the murderers reached for an axe and hacked them off. O horror! One of them flew into the lap of the priest’s daughter. She would have screamed out loud if the shock had not paralysed her tongue. The robbers looked for the fingers and found that one was missing. Alas for her if they sought it carefully; and this did in fact seem to be their intention, indeed, one of them was even now walking up to the barrel behind which the priest’s daughter was hiding. In her terror, she prayed fervently to Heaven and made a vow to cast off all pride if she were freed from the murderer’s den just this time. Then the Baron spoke: “That’s enough for today; there’s always tomorrow; I’m tired and sleepy.” The companions abandoned the search and betook themselves to the adjoining apartment, through which the priest’s daughter had come. Soon she heard the sound of deep snoring and thought it now time to secretly leave the castle. She crept on tiptoe out of her hiding-place, but alas! the sleepers were lying right next to the threshold, and so close together that she could not stride over them without touching them. However, she took heart by thinking: If you stay here, you’re lost for certain, but if you venture to flee now, you might just succeed! – She strode, boldly and with God, over the sleepers. They stirred, bumped against one another, and one of them said to his neighbour, “What are you kicking me for?” “Devil requite it you, it was you who kicked me!” the other replied, and they were on the point of coming to blows but they fell asleep again. All this time, the girl had been crouching down, but once they were fast asleep she hurried through the other apartments, down the spiral staircase, threw what was left of her ham to the dog, and fled away as fast as she could. She arrived at her father’s house deadly exhausted. He had returned, and she found him deeply worried about her. She tearfully confessed everything to him and showed him the finger, which she had brought with her; and thanking God for her deliverance, he resolved to expose the villain.

After several days had passed, the handsome young baron rode through the village again and summoned the priest’s daughter. The priest instructed her what she should do, and she went, beautifully adorned, to the trysting place. He said he had come to take her to his castle; but she feigned anxiety and said she had had a bad dream. When he pressed her to tell him her dream, she described everything that had really happened to her, and the Baron looked at her in consternation; but he sought to reassure her with the words, “Dreams are but bubbles, dear child!” “But this dream was too realistic,” she replied, “so realistic, that I even have with me the finger which flew into my lap.” And with those words, she took the finger from her pocket. When the Baron saw it, he drew a dagger and would have run it through her body; however, he had not the time, for he found himself surrounded by bailiffs and held fast. The castle was diligently searched, the entire gang of robbers caught, and a hoard of stolen valuables found. The barrels were all filled with human flesh. Justice was served on the Baron and his companions, while the priest’s daughter was completely cured of her haughtiness, and she later become the worthy housewife of a country priest.

85. The Four Clever Companions

Once upon a time four travelling companions were wandering together, having met one another on the road quite by chance. The first of them was a king’s son, the second a nobleman, the third a merchant, and the fourth a craftsman. All four of them had run out of money, as tends to happen to rich and poor alike on journeys, and they had nothing left but the clothes on their backs, their moneybags being empty. Now as they approached a large royal city, they felt tremendously hungry, and they raised the question of how they were to find money and food. And the king’s son said, “Let us deliberate however we will, everything will go only the way that God has ordained, and he who trusts in God with faith and hope will not be forsaken.” Then the merchant said, “Nothing can beat prudence coupled with good sense!” And the nobleman: “A strong, well-proportioned youthful figure is worth yet more.” Then the traveller who was a craftsman observed, “According to my small wits, I maintain that diligence and practice are best of all.”

In such conversations did the four fellow travellers arrive, towards evening, in the environs of that royal city, where they rested before the gate; and three of them spoke to the fourth, the craftsman: “You extol diligence above all else – well, in that case, go in there and see to it that we can all defray the cost of our meals this evening!” – “I’ll do that,” replied the labourer, “provided that every one of you follows me by practising what he preaches for the benefit of us all.” His companions promised him this, and so he entered the city and made enquiries as to what a man would have to do to earn enough for four men to satisfy their hunger for a day? He was informed that nothing was more profitable than carrying wood, for wood was expensive and the forest far away, and the city-folk were idle. So the man briskly went to the forest, tied up a large, heavy load of wood, carried it back to the city, and received for it two silver pennies, which he was able to use to cover the cost of food and drink for himself and his companions; and, exceedingly pleased with himself, he wrote with chalk over the door of the inn where they were staying the night: “Through diligence and the exercise of his strength, the honest man has earned two silver pennies in one day.”

On the next morning three companions spoke to the fourth, the nobleman: “Now look and see to it that you provide us with food today, and make use of your beauty and youthful vigour, and whatever else you know.” He went into the city, thinking to himself: “You cannot work and do not want to, and there is nothing else you can do. And yet you would be disgraced, were you to return to your companions empty-handed.” And wrapped in gloomy thoughts, he took his stand by the pillars of a house, prepared to part in sorrow from his wandering companions. Then a young, beautiful, and rich widow walked past, saw the nobleman’s fine, youthful figure, and wished to learn where he might be from. She sent her maid-servant, invited him to be her guest, heard about his circumstances, and established such friendly relations with him that, when he parted from her, she presented him with a hundred gold pennies. Then he returned with sumptuous provisions to his comrades in the lowly inn before the city-gate and wrote over the door: With robust youth, a man earned a hundred golden pennies in one day.

Now on the third day, three of them spoke to the merchant: “Today you go out and earn for us, through your prudence coupled with good sense, another satisfying day and the provisions we desire.” Then the merchant went forth and walked through the city, which lay by the sea, down towards the harbour; a merchantman had just dropped anchor in the harbour and the merchants were greeting the owner of the ship, inquiring about his wares, and wishing to trade with him, but he demanded too much from them all and they could not come to an agreement with him. Then they said to one another, “For the moment, we shall make him no further offers; he will shortly come to rue his prohibitive demands, and even if his wares are truly worth so much, there is no one besides ourselves desirous of buying them.” And then those merchants walked away from the captain. But the poor merchant, who was the son of a rich merchant, went up to the captain, discovered himself to him, and told him his father’s name, and bought the entire ship’s cargo from him for fifty thousand guilders. The merchants soon returned, and because they needed the wares they paid the purchaser a five-thousand-guilder profit on top of his purchase-price. Then the young merchant merrily returned to his companions, and he wrote over the door where his comrades’ writing was to be seen: Through prudence and good sense, a man earned five thousand guilders in one day. And he then threw a magnificent banquet for his companions.

On the following morning three of them spoke to the king’s son, whose origins they did not know: “Companion, it’s your turn to go forth and provide us with food and drink. See what God bestows on you and your faith and hope, and may it turn out to be plentiful!”

Then the king’s son made his way into the city, thinking: “What are you going to do? You have not learnt a trade, you have no youthful beauty, you do not have a rich merchant for your father, and you are not clever nor are you prudent. You have only your trust in God, and God will help you.” Then the king’s son sat down on a stone in the street and lost himself in deep and gloomy thoughts.

In this royal capital the King had recently died, and on this day his remains were being taken out of the city to a nearby cloister, and all the people were following the cortege. But the king’s son sat so deeply sunk in thought about the adverse fate he had experienced that he paid no heed to all that was happening around him, and so he failed to stand up when the cortège with the royal bier went past. Then a grandee, incensed at this impropriety, walked up to him, gave the Prince a slap on the face, and said, kicking him off the stone on which he sat, “You cursed villain! Do you bear no grief in your heart at the death of the King whom all are mourning? Away with you!”

The king’s son kept silent as the procession went past, and when it returned he was still sitting on the stone, sad and absorbed in his thoughts. So the grandee angrily walked right up to him again and accosted him with harsh words: “Did I not tell you just now that you must make yourself scarce?” And he signalled to the bailiffs and had him taken to prison. There he sat, yet he was full of hope that God would release him. And afterwards, when the people assembled to choose a new King, the previous one having passed away without an heir, then the grandee said that he had a man in prison who seemed to be a traitor and he should be publicly examined before having justice dispensed on him. So the prisoner was set before the people and asked how and why he had come to this land. And he replied, “Know that I am a King’s son,” (and he named his father’s name) “and when my father died, the Kingdom fell to me; but my younger brother had a larger following, so he forced me from the throne, and because I had cause to apprehend that he would kill me, I escaped from my inheritance and came to this land.”

Among the people who heard this were many men who had known the Prince’s father and had also travelled around that Kingdom. They declared that the said King had been a just and pious man, and that his eldest son was also pious and able, and some of them cried out, “Viva! Long live the King!” And then the others also cried out, “Viva! Long live the King!” and they chose the king’s son for their lord. Then he was raised up and borne through the city in triumph, after the custom and tradition of the land, and then was carried around the city walls as well, when he came with the crowd to the nearby inn where he had stayed with his travelling companions, and over the door of which the three mottos of his companions were written; and he looked at them, and ordered to be written thereto: Diligent care, vigorous youth, prudent judgement, and whatever men encounter of good and of evil, these all come from God, to men according to their merits.

Then everyone marvelled at the sense shown by the new King; they were pleased with their choice, and they understood that this ruler had been sent them by God. Now, when the King had been taken into the throne-room and was sitting on the throne of his Kingdom, he sent for his travelling companions and gathered around himself all the nobles in the land, all the wise men and all the people, as many as the hall could hold, and said: “Praised be the Lord, the King of Kings, and thanks be to his holy name! My dear companions did not believe that God directs our steps, but now they must recognise the truth of that in me, for neither physical strength united with industrious care, nor the vigour of youth and a shapely figure, nor a merchant’s wit and wisdom, have helped me to the throne. Never, since that day on which I was cast out of the Kingdom by my brother, had I hoped to have such honour and dignity to my share again; poor and in pilgrim’s garb came I hither, but it was the hand of God that led me, it was God who raised me, it was Him to whom my heart adhered with faith and hope!”

At these words, a man among the people rose and said, “Now have we heard how worthy you are, O King, of this kingdom, as God has endowed you with so much wisdom and good sense. We shall be well-advised by you, a wise King, for He in His fidelity did not lead you into that company without reason. Praise and thanks be to Him!” Then the people joyfully concurred, and the King spoke again: “When I was driven out, I served a nobleman for some time incognito, but I felt moved to leave his service, and when I had received my wages and bought myself clothes, I was left with only two pennies. Then I thought to myself: You will offer one penny to God and use the other in your time of need. Then I met a bird-catcher; he was carrying a pair of turtle-doves to market, and I thought: Man cannot serve God better than by saving a creature from death, and so I haggled over the two doves; and as the fowler would not give me both for one penny, I thought to myself: If you leave one in the cage, they will be separated from one another, and that is the greatest disservice you could do them. So I gave up both my pennies for the two doves, took them to a wide field, and let them fly away. Then they flew onto the branch of a wild pear-tree, under which I was standing, and as I was about to depart thence I heard one dove saying to her mate, “This man has delivered us from death, and bought us our lives at the cost of everything we had. We owe him gratitude and recompense.” And the doves called to me and said, “You have shown us great mercy, and it is our duty to return the favour. Under the roots of this tree there lies a great treasure; dig for it, and you shall find.” I dug and found the treasure, took possession of it, praised God, and asked Him to take the good doves under his protection and preserve them from all evil; then I said to them, “Now, if you have so much good sense and wisdom, and you even have the power of flight, how did it come about that you ended up as prisoners of the man out of whose hands I bought you?” To that, both turtledoves answered, “Oh, you wise querist! Do you not know that the flight of birds, the fleetness of deer, the strength of bulls, are as nought against fate or divine providence! No creature can protect itself against this, and just so little as a creature of our kind, so little can men on earth escape the judgement of God.”

When the King had explained to the nobles and the people how he had come to attain a quiet faith in God, he was praised anew; and he ordered that his travelling companions stay close to him. The nobleman he made a Gentleman of the Court, the merchant he placed in charge of the Kingdom’s finances, and the craftsman he made Superintendent of Trades; and in this way was the good fortune of every one of them founded on reason, good sense, prudence, and trust in God.

86. Bird Holgott and Bird Mosam

There was a lake, into which flowed lively streams, in which lived shoals of fish, and which was located in a remote region never visited by men, nor grey herons, nor other fish-eating birds from the sea. A bird of advanced years called Holgott discovered this lake; he belonged to the osprey species, and he liked the pleasant location, the peaceful calm around the lake, and the abundance of food. And he thought to himself: you will move here with your wife and all your family, for here we shall find enough of everything we need, here no one is antagonistic and averse to me, and my children may, when we are dead, possess this area as a handsome inheritance. Now Bird Holgott had a wife; she was sitting at home in the nest on her eggs, which were almost ready to hatch, and this wife had a dear friend, also a bird, whose name was Mosam. This friend was so dear to her that her food and drink lost their taste when he was not by her, and nothing could please or amuse her unless he were there. Now when her husband revealed his counsel and decision to move to that fair region, but strictly forbade her to mention this to her friend Mosam, it grieved her terribly, and she began to devise plots and contrivances for privily communicating to her friend this intention of her husband without Volgott realising. And so she said to her husband, “Look, my dear Holgott, our young will soon hatch out, and I have been told of a valuable medicine that is to be used on the young as they crawl out to make their feathers grow strong and firm; this medicine also protects them from mishaps throughout their lives. Now, I would like to fetch this medicine if you will permit me and it is acceptable to you!”

“What kind of arcanum is this?” asked Bird Holgott, and his wife replied: “It is a fish in a lake whose waters flow around an island, and no one knows of the lake save I and the one who told me the secret. That is why I advise and beseech you to sit on the eggs and brood in my stead, and in the meantime I shall fetch one or two of the fish, and then we shall take them with us to the place you have chosen for our new abode.”

The husband replied: “It does not become a sensible man to try everything that the first doctor he comes to advises; for many recommend to us things that are impossible to obtain. What does the lion’s tallow[21] avail the invalid, or the viper’s venom? Should one encounter the lion, and visit the viper in her cave, risking the danger of one’s own death, on the advice of a doctor? Desist, O wife, from your foolish intention, and let us move to that place while our young stay here; there you will find fish of various kinds, perhaps also that salubrious one, and no one will know of it save ourselves. He who seeks his healing herb in fearful, dangerous places may fare as the old monkey fared.” “What befell him?”asked the birdwife, and Bird Holgott told the tale

87. Of Two Monkeys

‘An old monkey lived in a fertile spot where trees and fruit, water and meadowland were plentiful. As he lived a life of luxury, he came down with the mange in old age, and he was sorely plagued with it, becoming so thin and feeble that he could no longer obtain his food. Then another monkey came to him and asked him in astonishment: “Oh! How is it that I see you so ill and emaciated?” – “Ah!” the old monkey sighed, “I know no other reason than the will of God, which none may escape.” The other monkey said, “I knew a friend who bore the same infirmity, and nothing could help him but the head of a black viper. After eating it, he was restored to health – you should do that too!” – The old monkey replied: “But who will give me such a viper’s head, for I am so weak that I can barely take a fruit from a tree?” The other retorted: “Two days ago I saw a man standing before a cave in a cliff, and he was lying in wait for the black viper which lay inside, intending to pull out her tongue, for he stood in need of one; I shall take you there. If the man has killed the viper, then you can take its head and eat it.” – The old monkey said, “I am ill and infirm; should I become healthy and strong, I shall gladly repay your service.” Then the other monkey took the old one to the rock cave, which he knew to be inhabited by a dragon. Before the cave there were large footprints like those of a man, and the old monkey thought that they had been left by the man who had killed the viper, so he crept in and searched for the head. Then the dragon sprang forward and slew and ate him. The young monkey was delighted to have enticed and deceived his companion, and to now be in sole possession of the lovely fruit trees.’

When Bird Holgott had told his wife this tale, he added: “I told you this for the sake of the lesson that lies inside: No sensible man should risk his life because of foolish and deceitful advice.” But his wife said, “I understand you perfectly well, but here the case is completely different, for the fish I have in mind can be fetched without danger and will be of great use to our young.”

When Bird Holgott saw that sensible persuasion would not work with his wife, he yielded: “If you really must, then go fetch the fish; but be on your guard against betraying either the one or the other secret to anyone, for wise men teach us: It is always commendable to exercise good sense, but the greatest good sense is shown by the man who buries his secret so that none may find it.”

Then the wife immediately flew away to her dear friend Mosam and informed him of everything her husband had in mind, of his wanting to move to a pleasant spot where there was nothing to be feared from animals or from men. And she said, “I wish, my friend, that you might contrive a way to come thither too, yet with my husband’s knowledge and desire, for even should fortune smile on me there, I can know no joy without you.” Bird Mosam replied, “Why should I be forced to depend upon your husband’s approval to stay there? Who has provided him with such power over me and others? Who forbids me to go thither too? I shall fly there this minute and build my nest, as it is such a pleasant place. And if your husband should come and attempt to drive me away, I well know how to prevent him, by telling him that neither he nor his forefathers were resident there and so he has no more right to that area than I or anyone else.” The wife replied, “You are not wrong, but I would wish you to be present there on the condition that there be always peace and harmony among us. If you go thither against my husband’s will, we must needs expect to fall into ill repute, and our friendship will turn to sorrow. My advice is this: Go to my husband, do not tell him that we have spoken to each other, and say to him (before I have returned) that you have found that beautiful area and you have resolved to move thither, then he will retort that he discovered that place before you and is determined to move there; then you say, ‘O friend Holgott, then you are the first, and more worthy of that place than I am, but I beg you to let me live with you, then I shall be a true friend and companion to you there.’”

Bird Mosam followed this advice and flew with the utmost haste to Bird Holgott, while the wife caught two fish in the first pond she came to and took them home as if they were the healing wonderfishes; and Bird Holgott replied to the proposal that Mosam’s society was pleasing to him. But his wife pretended that she was not pleased with her husband’s compliance towards her friend, so that he would not notice her perfidiousness, and said: “But we have chosen that place for ourselves alone, and I worry that, if Bird Mosam moves there with us, his many friends will follow and, in the end, we shall have to retreat before their superior numbers.” Her husband replied to this: “You are right; but I trust Mosam, and I hope we shall ward off intruders with his assistance, and so it may be a good thing if our friend lives with us. Let no one trust too completely to his own strength and his own power. We are, it is true, some of the strongest of the birds, but assistance helps the weak to overcome the strong, as the cats overcame the wolf.” “How did that happen?” asked Holgott’s wife, and he told her

88. Of the Wolf and the Mousers

‘On the sea-strand there was a pack of wolves, one of whom was particularly bloodthirsty, and there came a time when he wished to win especial fame for himself among his companions, so he went into the mountains, where many animals of sundry kinds had their habitation, to hunt. But these mountains were enclosed, so its animals were safe from other beasts and lived together in harmony; among them was a clowder of mousers or cats, who had a King. Now the wolf, entering the enclosure by means of a ruse, hid himself, and every day he caught and devoured a cat. This caused the cats untold grief, and they gathered to deliberate the matter with their King; and there were in particular three wise, insightful tomcats, whom the King summoned to the council, and he asked the first of them for his opinion regarding the baneful wolf. The first tomcat said: “I can counsel nothing for this dreadful monster, save to commend ourselves to God’s mercy, for how might we offer resistance to the wolf?” The King now asked the second tomcat, who said: “I counsel that our entire commonalty leave this place and seek another, more peaceful locality, as we stay here only in great tribulation and in danger and hazard of our lives.” But the third tomcat, on being questioned by the King, said: “My counsel is that we remain here and do not migrate for the wolf’s sake. I might also know of an expedient to overcome him.” “Tell it,” the King commanded, and the tomcat continued: “We need to watch out for the wolf seizing his next prey and see whither he carries and consumes it; then you, O King, I, and the strongest among us must approach him, as though we wished to eat what he had left, and he will think himself to be quite safe and fear nothing from us. Then I shall leap onto him and scratch out his eyes, and then all the others are to fall upon him, so that he will no longer be able to fend us off, and it must not confound us if one or the other of us loses his life or sustains wounds; for we shall thereby deliver ourselves and our children from the enemy, and a wise man does not depart faint-hearted and fearful from his patrimony; no, he puts life and limb on the line to defend it.” The King pronounced this counsel to be good. Then it happened that the wolf made a good catch, which he was dragging up a cliff when the cats executed the deed that the brave, wise tomcat had advised; and under their claws and innumerable bites the wolf met an ignominious end.’

“This example, dear wife,” Bird Holgott continued, “I have told you so you will comprehend that true friendship is a boon, and for that reason I shall gladly take Bird Mosam with us as my friend and companion.” When his wife heard this, she inwardly rejoiced that her proposal had succeeded without arousing the slightest suspicion, and after her heart’s desire. And then the three birds took wing to that pleasant locality; leaving their recently-hatched young behind in the old nest, they built nests there and lived together in peace and amity with plentiful food for a season. And Bird Holgott, who became old and weak, and his wife felt a far greater affection for Bird Mosam than he felt for them, as will presently appear.

There came a dry, hot time, when everything withered, and the lake dried up, and the fish died; then Bird Mosam said to himself, “True comradeship is a fine thing, and it is laudable for friends to stick together. But charity begins at home. He who is of no use to himself, how may he be of use to others? He who does not foresee and avoid imminent harm will not escape it once it has come. Now I foresee that the company of these birds will be to my harm and detriment, as the food is growing less from day to day; and in the end they will drive me away. But I like it here very well, and I could live here alone, without that company; so it would be for the best if I anticipated them and rid myself of them, the husband first; the wife trusts me completely, so I can compel her all the more easily. She can even help me kill the husband.”

With such wicked and shameful thoughts did Bird Mosam fly to the wie, and he approached her sadly and despondently. She asked him, “Why do I see you so sad, my friend?” and he answered, “I grieve at the hard times, and see the frightful spirit of Hunger stalking towards us. And my heart grieves for you most of all. I know only one thing that would avail you, if my advice not seem unwise to you.” – “What is that?” the wife asked, and Mosam spoke: “The ties of friendship are worth more than the ties of blood relationships, for the latter are often more harmful than poison. A proverb says: ‘He who lacks a brother has one enemy the less, and he who has no relations has no enviers.’ I shall suggest to you something that will be to your benefit, dear friend, although you will find it hard to accomplish, and you will construe my disclosing it to you as a misdeed, even though it appears insignificant in my eyes.” The wife said: “Your words fill me with fear, I cannot imagine what you mean, and do not believe that you would advise me to evil. Yet it would be an easy thing for me to suffer death for your sake – so speak! Whoever does not risk his life for a true friend is very foolish, for a friend is always more useful than a brother or than children.” Now Mosam said with guile: “My advice is that you try to get rid of your weak old husband, whom you have to take such pains to care for; then you will enjoy the fruits of happiness and fortune, and I shall enjoy them with you! And do not ask for the cause of this counsel until you have carried it out, for if I had not good reason, then believe me, I would not advise you so. I shall find you a better and younger husband, who will always love and protect you. And if you do not act after my advice, you will fare as did that mouse who, also, scorned good advice.”

The bird-wife asked, “What happened to that mouse?” and Mosam narrated the tale of

89. The Cat and the Mouse

‘Once upon a time there was a man in whose larder mice were wreaking havoc, so he took a cat to expel and extirpate them. Now among the mice there was one who was very large and also stronger than the others, and when she perceived what the man had done, she sought an opportunity to talk with the cat from a safe place; and she said to her, “I know that your master has commissioned you to drive away and kill me and my friends. Now I am pleased to make your acquaintance, and I would like to recommend myself to your favour and live with you in perfect amity.” The cat said: “I am exceptionally pleased to become acquainted with you, and I shall hold the honour of your friendship in the highest esteem. Also, nothing would be more welcome to me than associating with you, but I must not make you a promise I am not able to keep. You see, most venerable mouse, my master has made me the guardian of his house so that you and your tribe will do him harm no longer; now if I were to spare you, people would say: ‘That is a worthless cat!’ Therefore either eschew inflicting harm on my master or leave the house and seek another abode that is suitable for you; in any case, do not lay blame on me if you come to harm.” The mouse said, “I have asked you politely, and I ask you so again, grant me my freedom and give me your friendship.” “Well,” said the cat, “I hold you dear, but how am I to reconcile my friendship with you to my duty regarding the harm your companions inflict upon my master? If I let you live, he will kill me, as is proper. Therefore, I shall give you three days’ grace, in which time you may look around for a new dwelling.” The mouse replied, “I would move away from this dwelling only with great difficulty and reluctance; I shall take care not to come too close to you, and remain here as long as I please.” The cat spared the mouse, true to her word, for the space of three days, which made the mouse feel quite safe, and she no longer behaved as if there were a cat in the house; when the three days were over, and the mouse ran out of her little hole again, as nonchalant as you please, the cat, which was lying in wait in the corner of the larder, leapt out and caught and devoured the mouse, bones and all.’

“This is a parable,” Bird Mosam continued, “from which you can see that it does not become the sensible man to scorn the advice of true friends. And the proverb says that the advice of friends is often like a bitter medicine, which is salubrious all the same and drives the infirmity out.”

The birdwife reflected long and wavered as to what she should do, and how it might be accomplished without any suspicion of a wicked deed falling on her. Then the false friend advised her to take one of those fish which fishermen had fixed on the end of a line to lure larger fish, and to place this among the fish her husband would eat, so he would choke to death on it. The wife did this, and because Bird Holgott was old, and could not catch fish himself any more, and his wife let him go hungry every now and then, he greedily gulped down the fish with the hook inside and choked to death on it, and in his last moments he cursed her, she who had so shamefully doomed him to death. When this was done, Bird Mosam lived with the faithless wife a little while longer, but because food became ever scarcer he began to grow very weary of her, and he fell on her to kill her. Just then her sons flew up, coming to visit their dear parents, and they swooped down on Bird Mosam; their mother, who was on the point of death, confessed everything to them before passing away. So they pecked out Bird Mosam’s eyes with their sharp beaks and left him to starve wretchedly to death; and in this way did they avenge the double sin he had committed against their parents.

90. The Golden Egg

Once upon a time in a town, there was a very rich merchant who had three grown-up daughters, and all three of them had a pretty figure, and they were also good and modest girls, whereas others in such favourable circumstances are sometimes very arrogant and trickish. That dapper suitors soon endeavoured to court the beautiful rich girls, was only natural; but the girls were shy and reserved, and so, to be brief, no weddings were realised. But one day, when the rich merchant’s wife was attending a lavish dress ball with her three beautiful daughters, one of the young gentlemen present, who appeared to be very refined and graceful, was particularly attentive towards the merchant’s eldest daughter, dancing with her many times and speaking many sweet words to her, and he was so fortunate as to win her love. At parting, he was exceedingly obliging and amiable towards mother and daughters, and he was readily granted permission to pay them a visit on the following morning. When morning came, the young man dressed himself even more daintily than on the previous evening and arrived at the merchant’s house, where he was warmly received. And in no time at all he was the betrothed of the eldest daughter, and the wedding was also not long postponed, for the bridegroom was in a great hurry to return to his home, which lay, according to him, a great long distance away. Now when the sumptuous and joyful wedding celebrations were concluded, the new son-in-law said to his father-in-law: “I am heartily sorry that I must take my beloved wife so very far away from her dear parents and her beloved home, but there is nothing to be done about it, I must return to my country; but I shall assuredly see to it, as far as I possibly can, that she will be satisfied with her life there, and she will find her new home agreeable and pleasant.” The parents bowed to necessity, and the father said to the mother, “What do you think, dear wife, about giving our daughter her entire inheritance now? For the distance is too great for us to have any hopes of seeing her again any time soon.” The mother said, “You’re right, dear husband, I mark that our son-in-law is very rich, and this will keep the balance even between our daughter and him; for I would always have like draw to like. If the wife does not arrive empty-handed, she will be treated all the more kindly by her husband.”

When the journey was underway, the good parents sent six carriages full of goods and money and lovely clothes and moveables with their daughter. The journey lasted a long time, and the region became ever more rugged, the forests ever larger and darker; then at last, before a large, dismal building in the depths of a frightful forest, the young husband gave the order to halt; this was his home, and the new home of the beautiful young wife, who was almost a little perplexed that all around her looked so very gloomy; but the husband contrived to lift his dear wife’s spirits in next to no time, and now that they were in the house, having climbed up the steps, she perceived to her delight that the interior of the house was not gloomy at all but really charming, and richly and beautifully decorated. She passed from one room into the next and found everything fine and dandy; but one room-door, which was heavy with gold and on whose ledge there lay a large golden key, was not opened for her by her husband in spite of all her pleas. He said, “I cannot take you in there, my dear, I have something inside which it would not avail you to see, nor would it in the least interest you if I were to show you it.” Then she desisted from her entreaties, but she was secretly curious to know what could possibly be in this room that she was not on any account allowed to see.

Now it so happened that one day, when several weeks had passed, the young husband went hunting, and as he was leaving he said, “Dear wife, I’ll give you a plaything that you can pleasantly while away the time with, but you must not by any means get a stain on it,” and he gave her a little golden egg, which pleased her greatly. When the huntsman had gone and the lonely wife had played with the egg for a while, she thought, “Well, how about it? Now I’m alone, I will have a look at what is hidden in that room”; and she took her egg and walked rapidly to that golden door, took the golden key down from the ledge, and was just about to unlock – but at that moment a large parrot came out from under the threshold, positioned itself before her, and said in a hollow voice:

“Take care of the egg, oh take good care,

Or you’ll pay the price, with head and hair.”

But the curious young wife pushed the warning bird aside, saying, “Stupid bird, what is it you want?” and she unlocked the door. But what a shock! There was a large vat filled with blood, with a block and an axe next to it, and at the side was a long table on which were placed nothing but dead women’s heads; and alas, the shock made the wife drop her golden egg in the blood. She quickly took it back out, locked the door, and hurried away, horrified; in her room she carefully wiped her egg so that her husband, on his return, would not see any bloodstains, but as the blood came off, so did the gold, and so, to the wife’s untold distress, the egg was ruined, and when her husband returned from the hunt, it immediately betrayed what had happened while he was out. Then the huntsman fiercely knitted his brows, seized the trembling woman, dragged her to that gruesome room, and said, gripping the axe, “As you craved, foolish woman, to see what I forbade you to, so shall you pay for it,” and he chopped off her head and placed it on the table beside the other ones.

A short time later the cruel man set out and travelled again to the town where his rich parents-in-law lived; and when he arrived there, he broke out into lamentable cries: he had lost his dear wife to death and he was inconsolable. This was a grievous blow to her parents and sisters; but after several weeks their sorrow abated and the evil young man married the middle sister. She fared not a jot better than the eldest. Out of curiosity she opened that door; she did not heed the parrot’s warning; she stained the golden egg with blood and was then killed by her inhuman husband just as her sister had been, and in the same way that many others had met their death, as one could see from the number of severed heads that were placed upon the table.

Once again the son-in-law arrived in deep mourning at his parents’-in-law’s, reporting the death of his second wife and pretending to be in the depths of despair. But after several weeks he again recovered from the blow dealt him by bitter fate and spoke to his parents-in-law: “My dear parents, my ignominious fate has heartily distressed me, and I am sure I would never see another joyful hour on this earth if I had to spend my days alone and far from you; so give me your blessing one last time, and give me your youngest daughter, my dear sister-in-law, to wife, that she may be the comforting angel to my sorrow.” And this time also the parents consented and the wedding was soon performed, and once again a substantial marriage-portion followed the two newlyweds into the far distance. Once they had arrived, the husband again took his young wife through the rooms of his castle and when they came to the golden door, he said again, “Dear wife, I cannot open this room to you, I have something inside that it would not avail you to see, let us go back.” Then she wisely thought, “I really must learn what is inside, but I must be careful and on my guard.” Now when her husband had gone out hunting one day after giving her a golden egg as a plaything to pass the time with, she thought, having played with the egg for a while, “Well, now I’m alone, I will see what is hidden in that room,” and she hurried there with her golden egg, took the key down from the ledge and was about to unlock the door. Meanwhile the parrot had again shot out from under the threshold and it began to admonish in a hollow voice:

“Take care of the egg, oh take good care,

Or you’ll pay the price, with head and hair.”

The young wife paid heed, and taking out a linen handkerchief she wrapped the egg in it and laid it down before the door, then she unlocked and beheld what was hidden there with shock and horror. She instantly recognised the heads of her two sisters and severe grief cut her to the quick; “however,” she thought, “you must act speedily and prudently if you are to escape the clutches of this villain and bring his evil deeds to light” – and she swiftly took the heads of her two sisters, hurried away, and hid them in a secret place. Then she fetched her golden egg and said to the parrot, who was still sitting beside it, “Dear bird, I thank you for your warning, I shall see to it that feed and drink will always be given you, and form this time on you shall live no longer under this gloomy threshold, but in my cheerful room.” But the bird shook its heavy head and replied, “I have no need of feed or any other habitation, for my life was lived out long since, and only the golden gleam of this egg was able to rouse me to the light of day, that I might appear to give warning to the unfortunate. But now this time will be over. You will give the villain his just deserts, at the same time executing the revenge I swore on him when he stole my beloved first egg from me, causing me to die of sorrow. Yet my soul found no rest in death, and so I remained under this threshold and awoke every time the golden gleam of my egg illuminated me. But there is one request you can carry out as a way of thanking me: help me to this beloved egg of mine that I may hatch it, then I shall be able to sleep the sleep of death.” The young woman spoke: “That shall be done, you shall receive your egg, dear bird, and your revenge will be satisfied.” Then she went to her room, and when her husband came home from the hunt he found his wife playing with the beautiful golden egg. The evil man did not suspect that he had been discovered; and when, some time later, his dear wife wished to make a journey to her parents, he gave his consent and did not trouble himself with that atrocious room. Before the journey began, the wife asked her husband for the golden egg, and he gave it her as a present; and the woman gave it to the parrot so it could hatch the egg and find peace.

Now they set out on their journey and soon reached the woman’s dear home, where they were received with great delight; on the next day, a feast was held and many friends invited, and when the guests had merrily returned home and the son-in-law, intoxicated with wine, had fallen into a deep sleep, the daughter signalled to her parents, led them to her room, where she had laid out her packets, showed them the heads of her two sisters, and revealed to them the deeds of the cruel and evil man who had so abominably outwitted and deceived them. That was a bitter pain for the old parents! “But let us act with dispatch!” said the daughter, and she hurriedly sent for the apparitors and had the drunken man put into prison.

The prudent woman had taken the precaution of bringing all the possessions and money of her two sisters as well as her own back home with her, and she now stayed with her old parents, who were stricken with grief for their hapless daughters.

But the evil man in prison thought to escape his fate: taking flight, he hurried back to his robber’s castle cautiously and by out-of-the-way paths, and believed himself to be safe there. But after pacing restlessly around his apartments, he finally decided to pay another visit to that ghastly room, and the parrot was sitting on the threshold with its wings spread wide; and when he kicked the bird out of the way and strode into the room, the golden egg rolled after him, burst open, and hatched a mighty snake, which coiled itself around the villain’s body in a trice and sank with him deep, deep down in the vat of blood. And the parrot floated lightly aloft, as one released from heavy chains.

91. Little Redcap

Once upon a time there was the cutest, dearest slip of a girl, and she had a mother and grandmother who were very kind and loved the little thing so much. The grandmother in particular simply could not do enough for her little grandchild, giving her now this, now that; she had also given her a splendid cap of red velvet which suited her quite delightfully, and the little girl knew this and would not wear anything else, and for that reason everyone, old and young, called her Little Redcap. Now, her mother and grandmother did not live together in one house, but were half an hour apart, and between their two houses there lay a forest. One morning the mother spoke to Little Redcap: “Dear Little Redcap, grandmother has become weak and sick, and cannot come to us. I’ve baked some cakes, so go and take some of them to grandmother with a bottle of wine, and give her my warmest wishes, and be very careful not to fall, or you might smash the bottle and sick grandmother will have nothing to drink. Don’t run around in the forest, stick to the path like a good girl, and don’t be late back.”

“I’ll do all that, just as you say, dear Mother,” replied Little Redcap, and she put on her pinny, took a light basket and held it while her mother laid the bottle and the cakes inside, then walked with joyful steps into the forest. As she was strolling on her way, completely unsuspecting, a wolf came along. The good child knew nothing of wolves as yet and had no fear. When the wolf had come closer, he said, “Good day, Little Redcap!” “Thank you very much, Mr. Greybeard!” – “And where are you off to so early in the morning, my dear Little Redcap?” asked the wolf. “To my old grandmother who isn’t very well!” Little Redcap replied. “And what will you do there? You’re taking her something, I suppose?” – “But of course! We’ve baked cakes and mother gave me wine to take along too, she’s to drink that to become strong again.”

“Pray tell me one more thing, my dear, charming Little Redcap, where does your grandmother live? I would very much like, if I walk past her house some day, to evince my respect.”

“Why, not far from here at all, just a quarter of an hour, the house is right beside the forest, you must have gone past it before. There are oak trees behind it, and hazelnuts grow on the garden-fence!” chattered Little Redcap.

Oh you delightful, appetising hazelnut that you are – the false, wicked wolf thought to himself. I have to crack you, that is one sweet kernel – And he behaved as if he wished to accompany Little Redcap a short stretch further, and said to her: “Just look at how, over there, and over yonder, there are such beautiful flowers, and just listen to how delightfully the birds sing! Yes, it is very lovely in the forest, very lovely, and such good herbs grow here, healing herbs, my dear Little Redcap.”

“You must be a doctor then, dear grey sir?” Little Redcap asked. “Because you know the healing herbs. So you could show me a herb that will heal my sick grandmother!”

“Child, you are as good as you are clever!” the wolf praised her. “But of course I’m a doctor, and I know all the herbs, you see! Right here is one of them, Wolf’s-foot, there in the shade grow Wolfberries, and here on the sunny slope blooms Wolf’s-milk, while over there you will find Wolfswort.”[22]

“Are all herbs called after the wolf, then?” asked Little Redcap.

“The best ones are, only the best ones, my dear, pious child!” the wolf said with real scorn. For all the ones he had named were poisonous herbs. But Little Redcap, in her innocence, wanted to pick these herbs and take them to her grandmother, believing them to be healing herbs; and the wolf said, “Farewell, my good Little Redcap, it has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance; I must rush, I’ve a weak old invalid to visit!”

And with that the wolf hurried away and went post-haste to the grandmother’s house, while Little Redcap picked pretty woodland flowers for a posy and gathered the supposed healing herbs.

When the wolf arrived at the house of Little Redcap’s grandmother he found the door locked, so he knocked. The old woman could not get out of bed to look and see who was there, so she cried: “Who is that without?”

“Little Redcap!” the wolf cried in a disguised voice. “Mother sends dear grandmother wine, and cakes as well! We’ve baked!” “Reach through the hole at the bottom of the door, the key is there!” cried the old woman, and the wolf did this, then opened the door, walked into the house, into the parlour, and devoured the grandmother without further ado. Then he put on her clothes, lay down in her bed, pulled the bedclothes up over him, and drew the bed-curtains. After a while Little Redcap came; she was astonished to find everything so open, for her grandmother usually preferred to keep herself under lock and key, and she almost felt uneasy in her young heart.

Now when Little Redcap walked to the bed, her old grandmother was lying there; she had on a large night-cap and only a little of her could be seen – and that little looked truly dreadful. “Oh grandmother, what big ears you have!” cried Little Redcap. – “All the better to hear you with!” was the answer. – “Oh grandmother! What big eyes you have!” – “All the better to see you with!” – “Why grandmother, what big hairy hands you have!” – “All the better to grasp and hold you with!” – “Oh grandmother, what a big mouth and what long teeth you have!” – “All the better to eat you with!” And the wolf leapt furiously out of the bed and gobbled up poor Little Redcap. She was gone.

Now the wolf was full, and he liked being in the old woman’s parlour and soft bed very much; and he lay down again and fell asleep and snored, making a sound like the wheels clattering in a mill.

By chance a hunter was passing by, and hearing the strange sounds, he thought: “Well, well, the poor old woman in there is a bad snorer, she may even have the rattles and be on her deathbed! You must go in and have a look to see what’s the matter with her.” No sooner thought than done: the hunter entered the house, where he found Mr. Isegrim lying in the old woman’s bed, and the old woman herself was nowhere to be seen. “So you’re here?” said the hunter, snatching his rifle from his shoulder, “Just you come to me, you’ve run away from me often enough!” – He was taking aim – when it occurred to him: “Hold on – the old woman isn’t here, perhaps the fiend devoured her bones and all, she was just a scrawny little woman, after all.” And so the hunter did not shoot, but he drew his sharp hunting knife and very softly slit open the stomach of the soundly sleeping wolf; then a little red cap peeped out, and under the little cap there was a little head, and then cute, delightful Little Redcap came out, saying, “Good morning! Oh, what a dark little chamber that was in there!” – And behind Little Redcap the old grandmother came wriggling out; she was still alive but had been pressed for room in the wolf’s stomach. The wolf was still sleeping like a log, so they picked up stones, just like the old goat in the fairy tale of ‘The Seven Little Kids,’ stuffed the wolf’s stomach with them, and sewed up his belly, after which that they hid themselves, the hunter stepping behind a tree to see what the wolf would do. Now the wolf woke up, got out of bed, went out of the parlour, out of the house, and hobbled to the well, for he had a raging thirst. On the way he said: “I really don’t know, I really don’t know, there’s a wobbling in my stomach, to and fro, to and fro, like boulders – is that the grandmother and Little Redcap?” – And when he came to the well and bent over to drink, the stones dragged him down and he toppled over into the well and drowned. So the hunter saved a bullet; he pulled the wolf out of the well and stripped off his pelt, and all three of them, the hunter, the grandmother, and Little Redcap, drank the wine and ate the cakes and were thoroughly content; and the grandmother became hale and hearty again, and Little Redcap went home with her empty basket, thinking: “Never again will you stray from the path and into the forest, when mother has forbidden you to.”

92. The Man Without a Heart

Once upon a time there were seven brothers, all of them poor orphans, who had no sister, and had to do everything in the house themselves, which was not to their liking, so they all came to an agreement that they would marry. But where they lived, there were no brides for them, so the elder ones said they would travel abroad and search for brides, and their youngest brother was to keep house, and they would bring him a really lovely bride back. The youngest was very well satisfied with this, and the six set out happily and cheerfully on their journey. On the way, they came upon a small cottage which stood quite secluded in a forest, and in front of the cottage stood an old, old man; he called to the brothers and asked, “Hey there, striplings! Where are you heading, so merrily and so fast?” – “Oh, we’re going to fetch a pretty bride for every one of us, and one for our youngest brother at home as well!” the brothers answered.

“Oh, dear lads!” said the old man, “I live here so godforsakenly alone, do bring a bride back for me too, but make sure that she’s a young and pretty one!”

The brothers left that place, thinking: “Hmm, what use is a young and pretty bride to such a hoary old kobold?”

Now when the brothers arrived in a town, they found seven sisters there, as young and as pretty as they could possibly wish them to be, and they took the sisters back with them, with the youngest one for their brother. Their way led them back through the forest, and the old man was again standing in front of his cottage as if he were waiting for them, and he said, “Well, you worthy lads! You’ve brought me such a young and pretty bride, that’s just the ticket!” – “No!” said the brothers. “She’s not for you, she’s for our brother at home, we’ve promised her to him!”

“Indeed?” said the old man. “Promised? Why, you – I’ll give you ‘promised’!” and he took a little white staff and muttered a few magic words, and touched the brothers and the brides with the staff – except for the youngest sister – and they were all turned to grey stone. The man took the youngest of the sisters into the house, and she now had to set everythng in order and keep the house tidy, which she did willingly, but she lived in constant fear that the old man might soon die, and then she would be just as godforsakenly alone in the isolated cottage in the wild and desolate forest as the old man had formerly been. She told him this and he replied, “Don’t worry, don’t be afraid, and don’t hope that I’ll die. You see, I have no heart in my breast! But if I were to die nevertheless, you’ll find my white wand over the door, and if you touch the grey statues with it, your sisters and their suitors will be freed and you’ll have company enough.”

“But where on earth do you have your heart, if you don’t have it in your breast?” asked the young bride. “Must you know everything?” asked the old man. “Well, if you really must know, my heart is in the coverlet.”

So when the old man was away attending to his business, the young bride, in her loneliness, sewed and embroidered very pretty flowers on his coverlet, so that his heart might take joy of them. But the old man smiled at this and said, “You dear child, why, I was only joking, my heart is – it is – ” – “Well, where is it, dear father?” – “It’s in the house door!”

So the next day, when the old man was away, the young bride decorated the house door very prettily with colourful feathers and fresh flowers and hung it with wreaths. The old man asked, when he returned, what the meaning of this was, and she said: “I did it to do something for the sake of your heart.” The old man smiled again and said, “Dear child, my heart is in a completely different place from the house door.” Then the young bride became very distressed and spoke: “Ah father, so you do have a heart, and you can die, and then I’ll be so alone.” Then the old man repeated to her what he had already told her twice, and she urged him anew to tell her where his heart really was. So the old man said: “Far, far from here, in the depths of a wilderness, there lies a large, age-old church. It is firmly secured with iron doors, around it there runs a deep moat which no bridge leads over, and in the church a bird flies up and down, it does not eat and does not drink and does not die, and no one is able to catch it; and so long as the bird lives, so long do I live also, for my heart is in the bird.”

Then the bride became sad because she could not do anything for her old husband’s heart, and the time weighed heavy on her hands when she sat all on her own, for the old man was away from home nearly all day long.

Now one day a young travelling journeyman came by the cottage; he greeted her and she greeted him, and he liked her and came closer, and she asked him whither he was going and whence he had come. – “Ah!” the young journeyman sighed. “I’m really sad. I had six brothers, who started out from home to find themselves brides, and they were also going to bring one back for me, the youngest, but they never have come back, and so I too have now left home, to seek my brothers.”

“Oh, dear journeyman!” cried the bride. “Then you need not go any further! First sit down and have something to eat and drink, and then listen to my tale!” And she gave him food and drink, and told him how his brothers had arrived in her town, and how they had intended to take her sisters and she herself back home with them as brides, and that she had been meant for him, her guest, and how the old man had kept her with him and turned the others into grey stones. She told him all of this candidly, weeping the while, and also that the old man had no heart in his breast, and that it was far, far away in a secure church and in an immortal bird. Then the bridegroom said, “I will go forth, I will seek the bird, perhaps God will help me to catch it.” – “Yes, do that, you will be doing a good turn, then your brothers and my sisters will become people again!” and she hid the bridegroom, for evening had come by this time; and when the old man had gone out again the next morning, she packed a great deal of food and drink for the travelling journeyman, gave it to him to take along, and wished him every fortune and God’s blessing on his journey.

Now when the journeyman had walked a fair distance, it seemed to him that it might well be time to breakfast, so he unpacked his provision-bag, regarded the many treats with delight, and cried out, “Hey! Now we’ll have a feast! Come here, whoever wants to be my guest!”

Then there was a “Moo!” behind the journeyman, and when he turned round, a large red ox was standing there and it said, “You’ve invited –I’d like to be your guest!” – “Welcome, and help yourself, what’s mine is yours!” So the ox lay leisurely down on the ground and ate with relish, and licked his mouth nice and clean with his tongue; and when he was full up, he said, “I am much obliged to you, and if you ever need someone to help you in a time of danger and need, call for me, your guest, even if only in your thoughts.” And he raised himself up and disappeared into the undergrowth. The journeyman packed up the remains of the meal and pilgrimised onwards; after covering another good distance, he thought from the shortness of the shadow he cast that it must be midday, and his stomach thought the same. So he sat down on the ground, spread out his tablecloth, laid his dishes and drinks on it, and cried: “Come now! Midday meal! Present yourself now, if you wish to join me at table!” Then there was a tremendous rustling in the bushes, and a wild boar burst out, grunting, “Oui oui oui,” and it said, “Someone here cried out an invitation to a meal! I don’t know if it was you – and if you meant me?”

“Well, in any case, help yourself to what’s there!” said the wanderer, and they ate cheerfully together and both enjoyed the food. Afterwards the wild boar raised itself up and said, “Thank you; if you have need of me, then call the boar!” and it shuffled off into the bushes. Now the journeyman walked a very long stretch, and had now covered a very great distance; the day was drawing towards evening, and he felt hungry again, and he still had provisions, and so he thought: How about an evening meal? I’d say it were about time. – And again he spread out his tablecloth and laid his food on it, and he still had something to drink, and he cried: “Anyone who would like to eat with me may consider himself invited. It’s not as if there were nothing here!” Then there was a swishing sound of heavy wings beating above him, and the ground grew dark, as with the shadow of a cloud, and there came into view a large griffin, who cried, “I heard someone here below invite to table! I don’t suppose there would be anything left over for me?”

“And why not? Alight here and make do with what there is, there won’t be much left for long!” cried the youth, and so the griffin alighted and ate its fill, and then it said, “If you need me, then call me!”, rose up into the air, and disappeared. Well, thought the journeyman, he’s in an awful hurry; I think he could have shown me the way to the church, for I’m not likely to ever find it on my own. And he bundled his things together, and thought he would walk a little further before going to sleep. And he had not been walking long at all when all of a sudden he saw the church before him, and he was soon at it, that is, at the wide and deep and moat without a bridge that surrounded it. Then he looked for a nice resting place, for he was tired from the far journey, and he slept; and the next morning he wished to be over the moat, and thought: Look, if the red ox were here and had a raging thirst, he could drink up the moat and I could get across dry. -No sooner had he made this wish than the ox was there, and it began to drink up the moat. Now the journeyman stood at the church-wall, which was very thick, and the towers were of iron, so he thought to himself: Oh, to have a battering-ram! The strong wild boar could perhaps accomplish more here than I could. – And behold, at once the wild boar came running up and crashed into the wall and rooted a stone out with its tusks, and when one was out, it rooted more, and ever more, stones out of the wall, until a large, deep hole had been burrowed through which one could climb into the church. The youth now climbed in and saw the bird flying around inside but was not able to catch it. So he said: “If the griffin were here now, he’d soon get a grip on you – that’s why he’s called a gryphon!” And the griffin was there on the instant, and it instantly caught the bird which had the old man’s heart inside it, and the young journeyman kept that same bird very safe, while the griffin flew away.

Now the youth hurried back to the young bride as fast as he could, arrived before evening had come, and told her everything; and she again gave him something to eat and to drink, and bid him slip under the bed, together with his bird, so the old man would not see him. He did this the moment he had finished eating and drinking; the old man came home and complained that he felt ill, that he was too weak to go on – this was the effect of his heart’s bird being captured. The bridegroom under the bed heard this and thought: The old man has indeed done you no harm, but he has enchanted your brothers and their brides, and he has kept your bride for himself – that is no small wrong; and so he pinched the bird, and the old man whimpered, “Oh, something is pinching me! Oh, Death is pinching me, child – I’m dying!” And he fell from his chair, unconscious, and before the youth knew it he had pinched the bird to death, and that was the end of the old man. Now he crawled out, and the bride took the white staff, as the old man had instructed her, and struck the twelve grey stones with it, and behold, they became the six brothers and the six sisters again, and there was joy and embracing and hugging and kissing; and the old man was dead and stayed dead, no masterwort could bring him back to life, even if they had wanted him alive again. Then they all set out together, and got married together, and lived well and happily together for many a long year.

93. Oda and the Snake

Once upon a time there was a man who had three daughters and the youngest of them was called Oda. Now one day the father of these three was to go to the fair, and he asked his daughters what he should bring them back. The eldest asked for a golden spinning-wheel, the second daughter for a golden reel, but Oda said: “Bring back for me what passes under your cart when you’re on your way home.” The father bought what the older girls had asked for then set off for home, and behold – a snake passed under the cart. The man caught it and brought it back for Oda. He threw it down into the cart, and then before the front door, where he left it lying. Now when Oda came out, the snake began to speak: “Oda! Dear Oda! May I not come in to the hallway?” “What?” said Oda, “my father has brought you right to our front door, and now you want to go into the hallway?” But she let it come in. Now as Oda walked towards her chamber, the snake cried again: “Oda, dear Oda! May I not lie before your chamber door?” – “Now look here!” said Oda, “My father brought you right to our front door, I let you come into the hallway, and now you want to lie before my chamber door? Well, no matter!” – Now when Oda was about to enter her chamber, the snake cried again, as she was opening the door: “Oh Oda, dear Oda! May I not come into your chamber?” – “What?” cried Oda. “Didn’t my father bring you right to our front door? Didn’t I let you into the hallway and lie before my chamber door? And now you want to come with me into my chamber? – But, if this will finally satisfy you, come on in, but lie still, I’m telling you!” So saying, Oda let the snake in and began to undress. When she was just about to climb into bed, the snake cried yet again: “Oh Oda, dearest Oda! May I not come into your bed with you?” – “Now this is really too much!” Oda angrily exclaimed. “My father brought you right to our front door; I let you into the hallway, and then before my chamber door, and then into my chamber – and now you’re wanting to come into my bed beside me? But you’re freezing, I suppose? Well then, come in with me and warm yourself, you poor worm!” And then good Oda reached out her soft warm hand and lifted the snake up into the bed beside her. All of a sudden the snake was transformed – it had been bewitched for a long time and could be released from the spell only if everything that had just befallen it came to pass – into a handsome young Prince, who instantly took good Oda to wife.

94. Sevenfair

Once upon a time a poor couple lived in a village, and they had a little house and only the one daughter, who was wondrously fair and good beyond measure. She did the work, the sweeping, the washing, the spinning, and the sewing of seven people, and was as pretty as seven girls put together, for which reason she was called Sevenfair. But she felt ashamed because people always stared at her in wonder at her beauty, and on Sundays when she went to church – for Sevenfair was also as devout as seven others, and that was the most beautiful thing about her – she kept her face veiled. She was seen thus one day by the King’s son, who took pleasure in her noble figure and her splendid stature, as slim as a young pine-tree; but he was sorry that he could not see the face behind the veil, and he asked one of his servants: “How comes it that we do not see Sevenfair’s face?” “That comes,” the servant replied, “from Sevenfair being so demure.” Thereupon the King’s son said, “If Sevenfair is so demure with her beauty, then I shall love her as long as I live and shall marry her. Go over and take her this golden ring of mine and tell her I need to talk with her, she is to come to the great oak this evening.” The servant did as he was ordered, and Sevenfair, believing that the King’s son wished to bespeak a piece of work, went to the great oak, where the Prince told her that he loved her for her great demureness and virtue and wished to take her to wife; but Sevenfair said, “I am a poor girl and you are a rich Prince, your father would be very angry if you were to take me to wife.” But the Prince kept pressing his suit, and in the end she said she would consider it, he should allow her a few days for deliberation. But the King’s son could not possibly wait a few days; on the very next day he sent Sevenfair a pair of silver shoes with a request to meet him under the great oak once again. And when she came, he asked straightaway if she had made up her mind. She told him she had not had any time to reflect, there was so much household work to be done, and she was, after all, a poor girl and he a rich Prince, and his father would be very angry if he, the Prince, were to take her to wife. But the Prince pleaded anew, and kept pleading, until Sevenfair promised to certainly consider his suit and to tell her parents the Prince’s intention. When the next day came, the King’s son sent her a dress made entirely of gold brocade, and once again sent a request that she come to the oak. But when Sevenfair came there and the Prince asked again, she had to again express her distress at having once more had far too much to do the whole day long, and no time to take thought, and at not having been able to talk of this matter to her parents; and she repeated one more time what she had already told the Prince twice, that she was poor but he was rich, and he would only incense his father. But the Prince told her that all that signified nothing; just let her become his wife, and she would become queen later. And when she saw the sincerity of the Prince’s intentions towards her, she finally said yes, and now she came every evening to the oak and to the King’s son – and the King was not to learn anything of this. But at Court there was an ugly old lady-in-waiting who lay in wait for the King’s son, discovered his secret, and told it to the King. Enraged, the King sent out servants to set fire to the house in which Sevenfair’s parents lived, so that she would burn in the blaze. But she did not; as soon as she noticed the fire, she leapt out of the house directly into an empty well, but her parents – the poor old folk burnt to death in their house.

So now Sevenfair sat at the bottom of the well, grieving and weeping bitterly, but eventually she could not bear it down there any longer, so she crawled up out of the well, found some usable items in the rubble of the house, converted them into money, and used this to buy men’s clothes. Then she went to the King’s Court as a brisk lad and asked to be engaged as a servant. When the King asked the young servant his name, he received the answer, “Misfortune!”, and the young servant pleased the King so well that he took him on at once, and soon even came to prefer him to all his other servants.

When the King’s son learned that Sevenfair’s house had been burned down, he became despondent, believing no otherwise than that Sevenfair had died in the flames; and the King believed this also, and he would have his son now, at last, marry a Princess, so he made him woo the daughter of a neighbouring King. The whole Court and all the servants had to go in procession to the wedding, and there was no one sadder than Misfortune; it weighed on his heart like a stone. He rode along behind the tail of the procession, and sang a lament in a clear voice;

“Sevenfair I used to be,

Then Misfortune came to me.”

The Prince heard this in the distance and was struck by the song, so he halted and asked: “Now who is that singing so beautifully?” – “That will be my servant, Misfortune,” the King replied, “whom I have lately accepted into my service.” And they heard the song once more:

“Sevenfair I used to be,

Then Misfortune came to me.”

And the Prince again asked if that were really none other than the King’s servant, and the King said he knew no differently.

Now when the procession had almost reached the castle of the new bride, the lovely clear voice rang out once again:

“Sevenfair I used to be,

Then Misfortune came to me.”

At this the Prince did not wait a moment longer but spurred on his horse and rode like an officer at full gallop down the length of the entire procession until he came to Misfortune and recognised Sevenfair. Then he gave her a friendly nod and raced back to the head of the procession, and rode into the castle. Now when all the guests and all the attendants were assembled in the great hall and the betrothal was about to proceed, the Prince said to his future father-in-law: “Lord King, before I am ceremonially betrothed to the Princess Your Daughter, be so good as to solve a small conundrum for me. I possess a beautiful cabinet, to which I lost the key some time ago, so I bought myself a new one; but soon afterwards I found the old one again. So tell me now, Lord King, of which key should I make use?” – “Why, the old one again, of course!” replied the King. “What is old should be held in honour and not lose precedence to what is new.” – “Very well, Lord King,” the Prince answered, “so do not be angry with me if I cannot wed the Princess Your Daughter, for she is the new key and the old one is there.” And he took Sevenfair by the hand and led her to her father, saying, “Look, father, this is my bride.” But the old King exclaimed, in shock and astonishment, “Oh dear son, but that’s Misfortune, my servant!” – And many courtiers cried, “Lordy, but this is a misfortune!” – “No!” said the King’s son. “There is no misfortune here, but there is Sevenfair, my dear bride.” And he took his leave of the assembly and led Sevenfair to his finest castle as his lady and wife.

95. The Witch and the Royal Children

In the depths of a forest an evil old witch lived quite alone with her daughter, which latter was a good, gentle child to whom the proverb, ‘The apple does not fall far from the tree’ did not apply. The tree in question was inordinately gnarled, thorny, and ugly; whoever saw the old woman took care to stay out of her way, thinking: Danger is best kept at a distance. The old woman always wore a pair of green spectacles and, over her shaggy hair which hung down very low and uncombed, a ragged red cloth; and she liked to go around in short sleeves, so her scrawny sun-browned arms stuck far out from the garment which hung loosely around them. On her back she ordinarily carried a sack full of magic herbs she had gathered in the forest, and in her hand she bore a large pot in which she boiled these to bring about thunderstorms, sleet and hail, frost and rime, whenever she pleased.

On her finger she wore a witch’s ring of gold with a fiery red carbuncle, with which she could bewitch men and beasts. This ring gave the old woman the strength of a giant and enormous vitality, and it made her, whenever she so wished, completely invisible. Then she could go wherever she wanted and take whatever she wanted – and that is precisely what she did; and she sought out the hinds in the forest, and when the animals saw the ring and saw the stone glittering, they had to stand spellbound on the spot, and then the old woman walked up to the hinds and milked their milk into her pot and drank it with her daughter. This daughter was called Katie and did not have a good life with her wicked mother, yet she bore all her sorrow with patience. The thing that pained her most was her mother, many a time, bringing back children with whom Katie would gladly have played, but the old one always took the children’s clothes from them, locked them up, and fed them with hind’s milk to make them fat; and what she did with them next is gruesome to tell: it is like this – she turned them into fawns and sold these to hunters. The hunters shot dead the poor, transformed and transacted fawns and took them to town, where people love to eat young game. So evil and wicked was the ugly old woman; and because she did nothing all day but cast spells and devise evil intrigues, frequently muttering aloud to herself while she did so, her daughter Katie, observing without being observed, heard several magic spells, which she secretly committed to memory.

Then, one evening, the old woman came home leading two beautiful children, a boy and a girl, who one could tell were siblings and the children of rich people; the two of them had lost their way in the wood, and had been found by the old woman and brought back to her house, and she had told them she would take them back to their parents. The children found themselves horribly deceived when the old one pulled off their gorgeous clothes, dressed them in rags instead, and locked them up in a dark chamber. Yet they were given a whole potful of hind’s milk to drink, which tasted good, and a piece of black bread with it, which tasted less good – but was also consumed, in the end.

The next morning, the old woman limped into the forest at an early hour and waved at the hinds. There was a family of deer which the old one knew particularly well and held in esteem, consisting of Mr. Stag, Mrs. Hind, and two young fawns, and they always stuck together faithfully in the forest; but they lived in constant fear of the wicked old woman who could make them all to stand still, and they had to let the evil witch take the mother’s milk, preventing the fawns from drinking their fill and fattening up. If I could run my antlers through your scrawny body, just the once! the stag often thought, and the hind likewise had no friendly wishes for the old one – but their wishes availed them nought. While the old woman was in the forest, Katie crept to the dark chamber and saw, through a chink in the door, the poor, imprisoned children, who were sighing and weeping with heavy hearts. Then Katie asked, “Who are you, you poor children?” “We are the children of a King! O set us free, and my father will reward you!” said the Royal Prince. “And my mother also,” said the little Princess, before adding: “You shall be our good sister too, and sleep beside me in a silken bed, and I’ll give you the most beautiful golden clothes, help us, just help us!” - Then Katie said, “Just be patient, my dear royal children; I shall wait awhile and consider how I may set you free.”

At the crack of dawn the next day, good Katie cast a magic spell. She hurriedly left her bed, breathed on it, and said:

“Dearest bed, for me reply;

When I’m gone, you be my I!”

Just so did she breathe on her box-chest, on the stairs, and on the stove in the kitchen, speaking this spell each time. After that she went to the strongly secured room of the royal children, held some moonwort,[23] which the old one had left lying on a ledge, to the lock, and said:

“Bolt and pin, bolt and pin,

Open up, let out, let in!”

Then the lock and bolt instantly flew open and Katie quickly led the royal children out and into the forest.

When the old woman woke up, she called out, “Katie, get up and stoke the fire!” – And a voice cried from the bed:

“I’m up, as bright as day,

I’ll be down in the kitchen right away!”

The old woman stayed in bed, but as time passed and she still heard nothing, she called again: “Katie! Where are you, you lazy creature?” “In a minute!” came a voice from the box-chest.

“I’m sitting on my chest

And tying my garter – I’m almost dressed!”

Now as another while passed without anything stirring or shifting in the house, the old woman lost her temper and shouted, “Katie! You brat! Wherever are you?” Then a voice rang down from the stairs:

“I’m coming, swift as a hare!

Already, I’m here in the flesh on the stair!”

The old woman calmed down once more – but not for long, because everything remaining in silence again, she started up and began to chide and curse. Then a voice called from the stove:

“Why curse me for a sloven?

I’m in the kitchen, standing at the oven!”

Nevertheless, the kitchen, and the entire house, remained as silent as the grave. Now the old woman’s thread of patience completely snapped, and she leapt out of bed, flung on her clothes and grabbed a broomstick, intending to give Katie a merciless thrashing. But when she came out of her room, there was no Katie to be found, no sight of her, no sound of her; and the best thing about it, or the worst thing for the old one, was the royal children being gone as well. You should have seen the witch’s leaps the furious wicked old woman now made! Her ring showed her immediately the direction in which Kate had fled with the children, and she wildly tore after them. Now, on their way through the forest, the children had come across Mr. Red Deer and his spouse, son, and daughter, and they had told this family in all haste about their misfortune and their flight; and the deer, their noble hearts profoundly stirred, professed themselves willing to provide the runaways with all possible help. The good Lady Hind offered the children her back on which to carry the three of them to the King’s castle, which lay beyond the forest, and the noble husband ordered his children to withdraw into the thicket while he placed himself behind some thick shrubs by the side of the road, ready, when the old woman raced past and he could not see her ring, to send her head over heels.

It took no time at all for the old woman to come bounding along; in her anger and passion she had completely forgotten to make herself invisible, and she did not hold up her finger with the ring; and so it happened that, all of a sudden, a large and magnificent head of antlers made a very entangling contact with her, which involved the point of one antler scraping against the old one’s finger with such force that the magic ring came off and stuck on the point, and in two shakes of a lamb’s tail the stag had forked up the old witch, who was now stiff and stock-still through the power of the ring, and bore her at full gallop down the trail the good hind, his wife, had left in the dewy grass. She had, in the meantime, arrived at the King’s castle with the three children, and the lost children, along with good Katie, their saviour, had been received with delight by the King and the Queen – when they all suddenly saw, to their great amazement, the old woman sailing along carried on the antlers of the majestic hart. The stag did not tarry but sprang into the castle pond and ducked his head under. When he surfaced again, his antlers were free of their burden. And the magic ring also lay at the bottom of the water. The stag and hind returned to their forest and to their children, and were very glad that no one would ever take their milk from them again; while Katie stayed with the royal children and slept in a silken bed and wore golden clothes and was treated just like a Princess.

96. The Race between the Hare and the Hedgehog

This story sounds like a tall tale, lads, but it’s true for all that, for my grandfather, whom I have it from, always used to say when he told it: “Well, it must be true, my sons, for otherwise no one could tell it, could they?” The story happened like this:

“It was once upon a Sunday morning in harvest-time, just when the buckwheat was in bloom. The sun had risen golden in the sky, the morning wind blew fresh over the stubble, larks sang in the air, bees buzzed in the buckwheat, and people went to church in their Sunday best – in short, all creatures were happy, and the hedgehog was too.

The hedgehog stood before his door with his arms crossed, looking out into the morning wind and warbling a ditty to himself, neither better nor worse than a hedgehog is able to sing on a bright Sunday morning. Now while he was singing to himself so moderately softly, it suddenly occurred to him that he could perhaps, in the time his wife was washing and dressing the children, have a bit of a stroll in the field and take a look at how his turnips were coming along. These turnips were the nearest ones to his house, and he and his family were in the habit of eating them, and therefore he considered them to be his. The hedgehog closed the door behind him and struck into the path to the field. He had not gone very far from his house and was just about to amble round the blackthorn bush which lay before the field when he met the hare, who was out and about on similar business – to be precise, to take a look at his cabbages. When the hedgehog caught sight of the hare, he cordially bade him good morning. But the hare, who was in his own way a very distinguished gentleman, and terribly arrogant to boot, did not respond to the hedgehog’s greeting, but said to him, assuming a high and mighty air, “And how comes it that you’re going around the field so early in the morning?” – “I’m taking a stroll,” said the hedgehog. “A stroll?” laughed the hare. “It seems to me that you could put your legs to better purpose – don’t you think?” This answer vexed the hedgehog beyond measure, for he can bear almost anything, but he will not have a word said about his legs, on account of their being naturally crooked. “I suppose you imagine,” the hedgehog now said, “that you can do more with your legs?” – “I think so,” said the hare. “We should put that to the test,” said the hedgehog. “I wager that if we race each other, I’ll run past you.” – “That is ridiculous – you with your crooked legs!” said the hare. “But for my part, we’ll do it, if you have such an exceedingly great desire to. What will you wager?” – “A golden louis d’or and a bottle of schnaps,” said the hedgehog. “Agreed,” said the hare, “let’s shake on it, and then we can start straight away.” – “No, there’s no need for such haste,” said the hedgehog, “I have not yet eaten anything; first I will go home and have a bite of breakfast. In half an hour I’ll be at the start.” Thereupon the hedgehog left, for the hare was satisfied.

On the way the hedgehog thought to himself, “The hare is counting on his long legs, but I’ll get even with him, assuredly. He may consider himself to be a gentleman, but really he’s a stupid fellow, and he shall pay.” Now when the hedgehog arrived home he said to his wife, “Wife, get dressed quickly, you must come out to the field with me.” – “Why, what’s the matter?” asked his wife. “I’ve bet the hare a golden louis d’or and a bottle of schnaps, I’m going to race him and I need you to be there.” – “Oh my God, husband!” cried the hedgehog’s other half. “Are you soft in the head, have you taken leave of your senses? How could you want to race the hare?” – “Hold your tongue, wife,” said the hedgehog, “that’s my business. Don’t ratiocinate in men’s affairs. Get moving, get dressed, and come along.” What could the hedgehog’s wife do? She had to obey, whether she would or no.

And when they were on the way together, the hedgehog spoke to his wife as follows: “Now pay attention to what I tell you. Look, on that long field, that’s where we’ll run our race. To be precise, the hare will run in the one furrow and I in the other, and we’ll begin to run from the top. Now, all you have to do is place yourself here at the bottom of the furrow, and when the hare arrives on the other side, you call to him, ‘I’m already here.’”

By this time they had arrived at the field, and the hedgehog walked up it after showing his wife to her place. When he reached the top, the hare was already there. “Can we begin?” asked the hare. “Certainly,” replied the hedgehog. “Then let’s get going!” and each of them took his position in his furrow. The hare counted, “One, two, three!” and he was off down the field like a whirlwind. But the hedgehog ran only around three paces then ducked down in his furrow and sat quite still.

Now when the hare reached the bottom in full career, the hedgehog’s wife called to him, “I’m already here!” The hare pulled up and was not a little astonished. He did not doubt it was the hedgehog himself who had called to him, for the hedgehog’s wife is known to look exactly like her husband.

So the hare thought, “There’s foul play afoot here.” He cried, “Let us run one more time, turn around!” And again off he went like a whirlwind, his ears streaming behind his head. But the hedgehog’s wife did not move from the spot. Now when the hare reached the top, the hedgehog called to him, “I’m already here!” Then the hare, beside himself with exasperation, yelled, “Let’s run once more – turn around!” – “Fine by me,” replied the hedgehog, “as far as I’m concerned, as often as you please.” So the hare ran seventy-three times and the hedgehog always kept up with him. Whenever the hare reached the top or the bottom, the hedgehog or his wife said, “Im already here.”

But the seventy-fourth time the hare did not reach the end. In the middle of the field he pitched down to the ground, blood flowed from his neck, and he lay dead on the spot. The hedgehog took the louis d’or and the bottle of spirits he had won, called to his wife to come out the furrow, and they both went happily back home; and if they have not died, they will still be alive.

And so it came to pass that the hedgehog ran the hare to death on Buxtehude Heath, and since that time no hare has had a mind to race a Buxtehude hedgehog.

Now the moral of this story is, firstly, that no one, however refined he may consider himself to be, should have a notion to make fun of the little man, even if he be only a hedgehog. And secondly, that it is advisable for a man who marries to take a wife from his station, who looks just the same as he does. So whoever is a hedgehog, he must see to it that his wife be a hedgehog too.

97. The Juniper Tree

It was a long time ago – perhaps two thousand years – there was a rich man who had a beautiful and pious wife, and they loved each other dearly; but they had no children and they wished for some very ardently, and the wife often prayed for this night and day, but they had none, they had none. In front of their house was a yard, in which there was a juniper tree; one winter’s day the wife stood under this tree peeling an apple, and as she was peeling the apple she cut her finger and her blood flowed into the snow. “Ah,” said the wife with a deep sigh, and she looked at the blood before her and fell into a deep melancholy, “if only I could have a child who was as red as blood and as white as snow.” And as she said this, her heart grew light again, she felt that it would come true. So she went back into the house and when a month was past, the snow had gone; and two months, it was green; and three months, the flowers came up from the earth, and four months, all the trees in the wood crowded one another and the green branches had all grown into a tangle. The birds sang there and all the wood resounded with their song, and the blossoms fell from the trees. Then the fifth month was past, and the wife again stood under the juniper tree, where her heart leapt with joy, and she fell to her knees, quite beside heself with delight. And when the sixth month was past, the fruits became plump and firm and she became quite still, and in the seventh month she reached for the berries and ate her bellyful; then she became sad and ill. The eighth month went by and she called her husband and wept and said, “When I die, bury me under the juniper tree.” And she was quite comforted and glad until the ninth month was past; then she bore a child, as white as snow and as red as blood, and when she saw him she was so full of joy that she died.

Then her husband buried her under the juniper tree, and he began to weep torrents of tears. After a while his tears abated, and when he had wept a little his spirits rose again, and a while later he took another wife. From the second wife he got a daughter, while the child from his first wife was a little boy, as red as blood and as white as snow. When the wife looked at her daughter, she loved her dearly, but when she then looked at the little boy, it cut her to the quick every time, and it seemed to her that he was always in her way, and she constantly thought about how she would divert her husband’s entire inheritance to her daughter. Those thoughts came from the Evil One. She now conceived a hatred for the little boy and pushed him around from one corner to the next, smacking him here and whacking him there, so that the poor child lived in constant fear. When he came home from school he had no place where he could sit in peace.

One day the wife had gone into the box-room when her little daughter also came in and said, “Mother, give me an apple.” – “Yes, my child,” said the wife, and she gave her a lovely-looking apple from the chest; this chest had a large, heavy lid with a large, sharp iron lock. “Mother,” said her daughter, “isn’t my brother to have one too?” That irked the wife, but she did not let it show, saying: “Yes, when he comes home from school.” And when she caught sight of him through the window, it was as if she were possessed by the Evil One. Quickly taking the apple back off her daughter, she said, “You shall not have one before brother.” Then she threw the apple into the chest and closed it. Now when the little boy appeared at the door, she said to him very kindly, “My son, would you like an apple?” while giving him a look of pure evil. “Mother,” said the little boy, “why are you giving me such a horrible look? Yes, give me an apple.” – “Come with me,” she said, and she opened the lid. “Take an apple out yourself.” And when the little boy bent down into the chest – the Evil One guided her – Crash! She slammed the lid shut so the little boy’s head flew off and fell among the red apples. Then she was suddenly seized with shock, and she thought in terror: How can I possibly wash my hands of this? And she went down into the parlour and took a white cloth out of the bottom drawer in the chest; she placed the head on the body and tied the neckerchief so that the severance could not be seen, then she sat him on a chair before the door and put an apple in his hand.

Soon afterwards Marlene came to her mother in the kitchen; she wsa standing at the fire, stirring in a pot all the time. “Mother,” said Marlene, “brother is sitting before the door and he looks very white; he has an apple in his hand, I asked him to give me the apple but he didn’t answer and I felt quite horrified.” – “Go there one more time,” said the mother, “and if he doesn’t want to answer again, then give him a clip round the ear.” So Marlene went off and said, “Brother, give me the apple.” But he kept silent, so she gave him a clip round the ear, and his head fell off; she was shocked and burst into a flood of tears; and she ran to her mother and said, “Oh Mother, I’ve knocked my brother’s head off,” and she cried and cried and would not be pacified. “Marlene,” said her mother, “what have you done! But just be quiet, so no one notices anything, there is quite simply nothing to be done about it; we shall boil him in vinegar.” Then the mother took the little boy, hacked him to pieces, put them in a pot, and boiled him in vinegar. Marlene stood by, weeping and weeping, and every one of her tears fell into the pot, so there was no need to add salt.

Then the father came home, sat down to table, and said, “Where’s my son?” The mother served him a big, big bowl of blood soup and Marlene cried, completely unable to control herself. The father said again, “Where’ my son?” – “Oh,” said the mother, “he has travelled to his great-uncle’s, he wants to stay there for a time.” – “And what is he doing there? He did not even bid me farewell.” – “He wanted to go there and asked me if he could possibly stay six weeks; he’s in good hands there, remember.” – “Oh!” said the husband, “I am very sad, and it really isn’t right, he should at least have bid me farewell.” Then he began to eat, and said, “Marlene, why are you crying? Brother will come back, for sure.” – “Oh, wife,” he said next, “this food really tastes delicious, give me more!” And the more he ate, the more he wanted to have, and he kept saying, “Give me more, you’re not to have any of this, I somehow feel it’s all mine.” And he ate and ate, and threw all the bones under the table, until everything was finished. Marlene went to her chest of drawers and took her best silk handkerchief out of the bottom drawer; she picked up all the bones under the table, wrapped them in the silk handkerchief, and carried them out the door, shedding bitter tears. She laid them in the green grass under the juniper tree, and when she had laid them down there, her heart felt much lighter all of a sudden, and she wept no more. Then the juniper tree began to stir, and its branches parted and then closed again, like a person clapping his hands for sheer joy. At the same time, a mist passed through the tree and a fire burned through the mist, and out from the fire flew a beautiful bird, it sang so splendidly and flew high up into the air; and when it had gone, there was the juniper tree just the same as before, but the handkerchief with the bones had disappeared. But Marlene was really happy, as if her brother were still alive. So she went joyfully back into the house, sat down to table, and ate.

The bird flew away, alighted on a goldsmith’s house, and began to sing:

“My mother, she slew me,

My father, he ate me,

My sister, little Marlene

Gathered all of my bones,

Wrapped them in a silken cloth,

Laid it under the juniper tree.

Peewit, peewit,

What a handsome bird am I.”

The goldsmith was sitting in his workshop making a golden chain when he heard the bird who sat singing on his roof, and it seemed to him such a lovely song. So he stood up, and as he walked through the hallway he lost a slipper. But he kept walking, right into the middle of the street, wearing only one slipper and one sock. He had on his leather apron, with the golden chain in the one hand and his pliers in the other hand; the sun shone so brightly in the street. Then he positioned himself so that he could see the bird clearly. “Bird,” he said, “how beautifully you can sing! Sing me the piece again.” – “No,” said the bird, “I do not sing twice for nothing. Give me the golden chain, and I shall sing it again.” – “Here,” said the goldsmith, “the golden chain is yours, now sing it for me again.” Then the bird came to him, took the golden chain in its right foot, perched before the goldsmith, and sang:

“My mother, she slew me,

My father, he ate me,

My sister, little Marlene

Gathered all of my bones,

Wrapped them in a silken cloth,

Laid it under the juniper tree.

Peewit, peewit,

What a handsome bird am I.”

Then the bird flew away and alighted on the roof of a shoemaker and sang:

“My mother, she slew me,

My father, he ate me,

My sister, little Marlene

Gathered all of my bones,

Wrapped them in a silken cloth,

Laid it under the juniper tree.

Peewit, peewit,

What a handsome bird am I.”

When the shoemaker heard this, he ran out the door in his shirt-sleeves, looked up at his roof, and had to hold his hand before his eyes to stop the sun from dazzling him. “Bird,” he said, “how beautifully you do sing!” Then he called through his door, “Wife, come on out, there is a bird here who can sing quite beautifully.” Then he also called his daughter, his children and journeymen, the apprentices and the maids, and they all came out into the street and looked at the bird, and how beautiful it was; it had such lovely red and green feathers, and its throat was like pure gold, and its eyes flashed in its head like stars. “Bird,” said the shoemaker, “now sing the piece for me again.” – “No,” said the bird, “I do not sing twice for nothing, you must make me a present.” – “Wife,” said the man, “go into the shop, on the top shelf there is a pair of red shoes, bring them out.” And the wife went and fetched the shoes. “Here, bird,” said the man, “now sing the piece for me again.” Then the bird came to him, took the shoes with its left foot, flew back up onto the roof, and sang:

“My mother, she slew me,

My father, he ate me,

My sister, little Marlene

Gathered all of my bones,

Wrapped them in a silken cloth,

Laid it under the juniper tree.

Peewit, peewit,

What a handsome bird am I.”

When he had finished his song, he flew away. He had the chain in his right foot and the shoes in his left, and he flew far away to a mill, and the mill went click, clack, click clack, click clack. In the mill sat twenty miners cutting a stone; they hacked hick hack, hick hack, hick hack, and the mill went click clack, click clack, click clack. Then the bird alighted on a lime-tree that stood in front of the mill, and sang:

“My mother, she slew me,”

then one miner stopped,

“My father, he ate me,”

then another two stopped and listened,

“My sister, little Marlene”

then four more stopped,

“Gathered all of my bones,”

now only thirteen were still cutting,

“Wrapped them in a silken cloth,”

now there were only seven,

“Laid it under”

now only five,

“the juniper tree.”

Only one left,

“Peewit, peewit,

What a handsome bird am I.”

Then the last miner also stopped, having heard only the end. “Bird,” he said, “how beautifully you sing! Let me hear that too, sing it again.” – “No,” said the bird, “I do not sing twice for nothing; give me the millstone, and I will sing it again.” – “Indeed,” he said, “if it belonged to me alone, you should have it.” Then the others said, “If the bird sings again, it shall have the millstone.” Then the bird came down and all twenty miners lent a hand and raised the millstone with levers. And the bird stuck his head through the hole and put the stone on as if it were a collar, then he flew back onto the tree and sang:

“My mother, she slew me,

My father, he ate me,

My sister, little Marlene

Gathered all of my bones,

Wrapped them in a silken cloth,

Laid it under the juniper tree.

Peewit, peewit,

What a handsome bird am I.”

When he had finished singing he opened his wings, and with the chain in his right foot, the shoes in his left, and the millstone round his neck, he flew off to his father’s house. In the parlour the father, the mother, and Marlene were sitting at table, and the father said, “Oh, I feel so light-hearted and in such good spirits.” – “Oh no,” said the mother, “I am anxious, as if a heavy thunderstorm were coming.” Marlene sat and cried and cried, then the bird came flying up; and when it alighted on the roof, the father said, “My heart is really full of joy, and the sun is shining so gloriously outside, I feel just as if I’m going to see an old friend again.” – “Oh no,” said the wife, “I am so afraid, my teeth are chattering in my head, I feel as if I had fire in my veins.” But Marlene sat in the corner and cried, and had a handkerchief before her eyes, and she soaked the handkerchief with her tears. Then the bird perched on the juniper tree and sang:

“My mother, she slew me,”

Then the mother stopped her ears and pinched her eyes shut, for she did not want to see or to hear; but it roared in her ears like the strongest storm, and her eyes burned and flashed like lightning.

“My father, he ate me,”

“Oh, mother,” said the man, “that is a beautiful bird, it sings so splendidly, the sun shines so warmly, and the scent of may-flowers fills the air.”

“My sister, little Marlene”

Then Marlene laid her head on her knees and wept unceasingly; but the husband said, “I’m going out, I must see the bird close up.” – “Oh, don’t go,” said his wife, “I feel as if the whole house is shaking and ablaze.” But the man went out and looked at the bird.

“Gathered all of my bones,

Wrapped them in a silken cloth,

Laid it under the juniper tree.

Peewit, peewit,

What a handsome bird am I.”

And with the song the bird dropped the golden chain, and it fell exactly around the man’s neck, just in a way that made it suit him very nicely. Then he went inside and said, “Look what a good bird that is – it has given me this beautiful chain, and it looks so splendid.” But the wife became so anxious that she keeled over, her cap falling from her head. Then the bird sang again:

“My mother, she slew me,”

“Oh, would I were a thousand fathoms under the ground, so I did not have to hear that.”

“My father, he ate me,”

Then the woman fell down as though she were dead.

“My sister, little Marlene”

“Oh,” said Marlene, “I will go out as well and see if the bird gives me anything.” And so she went out.

“Gathered all of my bones,

Wrapped them in a silken cloth,”

Then he threw the shoes down to her.

“Laid it under the juniper tree.

Peewit, peewit,

What a handsome bird am I.”

And she became very happy and joyful; she put on the new red shoes nd danced and skipped into the house.”Oh,” she said, “I was so sad when I went out, and now I feel merry; that is really a splendid bird, it gave me a pair of shoes.” – “No,” said the wife, leaping up, and her hair stood on end like flames of fire, “I feel as if the world is going to end! I’ll go outside too, perhaps my heart will become lighter.” And when she walked out the door, Crash! the bird dropped the millstone on her head, and she was squashed to a pulp. When the father and Marlene heard the noise, they went outside, and they saw smoke, flames and fire on the spot; and when these had gone out, the little brother was standing there, and he took his father and Marlene by the hand. All three of them were now very happy, and they went inside the house, sat down to table, and ate.

98. The White Wolf

A King rode out to hunt in a large forest and lost his way, and he wandered many days and many nights but still he could not find the right path, and he suffered hunger and thirst. Finally he met a little black mannikin, and the King asked him about the right way. “I will lead and escort you,” said the mannikin, “but you must give me something in return, you must give me that which first comes towards you out of your house.” The King was glad, and on the way he said, “You are a goodly soul, little man; truly, even if my favourite hound ran towards me, yet I would readily give it you as a reward.” But the mannikin replied, “Your favourite hound, I don’t want that; I want something more fair.” Now when they arrived at the castle, the King’s youngest daughter saw, through the window, her father riding up, and ran joyfully towards him. But when she had thrown her arms around him, he said, “Oh, how I wish it had been my favourite hound running towards me!” The King’s daughter was deeply shocked by these words, and she wept and cried, “How so, my father? Is your hound dearer to you than I, and does he bid you a heartier welcome?” but the King comforted her with the words, “Oh dear daughter, I didn’t mean it like that!” and told her everything. However, she stood perfectly steadfast and said, “It is better this way than that my father should perish in the wild wood,” and the mannikin said, “I’ll fetch you in eight days.”

And eight days later, a white wolf duly came into the King’s castle, and the King’s daughter had to sit down on its back, and heyday! off they went through thick and thin, up hill and down dale, and the King’s daughter could not endure the ride on the wolf, and she asked, “Is there far to go?” – “Be silent! It’s a long, long way yet to the glass mountain – if you don’t keep silent, I’ll throw you off!” And now the journey went on until the poor King’s daughter once again became dejected and protested and requested to know if there were far to go? And the wolf gave her the same threatening words and raced ever onwards, on and on, until she ventured the question a third time, when he abruptly threw her down off his back and raced away.

Now the poor Princess was all alone in the dark forest and she walked and walked, thinking: I have to come upon people eventually. And she did eventually come to a hut where a little fire was burning and an old forest-mother was sitting, and she had a pot on the fire. And the King’s daughter asked, “Little Mother, have you by any chance seen the white wolf?” – “No, you’ll have to ask the Wind, he sweeps all around; but first stay here a little longer, and eat with me. I’m cooking a chicken broth.” The Princess did this, and when they had eaten, the old woman said, “Take the chicken bones with you, they’ll prove very useful for you.” Then the old woman showed her the right way to the Wind.

When the King’s daughter arrived at the Wind’s, she found him too sitting by a fire cooking himself a chicken broth, but to her question about the White Wolf he replied: “Dear child, I have not seen him, I just didn’t go out today, I wanted to have a nice rest. Ask the Sun, she rises and sets every day, but first do as I do, take a rest, and eat with me; afterwards you can take all the chicken bones with you, I think they’ll prove very useful for you.”

When this was done, the young girl went to the Sun, and everything happened there just as it had with the Wind; the Sun was just then cooking a chicken broth with her own heat so as to bring it to the boil very quickly, had also not seen the White Wolf, and invited the Princess to eat with her. “You must ask the Moon, for the White Wolf probably runs only by night, and the Moon sees everything then.” Now when the King’s daughter had eaten with the Sun and gathered up the bones, she went on her way and asked the Moon. He too was cooking a chicken broth, and he said, “This is embarrassing, but I did not shine today, or I rose too late; I know nothing at all about the White Wolf.” Then the girl wept and cried, “O Heaven, whom shall I ask now?” – “Now just have patience, my child,” said the Moon, “no dance comes before a meal – sit down and eat the chicken broth with me first, and take the bones with you, they’re sure to come in useful. But I do have some news for you; on the Glass Mountain the Black Mannikin is celebrating his wedding today, and the Man in the Moon is among those invited.” – “Oh, the Glass Mountain, the Glass Mountain! That is precisely where I want to go, that is where the White Wolf should have taken me!” cried the King’s daughter. “Now I can certainly shine for you and show you the way there,” said the Moon, “otherwise you could easily go astray, for I, for example, consist entirely of mountains of sheer glass. Be sure to take all your chicken bones with you.” The Princess did so, but in her haste she forgot one bone.

Soon she was at the Glass Mountain, but it was smooth and slippery all over and there was no way to climb up; but then the King’s daughter took all the chicken bones from the old Forest-Mother, from the Wind, from the Sun and from the Moon, and made a ladder from them which became very long – but alas! in the end a single rung was lacking; one more bone was needed. So the Princess cut off the upper joint of her little finger, and so made all good, and now she could swiftly clamber to the summit of the Glass Mountain. Up on the top was a large opening with a handsome flight of steps leading down, and all was resplendence and opulence, and there was a hall filled with wedding-guests, with many musicians and lavishly-laid tables. And there sat the Black Mannikin and at his side sat a woman, she was his bride, but the Black Mannikin seemed sad. And the Princess’s heart was so sore, so sore, because she had come too late, and because the Black Mannikin was so sad, and she thought to herself: I shall sing a song of the White Wolf, perhaps he will know me then – for he had not even looked at her yet, and consequently not recognised her. And there was a harp on the wall, which the Princess played well, so she took it and sang:

“Your favourite hound, I don’t want that,

I want something more fair!

The youngest Royal daughter.

The White Wolf ran away from her

And went the Lord knows where,

The youngest Royal daughter.”

Then the Black Mannikin pricked up his ears, and the Princess continued to play and to sing:

“She went after the wolf, and cut

Her finger for a rung,

The youngest Royal daughter.

Now she is here – you know her not,

This song is sadly sung

By the youngest Royal daughter.”

Then the Black Mannikin sprang up from his seat and was suddenly a very handsome young Prince, and he rushed to her and took her in his arms.

All had been a magic spell. The Prince had been bound by this spell to be the mannikin and the White Wolf and to stay on the Glass Mountain until such time as a Princess, in order to reach him, would sacrifice a joint of her little finger; however, if that did not happen by a certain time, he would have to wed another and remain a black mannikin for the rest of his life. Now the spell was broken, the other bride disappeared, the unbewitched Prince married the King’s daughter, and travelled with her to her father, who was overjoyed to see her again; and they all lived happily together until their dying day. Should this not, however, have ensued, then it is somewhat probable that they are living still today.

99. Rupert Sloth-Bear

Once upon a time there was a lad of stocky build who looked at the world with defiant eyes and was of a temper to start an argument with all and sundry; and so he became a soldier and battled bravely and valiantly with the enemy until peace was concluded and the soldiers were discharged, so they could go back to the place they had come from or go whithersoever they wished. Then Rupert thought: I’ll go to my brothers – for he no longer had parents – and he intended to stay with them until war came again. But his brothers said, “That’s just what we needed, someone waiting for war – well, you can wait! We want nothing to do with war or with soldiers, we want to have peace! If you’ve made it through war, you can make it through peacetime as well; the world outside this door is your oyster, just so you know!” – Then soldier Rupert, without giving his brothers a single kind word, took his shooter and went out into the world again, and coming to a large forest, he said to himself, “It’s disgraceful, sending a brave lad and warrior away like that in the middle of peacetime, which the likes of us on God’s earth don’t know what to do with. I must have war! If only someone came whom I could pick a quarrel with, and were it the Devil himself!” – and while Rupert had these thoughts he loaded his gun, putting in a powerful shot with a double charge and two bullets. Then a big man came through the forest towards Rupert, wearing a floppy black hat with a red cock’s plume on top; he had a crooked hawk’s nose and a beard as fiery-red as a fox, and had on a green hunter’s coat, and he asked, “Where to, companion?” – “What’s it got to do with you?” Rupert rudely retorted, for he badly wanted to start something with the first person he met, be they the best or the worst person he met. – “Oho! Now, don’t be so snappish!” cried the green man with the floppy hat and the red cock’s plume. “If there’s anything you lack, I can help you!”

“What I lack the most – well – it’s money!” replied Rupert. – “If you had courage, you could have wealth in abundance!” – “Courage? Odsbodikins nomdedieu! Mister, who told you I have no courage? I a soldier – and no courage? The courage of the Devil!” – “Look around you!” said the green man – and when Rupert looked around, there behind him was a bear, almost as big as a rhinoceros, and it opened its jaws wide and roared, and came walking on its hind legs up to Rupert – who took his rifle, took aim, and said, “Do you want a pinch of snuff? Here’s a pinch for you!” – and he shot both barrels into the bear’s nose, a bullet in each nostril penetrating into the brain – and the bear gave a mighty bound and a loud roar, fell down, and gave up the ghost. – “Look at that, look at that; you have courage, I can see!” said the green man in the floppy hat with the red cock’s plume. “And so you shall have money from me, as much as you could possibly want, but with one condition!”

“I’d like to hear it!” said Rupert, who had long since realised whom he was dealing with, for the shoemaker had, it seemed, taken a most singular measurement for one of the man’s boots, just as if he had made it for a horse. – “If it should be salvation – no, thank you very much!” Rupert continued.

“Idiot!” retorted the forest-hunter. “What do I get out of your salvation? You can keep that for yourself, I couldn’t care less about it. No, this is my condition, that over the next seven years you do not wash yourself, or comb your hair, or shave your beard, or cut your nails, or sleep in a bed, or say the Lord’s Prayer – which is not the stuff of soldering anyway. I’ll give you your coat and cloak, which you must wear only and solely in these seven years. If you die within this time, then you are mine; if you remain alive, then I have no share of you, while you will have money as before and you can do with it what you want, and I will scrub you clean again, even should I have to use my tongue.”

“Oh – and you call all of that one condition?” asked Rupert. “It seems to me there was a good dozen of them – however, let it be so, I’ll give it a try, the proof of the pudding is in the eating!” – “Done!” said the Devil, and taking off his green coat he very quickly stripped the skin off the dead bear then continued: “Here is your coat, here is your cloak and your quilt. You have only to reach inside the coat-pocket and you’ll find money; and the bearskin you cover yourself with, barefaced idler that you are, is the finest shirker’s shirt that anyone could possibly wish for who has pockets stuffed with money and so no need to shift his bones.”

When Rupert had put on the green coat, he first and foremost reached into the pocket to see if it was true about the money, for he did not trust the Devil, who is after all named the Father of Lies. But as the pocket proved to be a never-empty Fortunatus’s Purse, so Rupert slung his bearskin over his shoulders and walked away from the Devil without an adieu, the latter having vanished in the meantime.

Now Rupert lived for the day, going to seed and going to hell in a handbasket; he let his beard grow imposingly, making himself appear perfectly electable to any German or Polish parliament, for our strength resides in our hair, as the story of Samson has taught us; and he brought it so far that, as early as the second year, he looked like a Great-Horned Owl and a hobgoblin, particularly so as his fingernails had extraordinarily, aristocratically, genteely grown even beyond the Chinese measure. People avoided him when they saw or smelt him from afar, for his smoking no tobacco notwithstanding, he smelt even at a distance far worse than a hoopoe – which, by the by, is unjustly denounced as a “Stinkhen,” for the hoopoe itself does not stink at all, it is only its uncleanliness and the company it keeps that bring it into such bad repute.

Now Sloth-Bear kept giving lots of money to the poor for them to pray that he survive the seven years; and the poor readily took the money and promised to pray right fervently. Whether they did this or not, I don’t know. Innkeepers also gave him a warm welcome, for he spent a great deal, and it is an unshakable fact: if a man but have money and spend it freely, he may, without fear, be the most stinking sluggard, yet he will always find acolytes, acknowledgement, and acclaim – but once and for all, it takes money.

Now the slothbeardom had entered its fourth year, and Sloth-Bear had had his fill of it, for he was no longer pleasing to himself, let alone to others; on his face he lugged around a primeval forest of hair-moss teeming with life, his fingers had grown into pitchforks, and he found no particular enjoyment in anything, in spite of all his money. In the inns he was always given the hindmost and highest rooms, three, four, five flights of stairs high, and always close by the latrines. One day he was sitting in his room, the picture of moroseness, pondering his fate, and ardently wishing for his time to be up, so he could appear as a new man and discard the hedgehog-beard together with the gallows-nails on his fingers – when he heard a moaning and groaning from someone next door that would have melted a heart of stone. At once he went over to succour his neighbour, for Sloth-Bear had been born with a gentle and good heart. An old man was sitting there wailing and lamenting, and when Sloth-Bear came, he thought it was the Evil One come to fetch him, for Sloth-Bear resembled the Devil far more closely than any other of God’s creatures; yet he was eventually pacified and moved to pour out his distress. Now this need of his was precisely the same as Sloth-Bear’s need had been, namely the need for money. The good old man had three daughters and many debts, and was just about to make off and lead a very secluded life, for he was unable to settle the account his host had made up. Sloth-Bear laughed at this; well might he laugh, of course, as might anyone who has a spring of gold welling in his pocket. He paid the old man’s debts to the last farthing, and the man invited him to come with him and see his daughters, who had no little beauty; and one of them should marry him from gratitude. That was fine by Sloth-Bear, for he had much time to spare, and in his bearskin the days often seemed long, and he went forth to make conquests, as a brave soldier always should do; it was just a shame that he was not allowed to make himself nice and neat – no trimmed beard or goatee waxed black, and no coiffed curls or slender flanks or smooth nails and no Eau de Cologne and no first-class Havana cigars. He could not do any of that but rather had to stay all over bearskin and go there and attempt a storming just as he was, as he lived and breathed, as he walked and smelt. The two eldest daughters of the saved man were horrified by the monster, who wore his wig with its various plaits over his face instead of on the back of his head, who tendered a hand like a griffin’s, who had been wearing his linen for four years now, the same having become quite isabelline, and who smelt like an empty old vinegar bottle in a vaulted cellar – anything but appetising. Only the youngest daughter, who was also the fairest, stood firm and did not run away. She bore in mind that this Sloth-Bear had saved her father, and thereby herself, from insult and infamy; she possessed the beautiful virtue of gratitude, which so many people do not possess. Now when Sloth-Bear perceived that this lovely girl did not draw back trembling from his ugly and repellent figure – indeed, that she was willing to fulfil her father’s promise to him – then he offered her a beautiful ring, yet only the half of it, as a pledge of his engagement to her, and he asked her to pray most fervently that he remain alive for three more years and, if possible, somewhat longer; and he took his leave of her for three years in order to debearskinate during this time, after the expiry of which he would return as a spruce gentleman. And it is not everyone who can perform this feat; many a lad leaves his parental home as a reasonably good and tame young man then comes back, looking like a satyr, as the biggest Sloth Bear in creation. The girlish beauty and beautiful girl who had become betrothed to Sloth-Bear dressed in black and had to put up with a great deal from her sisters about her shaggy bridegroom. These mocked, now the one, now the other: “Take care when you hold out your hand to him that he doesn’t bite it off, for he thinks you’re scrumptious!” – “Be careful, my sweet child, that he doesn’t lick you up – bears love honey!” – “Be sure to do his will in everything, or he’ll roar at you, your Shaggy Bear-to-be!” – “Well, what a merry wedding it’ll be, when they strike up the ‘Bear Dance!’” – But the young bride held her peace in the face of these remarks and let her elder sisters mock and quip to their hearts’ content; in the meantime, her fiancé went on living without doing too much good or bad. He lived safely through the last of the seven years, and on the last day he went back to the spot where the Devil had appeared to him seven years before. The latter duly turned up as appointed, but with some disgruntlement, for he noticed that Sloth-Bear was long since weary of Slothbeardom and wished to break with him; he therefore tried to handle the matter cleverly and exchange coats back, but Sloth-Bears said, “Not so fast – first you lick me and wash me clean as you promised, so I can once again look like a handsome human being and not like a hobgoblin or you, you unclean spirit!” So the Devil had to nicely renovate Sloth-Bear, combing his hair with his fingers and with his tongue, which scratched like a rasp, licking his skin clean, and cutting his nails; and he had to wash him and make him smart and spruce again.

He did this through gritted teeth, and it was a hard piece of work, for the world has shown us what a capital effort is required for one-year-old Sloth-Bears, let alone for someone who has remained in Slothbeardom for seven years. Then the Devil received from the erstwhile Sloth-Bear, the current Mr. Rupert, a hefty kick in valediction, and the latter dressed himself very handsomely and travelled by post-chaise, full steam ahead, to his fiancée’s place of residence, where he was not recognised. He comported himself as a rich suitor and gave to understand that he wished to marry one of the three fair maidens, one of whom was already his betrothed. The youngest paid absolutely no attention to him, but her sisters liked him so very much, and preened themselves like peacocks, and quarrelled over which of them was to have him. But Rupert requested a goblet of wine of his betrothed, drank from it, and asked her to pledge him; when she did so, she espied a half of her engagement-ring in the goblet, and she was quite overcome with astonishment and sweet delight. Rupert embraced and kissed her; then her sisters came in all groomed and dressed to the nines, and their faces turned green and yellow with envy and vexation at their sister’s good fortune – and they ran out. One, full of rage and resentment, hurled herself into the well, while the other, full of virulence and venom, hanged herself in the loft; and suddenly there was the Devil at hand, and snapping up both souls, he said, “I was to have one soul – and now I have two. All the best for your wedding!” With that, he departed, and when the period of mourning was over, Rupert married his charming and fair young bride, and he never became a Sloth-Bear ever again.

100. The Shudders

Once upon a time there were two brothers, one of whom, the elder, was no fool, but rather clever and artful beyond measure; but the younger one was, as they say, as thick as two short planks. This caused great concern to his father, but none to him, for he passed his days on earth quite carefree and innocent, as fools live, and he might well have had in his head, without his knowing, the proverb: Johnny do not learn too much – you’d have too much to do. Whenever the father wanted something done, he always had to ask the elder one, Matthew, for the other one, Johnny, did everything wrong, smashing the oil-jug and the spirits bottle or taking an eternity. Matthew, on the other hand, made a good job of everything; he had only one fault – he was of a fearful nature, he got the shudders far too easily. When he walked past the graveyard in the evening, he got the shudders, and when he listened to a ghost story being told then sheer terror gave him such a gooseflesh that his arms looked like rasps, and he wailed, “Oh oh oh, I’m scared out of my wits.” But his brother, stupid Johnny, often laughed at him about this and said: “What, what? How can anyone get the shudders? I’d like to know that art, I’ve never been afraid in my life – I’d really like to learn how to shudder!”

“Do you look like someone who’d like to learn something?” the father scolded Johnny. “It’s certainly time for it, you’ve become a big, strong lubber – but this learning how to shudder, you jack-of-all-trades, that’s no good at all, it’s no skill, you can’t earn a grain of salt for your dear bread with that. And for that matter, do you actually know how to learn to shudder? What are the odds that you’re too stupid even for that?”

While the father and the brother were laughing at stupid Johnny, their neighbour, the verger and schoolmaster, came over to pay a visit, and hearing Johnny being ridiculed, he received the information that the knave wanted to learn how to shudder. “He can learn that wonderfully well at my home!” said the verger. “My schoolhouse is the most wretched shack of a dwelling in the whole village, all day long I’m afraid it will collapse over my head and strike all the promising urchins dead all at once. Hand Johnny over to me, I do after all have to teach knowledge to so many dunces, so I think you’ll agree I can teach him the meaning of fear!” The father assented to the proposal and Johnny followed the verger over into the rickety old schoolhouse. But he was not at all afraid; it mattered just as little to him that the house was threatened with imminent collapse as it mattered to the mayor and the honourable municipality.

Now the verger thought of another ploy that would invariably teach Johnny to feel fear. Bidding him ring the evening bell, he secretly slipped up into the belfry before him, and when Johnny had gone up the steps and grabbed the rope for the evening-bell, he heard a muffled moaning sound coming from the steps. When he looked around, a large white veiled figue was standing there, rigid and motionless. “Who are you? What do you want?” asked Johnny, without having felt the slightest twinge of fear. No answer. “I’m asking you who you are!” cried Johnny in a louder voice. No answer. “Have you no mouth, Snowman? One more time – what do you want?” No answer. – Quick as you please, our Johnny leaps at the figure with one bound, like Caspar at the Devil in the puppet-play, and – whoops! knocks it head over heels, for it had not bargained on such courage, and it rolls down a whole flight of stairs – and what kind of stairs? Stairs of so unique a kind as are only to be found in old village-church towers, worn down, rotten, narrow, full of centuries-old dust. Down below, the spectre lay moaning and groaning while Johnny rang for evening-prayer, swinging the bell-rope with vim and vigour as if nothing had happened; then he cheerfully climbed down the stairs and walked out of the tower, locking its door behind him. The vergeress had no idea where her husband had got to. “Well, where is he?” she asked Johnny. “Who?” Johnny asked. “He!” said the vergeress. “He went over to the tower before you, didn’t he?” – “I see!” said Johnny, “so he was it? There was a white apparition standing on the steps, and he wouldn’t speak or reply to me, so I pushed him down the stairs, he’ll still be lying at the bottom, groaning.” – “Gallows bird!” yelled the vergeress, and tearing the key from Johnny’s hand she ran to the tower, where her husband was lying in his bed-sheet, having broken a leg.

Now things did not fare at all well with Johnny: the vergeress lodged a complaint about him with his father, who became quite furious, shouting, “The boy’s a ne’er-do-well, he shall get out of my sight! Away, at the double! Here’s money – go, get yourself hanged wherever you want – never let me clap eyes on you again. You’ve brought us insults and infamy and injury, you good-for-nothing!”

“Go with God, Johnny,” Matthew mocked. “Just you take care to learn how to shudder – shuddering is said to be all the rage now, and the people in the outside world shudder at all kinds of things, so you’re sure to receive your share of the shudders too!”

Johnny left; he had money, and if you have money, you have all the less cause to feel fear. On the way he would say to himself, many a time and oft, “If only I could shudder, if only I could shudder!” This was heard by a man who was walking behind Johnny, and he said to him, “Look over there – there stands the three-legged mare with a pretty company hanging from it, seven of them to be exact, as one says: a gallows’ full. Bed down for the night there, under the seven, and you’ll learn how to shudder.”

“If that turns out to be true,” said Johnny, “then I’ll give you all my money tomorrow morning. You can come to me and collect it, or you could of course just as well stay with me!”

“I’d have to be a fool to stay with you under the gallows!” the man replied. “No, my good companion, fear is learnt much more effectively when you are alone than when you are with another. Good night! – I’ll see you again early tomorrow morning!” – Johnny sat down under the gallows, made himself – it being cold – a fire, which shone nice and brightly up to the hanged men, and the keen night-wind moved their limply hanging bodies back and forth, back and forth.

“Oh, poor devils that you are!” Johnny cried up to them. “Why, you’re freezing, that’s why you’re rattling and chattering. Just wait, and I’ll fetch you down, you shall warm yourselves at my fire.” And quick as you please, Johnny found a gallows-ladder, climbed up, untied the hanged men, and placed them by his fire, which he now made bigger and stronger. But they looked pitiful, green, yellow and wretched, black and blue, and ghastly, as the proverb says, and neither shifted nor stirred; the fire darted its tongues around and began to char the rags and tatters that hung around the corpses. “Now then!” said Johnny, “you’re letting your clothes burn! What they say is true of you: you really are as thick as thieves! Just wait – I’ll teach you to be so careless!” He took them, one after the other, and hung them back up, wrapped himself in his coat, stretched out by the fire, and fell asleep. Thus was he found by the man with whom he had walked on the previous day, and who now came to collect his money. But when he saw Johnny sleeping so peacefully, little hope arose in him that he had learned to feel fear overnight; and when Johnny awoke and told him what he had done, the man turned to go away, saying, “I haven’t earned your money this time, you’ll never learn the meaning of fear.”

Now as Johnny continued on his way, he said to himself, “It’s just a shame that I can’t learn what fear is, I suppose I must be too stupid to. All the same – if I could only shudder.”

This was heard by a carter who was walking along the same road, and he said to Johnny, “So, you don’t know what fear is? Then stop off at the inn by the road there, if you have money, that is; the innkeeper makes bills that will curdle your blood, and a shiver ran down my spine every time I had to stop at that inn.” – “We’ll see about that!” said Johnny, and thanking the carter, he strode towards that same inn.

“What’ll it be?” asked the innkeeper. “I’d like to learn how to shudder,” replied Johnny. “The people on the highroad say it’s easy to learn it here with you, you make such horrifying bills and wield such a horrifying stick of chalk!” – Just wait, you young whippersnapper! the innkeeper thought, I’ll teach you something all right that will make fear steal over you; and he said to Johnny, “My dear wanderer, you have received an untruthful report; the shudders can by no means be learnt in my inn, and I do not serve my guests in such a wise as some prankster has lyingly told you. If shuddering is your game, then go up to the old, cursed castle over yonder and see to it that you are given the King’s daughter for wife, she whom her father has promised to the man who frees the castle from its poltergeists; there you’ll have plenty chance to shudder and become rich.”

“I’ll do as you suggest,” said Johnny, and the innkeeper spoke again: “There’s more to it than your going up there. First you must ask the King for permission, and you must stay up there throughout three nights. If you escape with your life, then the Princess will be your wife.”

“And if I don’t escape with my life, what then?” asked Johnny – and the innkeeper laughed in his face and said, “I see all too clearly that you’re a smart aleck, I’m sure you would have invented gunpowder if it weren’t already invented!”

And Johnny went in haste to the King, asked for permission and received it, and the King said, “My son, you may take three things with you, but they must not be living things.” Now, from his early youth, Johnny had really liked to light fires and to sit at the shaving horse and now and then at the lathe, and he was a dab hand at such things. Therefore he desired to take with him to the castle nothing more than a good lighter, a shaving horse and a lathe, “so I don’t get cold,” he said, “and I can while away the time.” These were readily given to Johnny, and he took up residence in a handsome room in the old castle with a large fireplace. When night fell, Johnny lit a bright fire which warmed and glowed very nicely. Suddenly there appeared two coal-black cats, they had eyes like green fire, and they wailed: “Miaow, miaow, we’re cold!” – “Well, if you’re cold, come on up and warm yourselves; there’s a fire here!” said Johnny. And the cats did so, then they said, “time is hanging heavy on our paws, let us three play three-handed, Tippen or Poch.” – “Poch, for me,” said Johnny, “if you’ve brought cards with you.” The cats did indeed have a pack of cards, which they showed to Johnny, and so he noticed that they had fearful claws on their black paws, and he said, “If you’ll pardon my saying so, it’s a right long time since your good mother last cut your nails, you ought to be ashamed of yourselves, come here – I’ll trim them for you!” and he seized the cats and clamped their paws in the lathe. Then they bit at him, and so he took his wood-carving knife and cut their heads off, and he threw the cats’ heads and bodies out the window into the castle moat. When he returned to the fire, a large dog was sitting there, and it bared its teeth to him and had a fiery tongue hanging down the length of an arm from its throat. Johnny was not happy about this either; he took his wood-carving knife once again and thrust it right between the dog’s teeth into its maw, so the tongue fell to the ground and the upper head took its leave of the lower part. Now Johnny thought to have peace and intended to enjoy it; there was a bed in the corner, so he lay down in it and tucked himself up. But before he could fall asleep, the bed began to move like a steam locomotive and sailed all over the castle, upstairs, downstairs, through halls and rooms – but Johnny said, “Well, now I can feel what it’s like when the great lords travel. Just keep going on like this.” – Finally the bed may have grown weary of travelling; it rolled back into Johnny’s room, where the fire still blazed merrily, then it came to a stop, and Johnny fell asleep and slept as soundly as the dead.

On the next morning the King was standing by his bed, saying: “Now that’s what I call a sound sleep, I wish I could have that! No King sleeps so well. I’m pleased that the boy is still alive and snoring. Hey there! Johnny!” – “Top of the morning to you, Lord King! You’re here so early?” asked Johnny. “I trust that you slept well?” said the King. “Thank you, and the same to you!” replied Johnny. “You can have breakfast and lunch down at the inn on me, but in the evening you’ll be back up here, how about that?” the King said and asked. “Why, but of course,” said Johnny, “three nights it must be.”

When Johnny appeared before the innkeeper, the latter was quite amazed, and he exclaimed, “What? Still alive? – But you have learned how to shudder this last night, I should think?” – “No change!” replied Johnny. Then the innkeeper himself began to feel his flesh creep all over at the youth. Johnny had a high old time on the King’s tab without caring too much about it, and when evening came he was back up in the haunted castle and lighting himself a fire. Suddenly there was a clattering up in the chimney, as if everything was breaking into a thousand pieces, and then a fellow came shooting down – but there was only half of him. “Well!” said Johnny, “and what’s this meant to be? There’s a moiety missing – one and a half men isn’t company.” No sooner had Johnny said this than – wham! the other half followed, falling down into the middle of the fire. Johnny took the two halves, threw them out from the fireplace into the room, and put his fire in order. While he was busy with this, he looked round, and the two halves had become a single fellow, but no handsome one, who was sitting on Johnny’s chair.

“Make way there!” yelled Johnny. “I sit here, be off with you, or I’ll halve you with the carving-knife!”

Suddenly there was another crash in the chimney, and bones and skulls of dead men clattered down, followed by several more men of the most hideous appearance.

“Good evening, gentlemen!” said Johnny. “I see you are whole men, I’m glad of that. You belong to the Handsome family, perhaps? Oh, what a shame there’s no mirror hung up in this room. Now how might I actually be of service to you?” – The men threw dreadful looks at Johnny; one of them took the charnel bones – there were nine, all told – and set them up as skittles, then the others took the skulls and rolled them at the pins.

“I love playing ninepins!” said Johnny. “Won’t you allow me to play with you? Are you playing Kegel or Coffins? Playing for money? Well?”

“Do you have money?” the men asked grimly.

“Oui!” said Johnny, and he put his hand in his pocket and jingled.

“Well then, shove away!” one of the men shouted, handing him a skull.

“If you’ll pardon my saying so, that’s an angular ball. Give it here, I’ve a lathe ready, we’ll turn it nice and round so that we can strike all nine of them,” he said, and he sat down and turned the skull until it was round. Then the game began: Johnny bowled well, but the men bowled even better, so Johnny lost somewhat; and the game began again, Johnny bowled and cried out in joy, “All nine!” – “No, twelve!” cried the men in a muffled tone and disappeared with the bones and the skulls, and the old clock on the castle-tower struck twelve. “Well really!” cried Johnny. “What kind of way is that to behave? First they coax from me my little bit of money, and then when I bowl well, they do a moonlight flit!” Then he lay down in the bed, which stayed quite still today, and slept until late morning.

“It seems that he’s no longer in the land of the living,” said the King as he walked towards Johnny’s room, “I don’t hear him snoring like yesterday he must be a goner.” But Johnny very quickly roused himself and said, “I trust you slept well, Your Majesty?” “Thank you kindly, and the same to you!” replied the King. “How did it go last night?” – “Very nicely, thanks for the kind enquiry, Lord King!” Johnny replied. “There was a species of chimney-sweeps here, they came down the chimney and we bowled with dead men’s bones.” The King felt his skin crawl, and he said, “But that is really quite horrifying!” – “What is, Lord King?” asked Johnny. “That – just that!” replied the King. “Well, good luck for the third night!”

“It’s downright embarrassing that I can never learn how to shudder!” Johnny said to himself as the third night arrived. Suddenly there was a tremendous racket and six men entered the room carrying a coffin on a bier, laid it down before Johnny, and disappeared. Johnny thought, “Who can it be lying inside?” and opened the coffin. A man was lying inside; he was rigid and cold as ice. “Oh, he’s cold, he’s quite stiff with frost,” said Johnny, “I must warm him up!” and he lifted the corpse out of the coffin and carried it to his fire, but it remained cold. “He must go into the bed, he’s sure to get warm there” – and took it and laid it in the bed, and lay down beside it. After a while the dead man became warm and awoke and stretched and said, “Who told you to disturb my rest? Now you shall die!” – “Can’t that wait?” asked Johnny, and he quickly grabbed him, threw him into the coffin, then the lid on top, and swiftly screwed it shut. At once the six men came back, lifted up the coffin, and carried it away.

Soon afterwards a hideous giant with a great long beard walked in, shouting: “Worm! Now you must die! You must come with me!” – “I’m not going with you!” cried Johnny. “I’m in no rush to go; I still have things to do, as you see!” and he sat down at the lathe, and operated the wheel, and turned the spindle, and held the chisel to the wood. The giant bent down over the wheel to lay hands on Johnny. But all of a sudden he yelled out, “Ow! Ow! My beard, my beard!” The end of his beard had got caught in the catgut which helped to turn the wheel, and the rapid speed of the turning had wound it fast, and it was now pulling the whole head after it, and Johnny stepped on the pedal with a will, saying: “Fellow, take heed, now I’ll turn your big nose off, and turn your eyes out, and turn your fat head into a bowling-ball, as sure as my name is Johnny!” Then the giant gave the fairest words – if Johnny would let him go then he would show him the three chests filled with gold, one meant for the King, the second for the poor, while the third one would be his to keep. “Okay then,” said Johnny, “hand the thing over, but until I have it you’ll stay clamped in the stocks and carry the lathe on your shoulders.” That was a very uncomfortable porterage, the lathe on his shoulders and his beard interwoven in the wheel, which tugged as he walked. The giant now led the way into another room and showed Johnny the chests full of gold. Meanwhile it struck twelve and he disappeared, and the lathe stood without a bearer. It seemed to Johnny that the chests were also making a move to disappear, so he cried, “Stop, stop!” and grabbed them and held them tight and dragged them over into his room, whereupon he lay down to sleep, again without fear.

The next morning, the King came and asked, “Well, last night you were most certainly terrified, were you not?”

“How come, Lord King?” asked Johnny. “I’ve been made a present of a chest full of gold, with one for you and one for the poor. Must it give one the shudders to be presented with gold?”

“You have accomplished great things!” said the King. “Through your fearlessness, you have freed the castle from the poltergeists and forced the enchanted treasure out into the light of day. You shall have your reward, and marry my daughter!”

“Much obliged, Lord King!” said Johnny. “However, it’s a shame that I’m to get married but I’m still so stupid that I still haven’t learned how to shudder.”

“Oh, my dear son and son-in-law!” replied the King. “Just you get married, and everything will sort itself out. Many a man has not known how to, then he got married, learned to shudder from sheer terror, and could never get rid of his gooseflesh again.” “I have that happy expectation, Lord King!” Johnny cheerfully exclaimed.

Soon there was a splendid wedding; Johnny was very happy, very rich, and had a wondrously beautiful wife, yet he said: “Don’t know how much longer I’ll have to wait until I learn how to shudder.”

“Just you wait, Johnny! You’ll learn to shudder yet, mark my words,” the young Queen, Johnny’s wife, said to herself; and she ordered a bucket full of small gudgeons and minnows to be brought her, and while Johnny was sleeping she lifted the blankets off him and poured the bucket full of water and little fishes over him. “Brr!” he started up, chattering with cold. “I dreamed I had fallen into the fishpond – Brr! I’m shuddering, I’m shuddering! I have gooseflesh like a rasp! Do you see, dear wife? Now, finally – now I know the shudders, now I know the shudders.”

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[1] hell: “a place into which a tailor throws his shreds” (Webster’s 1828 dictionary). Samuel Butler, in his Hudibras (1663-78), gives a more cynical definition: “taylors call that place hell, where they put all they steal” (note to Canto I, Part I, l.476).

[2] “Heumond” – July.

[3] “zu Haut und Haar” – this expression comes from medieval law and relates to minor offences (e.g. adultery and blasphemy) which would be punished by flogging in the pillory, whereas “zu Hals und Hand” (lit. “to neck and hand”) referred to major offences such as murder and theft and involved the execution or mutilation of the criminal.

[4] “Washy or turbid or otherwise inferior beer” – Concise OED.

[5] This song first appeared in 1776. Gustav Mahler gave the name of this house to the hut in Steinbach where he composed in the mid-1890s.

[6] “An empty cellar makes an angry butler.” The proverb is Danish; the German original has “Schmalhans” (Gaunt Jack/ Skinny Johnny) living in the kitchen and cellar, a reference to the expression, “Bei uns ist Schmalhans Küchenmeister” (Gaunt Jack is our chef = we are on short commons, our cupboards are bare, we are dining with Duke Humphrey).

[7] This confuses Emperor Frederick I Barbarossa (r.1155-1190), whom legend had asleep in a cave under the Kyffhäuser Mountain, ready to awake when the Holy Roman Empire needed him, with Emperor Frederick II (r.1212-1250), who defeated the Second Lombard League (including the Milanese) at the Battle of Cortenuova in 1237.

[8] Bechstein here misreads his source: “es ist wol fail / koffent der selben noch me / e der marckt zerge, giving “Eh der Markt aus ist, gibt es noch mehr selben Koffents zu kaufen” (“Before the market closes, there is more of that small beer up for sale.” As this does not really make sense, I translated the original.

[9] In the medieval German epic poem Das Nibelungenlied, Kriemhild was the wife of Siegried the Dragon-Slayer who betrayed him to his death. Her name became synonymous with “she-devil.”

[10] This was a 22-foot wooden crucifix in the minster in Schaffhausen, Switzerland. It was burnt as an idol in 1529.

[11] The German has “Kind” (“child”), clearly a misprint for “Rind” (“cow”) but one that was never corrected. It spoils the progression: pig-cow-child.

[12] Luke 2:14.

[13] To Anglicans, the Fourth Commandment: hence Benjamin Thorpe’s alteration in his 1853 translation in Yule-Tide Stories.

[14] Luke 1:52, from the ‘Magnificat’, the Hymn of the Virgin Mary.

[15] Genesis 3:19.

[16] A pun on “flöten” which means “to play the flute” and also has the sense, with the verb “gehen” (“go”), of “to fleet away, to get lost, to vanish.” The closest English equivalent of “Der ist flöten gegangen” is “He has gone for a burton.”

[17] There was an ancient folk belief that stones grow.

[18] One florin was often equivalent to 15 batz; one batz was 4 kreuzer; one kreuzer was 4 pfennig.

[19] 2 Peter 3:8.

[20] Proverbs 26:27.

[21] “it has been notorious from all time, that the wolf will fly from the hunter, that has anointed himself with lion’s tallow.” -John de Lancaster, a novel by Richard Cumberland, Vol. I p.72 (1809).

[22] Wolf’s-foot is used to translate “Wolfsbast” which is actually spurge laurel; Wolfsbeere is herb Paris; Wolfsmilch is spurge; and wolfswort is also known as wolfsbane or aconite. All are poisonous except Wolf’s-foot, which is explosive.

[23] The German word is “Springwurzel,” which is Spurge, or Touch-Me-Not. It was believed to open all doors and locks for treasure-seekers. In England, Moonwort was believed to have a similar magical property.