Grimm's Fairy Tales

At last, the turn came to Simpleton, who sought in the moss. But it was so hard to find the pearls, and he got on so slowly, that he seated himself on a stone, and wept. And while he was thus sitting, the King of the Ants, whose life he had once saved, came with five thousand ants, and before long the little creatures had got all the pearls together, and laid them in a heap.

The second task was to fetch out of the lake the key of the King’s Daughter’s bedchamber. When Simpleton came to the lake, the ducks which he had saved, swam up to him, dived down, and brought the key out of the water.

But the third task was the most difficult. From amongst the three sleeping daughters of the King, the youngest and dearest was to be sought out. They resembled each other exactly, and were only to be distinguished by their having eaten different sweetmeats before they fell asleep: the eldest a bit of sugar; the second a little syrup; and the youngest a spoonful of honey.

Then the Queen of the Bees, which Simpleton had protected from the fire, came and tasted the lips of all three. At last she remained sitting on the mouth which had eaten honey; and thus the King’s Son recognized the right Princess.

Then the enchantment was at an end. Everything was released from sleep, and those who had been turned to stone received once more their natural forms. Simpleton married the youngest and sweetest Princess, and after her father’s death became King, while his two brothers received the two other sisters.

BIRD-FOUND

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

He followed the sound, and at last came to a high tree. In the top of it a little child was sitting. His mother had fallen asleep under the tree with the child, and a bird of prey had seen him in her arms, flown down, and snatched him away, and set him on the high tree.

The forester climbed the tree, and brought the child down. And he thought to himself, “I will take him home, and bring him up with my Lina.”

He took him home, and the two children grew up together. The one he had found in a tree, he called Bird-Found, because a bird had carried it away.

Bird-Found and Lina loved each other so dearly, that when they did not see each other they were sad.

The forester, however, had an old cook, who one evening took two pails and began to fetch water, and did not go once only, but many times, out to the spring.

Lina saw this and said, “Hark you, old Sanna, why are you fetching so much water?”

Then the cook said, “Early to-morrow morning, when the forester is out hunting, I will heat the water. When it is boiling in the kettle, I will throw in Bird-Found, and will boil him in it.” Betimes next morning, the forester got up and went out hunting, and when he was gone the children were still in bed. Then Lina said to Bird-Found, “If you will never leave me, I will never leave you.”

Bird-Found said, “Neither now, nor ever, will I leave you.”

Then said Lina, “I will tell you. Last night, old Sanna carried so many buckets of water into the house that I asked her why she was doing so. She said that early to-morrow morning, when Father was out hunting, she would set on the kettle full of water, throw you into it and boil you. But we will get up quickly, dress ourselves, and go away together.”

The two children, therefore, got up, dressed themselves quickly, and went away. When the water in the kettle was boiling, the cook came into the bedroom to fetch Bird-Found and throw him into it. But when she came in, and went to the beds, both the children were gone. Then she was terribly frightened, and she said to herself, “What shall I say now when the forester comes home and sees that the children are gone? They must be followed instantly and brought back.”

Then the cook sent three servants after them, who were to run and overtake the children.

The children, however, were sitting outside the forest, and when they saw from afar the three servants running, Lina said to Bird-Found, “Never leave me, and I will never leave you.”

Bird-Found said, “Neither now, nor ever.”

Then said Lina, “Do you become a rose-tree, and I the rose upon it.”

When the three servants came to the forest, nothing was there but a rose-tree and one rose on it; the children were nowhere. Said they, “There is nothing to be done here,” and they went home and told the cook that they had seen nothing in the forest but a little rose-bush with one rose on it.

Then the old cook scolded and said, “You simpletons, you should have cut the rose-bush in two, and have broken off the rose and brought it home with you. Go, and do it at once.”

They had therefore to go out and look for the second time. The children, however, saw them coming from a distance.

Then Lina said, “Bird-Found, never leave me, and I will never leave you.”

Bird-Found said, “Neither now, nor ever.”

Said Lina, “Then do you become a church, and I’ll be the chandelier in it.”

So when the three servants came, nothing was there but a church, with a chandelier in it. They said therefore to each other, “What can we do here? Let us go home.” When they got home, the cook asked if they had not found them. They said no, they had found nothing but a church, and that there was a chandelier in it.

The cook scolded them and said, “You fools! Why did you not pull the church to pieces, and bring the chandelier home with you?”

And now the old cook herself got on her legs, and went, with the three servants, in pursuit of the children. The children saw from afar that the three servants were coming, and the cook waddling after them.

Then said Lina, “Bird-Found, never leave me, and I will never leave you.”

Then said Bird-Found, “Neither now, nor ever.”

Said Lina, “Be a fishpond, and I will be the duck upon it.”

The cook, however, came up to them, and when she saw the pond she lay down by it, and was about to drink it up, when she fell into the water, and there the old Witch had to drown. Then the children went home together, and were heartily delighted, and if they are not dead, they are living still.

THE GOLDEN GOOSE

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

It happened, that the eldest wanted to go into the forest to hew wood. Before he went his mother gave him a beautiful sweet cake and a bottle of wine, that he might not suffer from hunger or thirst.

When he entered the forest, there met him a little old Gray Man who bade him good-day, and said, “Do give me a piece of cake out of your pocket, and let me have a draught of your wine. I am so hungry and thirsty.”

But the prudent youth answered, “If I give you my cake and wine, I shall have none for myself. Be off with you,” and he left the Little Man standing and went on.

But when he began to hew down a tree, it was not long before he made a false stroke, and the axe cut him in the arm. So he had to go home and have it bound up. And this was the little Gray Man’s doing.

After this, the second son went into the forest, and his mother gave him, like the eldest, a cake and a bottle of wine. The little old Gray Man met him likewise, and asked him for a piece of cake and a drink of wine. But the second son, too, said with much reason, “What I give you will be taken away from myself. Be off!” and he left the Little Man standing and went on.

His punishment, however, was not delayed. When he had made a few strokes at the tree, he struck himself in the leg. So he had to be carried home.

Then Dunderhead said, “Father, do let me go and cut wood.”

The father answered, “Your brothers have hurt themselves doing so. Leave it alone. You do not understand anything about it.”

But Dunderhead begged so long that at last he said, “Go then. You will get wiser by hurting yourself.”

His mother gave him a cake made with water and baked in the cinders, and with it a bottle of sour beer.

When he came to the forest the little old Gray Man met him likewise, and greeting him said, “Give me a piece of your cake and a drink out of your bottle. I am so hungry and thirsty.”

Dunderhead answered, “I have only cinder-cake and sour beer. If that pleases you, we will sit down and eat.”

So they sat down, and when Dunderhead pulled out his cinder-cake, it was a fine sweet cake, and the sour beer had become good wine.

So they ate and drank, and after that the Little Man said, “Since you have a good heart, and are willing to divide what you have, I will give you good luck. There stands an old tree. Cut it down, and you will find something at the roots.”

Then the old man took leave of him.

Dunderhead went and cut down the tree; and when it fell there was a Goose sitting in the roots, with feathers of pure gold. He lifted her up, and taking her with him, went to an inn, where he thought he would stay the night. Now the host had three daughters, who saw the Goose and were curious to know what such a wonderful bird might be. And each wanted one of its feathers.

The eldest thought, “I shall soon find an opportunity of pulling out a feather,” and when Dunderhead was gone out, she seized the Goose by the wing. But her finger and hand remained sticking fast to it.

The second came in soon afterward, thinking only of how she might get a feather for herself, but she had scarcely touched her sister than she was held fast.

At last, the third came with the like intent, and the others screamed out, “Keep away! For goodness’ sake keep away!”

But she did not understand why she was to keep away. “The others are there,” she thought, “I may as well be there too,” and ran to them. But as soon as she had touched her sister, she remained sticking fast to her. So they had to spend the night with the Goose.

The next morning, Dunderhead took the Goose under his arm and set out, without troubling himself about the three girls who were hanging on to it. They were obliged to run after him, now left, now right, just as he was inclined to go.

In the middle of the fields, the parson met them, and when he saw the procession he said, “For shame, you good-for-nothing girls! Why are you running across the fields after this young man? Is that seemly?” At the same time he seized the youngest by the hand in order to pull her away. But as soon as he touched her, he likewise stuck fast, and was obliged to run behind. Before long, the sexton came by and saw his master, the parson, running on foot behind three girls. He was astonished at this, and called out, “Hi! your Reverence! Whither away so quickly? Do not forget that we have a christening to-day!” and running after him he took him by the sleeve, but was also held fast.

While the five were trotting thus one behind the other, two laborers came with their hoes from the fields. The parson called out to them and begged that they would set him and the sexton free. But they had scarcely touched the sexton, when they were held fast. And now there were seven of them running behind Dunderhead and the Goose.

Soon afterward, he came to a city, where a King ruled who had a daughter who was so serious that no one could make her laugh. So he had put forth a decree that whosoever should make her laugh should marry her. When Dunderhead heard this, he went with his Goose and all her train before the King’s Daughter.

As soon as she saw the seven people running on and on, one behind the other, she began to laugh very loudly as if she would never leave off. Thereupon Dunderhead asked to have her for his wife, and the wedding was celebrated.

After the King’s death, Dunderhead inherited the Kingdom, and lived a long time contentedly with his wife.

MOTHER HOLLE

There was once a widow who had two daughters, one of whom was beautiful and industrious, whilst the other was ugly and lazy. But she was much fonder of the ugly and lazy one. Every day, the other, poor girl, had to sit by a well in the highway, and spin, spin till her fingers bled. Now it happened, one day, that the shuttle was stained with her blood. She dipped it in the well to wash the stains off, and it dropped out of her hand and fell to the bottom. She began to weep, and ran to the woman, and told her of the mishap.

She scolded her hard, and was so cruel as to say, “Since you have let the shuttle fall in, you must fetch it out again.”

So the girl went back to the well, and did not know what to do. Then in the anguish of her heart, she jumped into the well to get the shuttle. She lost her senses. But when she awoke and came to herself, she was in a lovely meadow, where the sun was shining and thousands of flowers were growing.

Along this meadow she went, and at length came to a baker’s oven full of bread. And the bread cried:

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

So she went up to it, and, with the bread shovel, took out all the loaves one after the other.

After that, she went on till she came to a tree covered with apples, and it called to her:

“Oh, shake me! Shake me!We apples are all ripe!”

So she shook the tree till the apples fell like rain, and went on shaking till they were all down. And when she had gathered them into a heap, she went on her way.

At last, she came to a little house out of which an Old Woman was peeping. She had such large teeth that the girl was frightened, and was about to run away.

But the Old Woman called out to her, “What are you afraid of, my Child? Stay with me. If you will do the work in my house carefully, you shall be the better for it! Only you must take care to make my bed well, and to shake it thoroughly till the feathers fly – for then it snows on earth. I am Mother Holle.”

As the Old Woman spoke so kindly to her, the girl took heart, and willingly entered her service. She did everything to the Old Woman’s satisfaction, and always shook her bed so hard that the feathers flew about like snowflakes. So she lived happily with her, never an angry word, and boiled or roasted meat every day.

She stayed some time with Mother Holle, then she grew sad. At first she did not know what was the matter with her, but, by and by, she found that it was homesickness. Although she was many thousand times better off here than at home, still she had a longing to be there.

At last, she said to the Old Woman, “I am longing for home. However well off I am down here, I cannot stay any longer. I must go up again to my own people.”

Mother Holle said, “I am pleased that you long for your home again. You have served me so faithfully, that I myself will take you up again.”

Thereupon she took her by the hand, and led her to a large door. The door was opened, and just as the girl was standing beneath the doorway, a heavy shower of Gold-Rain fell, and all the gold stuck to her so that she was covered with it.

“You shall have that because you are so industrious,” said Mother Holle. And at the same time, she gave her back the shuttle which she had let fall into the well.

Thereupon the door closed, and the girl found herself again upon the earth, not far from her mother’s house.

As she went into the yard, the cock was standing by the well, and cried:

“Cock-a-doodle-doo!Your Golden Girl’s came back to you!”

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

The girl told all that had happened to her. As soon as the mother heard how she had come by such great riches, she was anxious for the same good fortune to befall her ugly and lazy daughter. She had to seat herself by the well and spin. And in order that her shuttle might be stained with blood, she stuck her hand into a thorn-bush, and pricked her finger. Then she threw her shuttle into the well, and jumped in after it.

She came like the other to the beautiful meadow, and walked along the very same path. When she got to the oven, the bread cried again:

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

But the lazy thing answered, “As if I wanted to soil myself!” and on she went.

Soon she came to the apple-tree, which cried:

“Oh, shake me! Shake me!We apples are all ripe!”

But she answered, “I like that! One of you might fall on my head!” and on she went.

When she came to Mother Holle’s house, she was not afraid, for she had already heard about her big teeth. She hired herself out immediately.

The first day, she made herself work diligently, and obeyed Mother Holle, when she told her to do anything, for she was thinking of all the gold that she would give her.

But on the second day, she began to be lazy, and on the third day stall more so, for then she would not get up in the morning. Neither did she make Mother Holle’s bed carefully, nor shake it so as to make the feathers fly up.

Mother Holle was soon tired of this, and gave her notice to leave. The lazy girl was willing to go, and thought that now the Gold-Rain would come. Mother Holle led her to the great doorway. But while she was standing under it, instead of gold, a big kettleful of pitch was emptied over her.

“That is the reward of your service,” said Mother Holle, and shut the door.

So the lazy girl went home. She was covered with pitch, and the cock by the well, as soon as he saw her, cried out:

“Cock-a-doodle-doo!Your Pitchy Girl’s come back to you!”

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

THE TWO TRAVELERS

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

The tailor was a handsome little fellow who was always merry and full of enjoyment. He saw the shoemaker coming toward him from the other side, and as he observed by his bag what kind of a trade he plied, he sang a little mocking song to him:

Sew me the seam,Draw me the thread,Spread it with pitch,Knock the nail on the head.

The shoemaker, however, could not endure a joke. He pulled a face as if he had drunk vinegar, and made a gesture as if he were about to seize the tailor by the throat.

But the little fellow began to laugh, reached him his bottle, and said, “No harm was meant, take a drink, and swallow your anger down.”

The shoemaker took a very hearty drink, and the storm on his face began to clear away.

He gave the bottle back to the tailor, and said, “I spoke civilly to you. One speaks well after much drinking, but not after much thirst. Shall we travel together?”

“All right,” answered the tailor, “if only it suits you to go into a big town where there is no lack of work.”

“That is just where I want to go,” answered the shoemaker. “In a small nest there is nothing to earn; and in the country, people like to go barefoot.”

They traveled therefore onward together, and always set one foot before the other like a weazel in the snow.

Both of them had time enough, but little to bite and to break. When they reached a town, they went about and paid their respects to the tradesmen.

Because the tailor looked so lively and merry, and had such pretty red cheeks, every one gave him work willingly. And when luck was good, the master’s daughters gave him a kiss beneath the porch, as well. When he again fell in with the shoemaker, the tailor had always the most in his bundle.

The ill-tempered shoemaker made a wry face, and thought, “The greater the rascal the more the luck.”

But the tailor began to laugh and to sing, and shared all he got with his comrade. If a couple of pence jingled in his pockets, he ordered good cheer, and thumped the table in his joy till the glasses danced, and it was lightly come, lightly go, with him.

When they had traveled for some time, they came to a great forest through which passed the road to the capital. Two foot-paths, however, led through it, one of them a seven days’ journey, and the other only two. But neither of the travelers knew which way was the short one.

They seated themselves beneath an oak-tree, and took counsel together as to what they should do and for how many days they should provide themselves with bread.

The shoemaker said, “One must look before one leaps. I will take with me bread for a week.”

“What!” said the tailor, “drag bread for seven days on one’s back like a beast of burden, and not be able to look about. I shall trust in God, and not trouble myself about anything! The money I have in my pocket is as good in summer as in winter; but in hot weather bread gets dry and mouldy into the bargain. Even my coat does not go as far as it might. Besides, why should we not find the right way? Bread for two days, and that’s enough.”

Each, therefore, bought his own bread. And then they tried their luck in the forest.

It was as quiet there as in a church. No wind stirred, no brook murmured, no bird sang, and through the thickly-leaved branches, no sunbeam forced its way.

The shoemaker spoke never a word, the heavy bread weighed down his back until the perspiration streamed down his cross and gloomy face.

The tailor, however, was quite merry; he jumped about, whistled on a leaf, or sang a song, and thought to himself, “God in Heaven must be pleased to see me so happy.”

This lasted two days, but on the third the forest would not come to an end, and the tailor had eaten up all his bread, so after all his heart sank down a yard deeper. In the meantime, he did not lose courage, but relied on God and on his luck.

On the third day, he lay down in the evening hungry under a tree, and rose again next morning hungry still.

So also passed the fourth day, and when the shoemaker seated himself on a fallen tree and devoured his dinner, the tailor was only a looker-on.

If he begged for a little piece of bread the other laughed mockingly, and said, “You have always been so merry, now you can try for once what it is to be sad. The birds which sing too early in the morning, are struck by the hawk in the evening,” in short he was pitiless.

But on the fifth morning, the poor tailor could no longer stand up, and was hardly able to utter one word for weakness. His cheeks were white, and his eyes red.

Then the shoemaker said to him, “I will give you a bit of bread to-day, but in return for it, I will put out your right eye.”

The unhappy tailor, who still wished to save his life, could not do it in any other way. He wept once more with both eyes, and then held them out. The shoemaker, who had a heart of stone, put out his right eye with a sharp knife.

The tailor called to remembrance what his mother had formerly said to him when he had been eating secretly in the pantry, “Eat what one can, and suffer what one must.”

When he had consumed his dearly-bought bread, he got on his legs again, forgot his misery and comforted himself with the thought that he could always see enough with one eye.

But on the sixth day, hunger made itself felt again, and gnawed him almost to the heart. In the evening he fell down by a tree, and on the seventh morning he could not raise himself up for faintness, and death was close at hand.

Then said the shoemaker, “I will show mercy and give you bread once more, but you shall not have it for nothing. I shall put out your other eye for it.”

And now the tailor felt how thoughtless his life had been, prayed to God for forgiveness, and said, “Do what you will, I will bear what I must, but remember that our Lord God does not always look on passively, and that an hour will come when the evil deed, which you have done to me and which I have not deserved of you, will be requited. When times were good with me, I shared what I had with you. My trade is of that kind that each stitch must always be exactly like the other. If I no longer have my eyes and can sew no more, I must go a-begging. At any rate, do not leave me here alone when I am blind, or I shall die of hunger.”

The shoemaker, however, who had driven God out of his heart, took the knife and put out his left eye. Then he gave him a bit of bread to eat, held out a stick to him, and drew him on behind him.

When the sun went down, they got out of the forest, and before them in the open country stood the gallows. Thither the shoemaker guided the blind tailor, and then left him alone and went his way.

Weariness, pain, and hunger made the wretched man fall asleep, and he slept the whole night. When day dawned he awoke, but knew not where he lay.