by Jacob Grimm
‘You may spare your lamentations; they will do you no good,’ said the old Woman.
Early in the morning Grethel had to go out to fill the kettle with water, and then she had to kindle a fire and hang the kettle over it.
‘We will bake first,’ said the old Witch. ‘I have heated the oven and kneaded the dough.’
She pushed poor Grethel towards the oven, and said: ‘Creep in and see if it is properly heated, and then we will put the bread in.’
She meant, when Grethel had got in, to shut the door and roast her.
But Grethel saw her intention, and said: ‘I don’t know how to get in. How am I to manage it?’
‘Stupid goose!’ cried the Witch. ‘The opening is big enough; you can see that I could get into it myself.’
She hobbled up, and stuck her head into the oven. But Grethel gave her a push which sent the Witch right in, and then she banged the door and bolted it.
‘Oh! oh!’ she began to howl horribly. But Grethel ran away and left the wicked Witch to perish, miserably.
Grethel ran as fast as she could to the stable. She opened the door, and cried; ‘Hansel, we are saved. The old Witch is dead.’
‘Stupid goose!’ cried the Witch, ‘The opening is big enough; you can see that I could get into it myself.’
Hansel sprang out, like a bird out of a cage when the door is set open. How delighted they were. They fell upon each other’s necks, and kissed each other, and danced about for joy.
As they had nothing more to fear, they went into the Witch’s house, and they found chests in every corner full of pearls and precious stones.
‘These are better than pebbles,’ said Hansel, as he filled his pockets.
Grethel said: ‘I must take something home with me too.’ And she filled, her apron.
‘But now we must go,’ said Hansel, ‘so that we may get out of this enchanted wood.’
Before they had gone very far, they came to a great piece of water.
‘We can’t get across it,’ said Hansel; ‘I see no stepping-stones and no bridge.’
‘And there are no boats either,’ answered Grethel. ‘But there is a duck swimming, it will help us over if we ask it.’
So she cried—
‘Little cluck, that cries quack, quack,
Here Grethel and here Hansel stand.
Quickly, take us on your back.
No path nor bridge is there at hand!’
The duck came swimming towards them, and Hansel, got on its back, and told his sister to sit on his knee.
‘No,’ answered Grethel, ‘it will be too heavy for the duck; it must take us over one alter the other.’
The good creature did this, and when they had got safely over and walked for a while, the wood seemed to grow more and more familiar to them, and at last they saw their Father’s cottage in the distance. They began to run, and rushed inside, where they threw their arms round their Father’s neck. The Man had not had a single happy moment since he had deserted his children in the wood, and in the meantime his Wife was dead.
Grethel shook her apron and scattered the pearls and precious stones all over the floor, and Hansel added handful after handful out of his pockets.
So all their troubles came to an end, and they lived together as happily as possible.
Hans in Luck
Hans had served his master for seven years, when he one day said to him: ‘Master, my time is up, I want to go home to my mother; please give me my wages.’
His master answered, ‘You have served me well and faithfully, and as the service has been, so shall the wages be’; and he gave him a lump of gold as big as his head.
Hans took out his pocket-handkerchief and tied up the gold in it, and then slung the bundle over his shoulder, and started on his homeward journey.
As he walked along, just dragging one foot after the other, a man on horseback appeared, riding, fresh and gay, along on. his spirited horse.
‘Ah!’ said Hans, quite loud as he passed, ‘what a fine thing riding must be. You are as comfortable as if you were in an easy-chair; you don’t stumble over any stones; you save your shoes, and you get over the road you needn’t bother how.’
The horseman, who heard him, stopped and said, ‘Hullo, Hans, why are you on foot?’
‘I can’t help myself,’ said Hans, ‘as I have this bundle to carry home. It is true that it is a lump of gold, but I can hardly hold my head up for it, and it weighs down my shoulder frightfully.’
‘I’ll tell you what,’ said the horseman, ‘we will change. I will give you my horse, and you shall give me your bundle,’
‘With all my heart,’ said Hans; ‘but you will be rarely burdened with it.’
The horseman dismounted, took the gold, and helped Hans up, put the bridle into his hands, and said: ‘When yon want to go very fast, you. must click your tongue and cry “Gee-up, Gee-up.” ’
Hans was delighted when he found himself so easily riding along on horseback. After a time it occurred, to him that he might be going faster, and he began to click with his tongue, and to cry ‘Gee-up, Gee-up,’ The horse broke into a gallop, and before Hans knew where he was, he was thrown off into a ditch which separated, the fields from the high road. The horse would have run away if a peasant coming along the road leading a cow had not caught it. Hans felt himself all over, and picked himself up; but he was very angry, and said to the peasant: ‘Riding is poor fun at times, when you have a nag like mine, which stumbles and throws you, and puts you in danger of breaking your neck. I will never mount it again. I think much more of that cow of yours. You can walk comfortably behind her, and you have her milk into the bargain every day, as well as butter and cheese. What would I not give for a cow like that!’
‘Well,’ said the peasant, ‘if you have such a fancy for it as all that, I will exchange the cow for the horse.’
Hans accepted the offer with delight, and the peasant mounted the horse and rode rapidly off.
Hans drove his cow peacefully on, and thought what a lucky bargain he had made. ‘If only I have a bit of bread, and I don’t expect ever to be without that, I shall always have butter and cheese to eat with it. If I am thirsty, I only have to milk my cow and I have milk to drink. My heart! what more can you desire?’
When, he came to an inn he made a halt, and in great joy he ate up all the food he had with him, all his dinner and his supper too, and he gave the last coins he had for half a glass of beer. Then he went on further in the direction of his mother’s village, driving his cow before him. The heat was overpowering, and, as midday drew near, Hans found himself on a heath which it took him an hour to cross. He was so hot and thirsty, that his tongue was parched and clung to the roof of his mouth.
‘This can easily be set to rights,’ thought Hans. ‘I will milk my cow and sup up the milk.’ He tied her to a tree, and as he had no pail, he used his leather cap instead; but, try as hard as he liked, not a single drop of milk appeared. As he was very clumsy in his attempts, the impatient animal gave him a severe kick on his forehead with one of her hind legs. He was stunned by the blow, and fell to the ground, where he lay for some time, not knowing where he was.
Happily just then a butcher came along the road, trundling a young pig in a wheel-barrow.
‘What is going on here?’ he cried, as he helped poor Hans up.
Hans told him all that had happened.
The butcher handed him his flask, and said: ‘Here, take a drink, it will do you good. The cow can’t give any milk I suppose; she must be too old, and good for nothing but to be a beast of burden, or to go to the butcher.’
‘Oh dear!,’ said Hans, smoothing his hair. ‘Now who would ever have thought it! Killing the animal is all very well, but what kind of meat will it be? For my part, I don’t like cow’s flesh; it’s not juicy enough. Now, if one had a nice young pig like that, it would taste ever so much better; and then, all the sausages!’
‘Listen, Hans!’ then said the butcher, ‘for your sake I will
exchange, and let you have the pig instead of the cow.’
‘God reward your friendship!’ said Hans, handing over the cow, as the butcher untied the pig, and put the halter with which it was tied into his hand.
Hans went on his way, thinking how well everything was turning out for him. Even if a mishap befell him, something else immediately happened to make up for it. Soon after this, he met a lad carrying a beautiful white goose under his arm. They passed the time of day, and Hans began to tell him how lucky he was, and what successful bargains he had made. The lad told him that he was taking the goose for a christening feast. ‘Just feel it,’ he went on, holding it up by the wings. ‘Feel how heavy it is; it’s true they have been shilling it for eight weeks. Whoever eats that roast goose will have to wipe the fat off both sides of his mouth.’
Just then a butcher came along tie road, trundling a young pig in a wheel-barrow.
‘Yes, indeed!’ answered Hans, weighing it in his hand; ‘but my pig is no light weight either.’
Then the lad looked cautiously about from side to side, and shook his head, ‘Now, look here,’ he began, ‘I don’t think it’s all quite straight about your pig. One has just been stolen out of Schultze’s sty, in the village I have come from. I fear, I fear it is the one you are leading. They have sent people out to look for it, and it would be a bad business for you if you were found with it; the least they would do, would be to put you in the black hole.’
Poor Hans was very much frightened at this. ‘Oh, dear! oh dear!’ he said. ‘Do help me out of this trouble. You are more at home here; take my pig, and let me have your goose.’
‘Well, I shall run some risk if I do, but I won’t be the means of getting you into a scrape.’
So he took the rope in his hand, and quickly drove the pig up a side road; and honest Hans, relieved of his trouble, plodded on with the goose under his arm.
‘When I really come to think it over,’ he said to himself, ‘I have still had the best of the bargain. First, there is the delicious roast goose, and then all the fat that will drip out of it in roasting, will keep us in goose-fat to eat on our bread for three months at least; and, last of all, there are the beautiful white feathers which I will stuff, my pillow with, and then I shall need no rocking to send me to sleep. How delighted my mother will be.’
As he passed through, the last village he came to a knife-grinder with his cart, singing to his wheel as it buzzed merrily round—
‘Scissors and knives I grind so fast,
And hang up my cloak against the blast.’
Hans stopped to look at him, and at last he spoke to him and said, ‘You must be doing a good trade to be so merry over your grinding.’
‘Yes,’ answered the grinder. ‘The work of one’s hands is the foundation of a golden fortune. A good grinder finds money whenever he puts his hand into his pocket. But where did you buy that beautiful goose?’
‘I did not buy it; I exchanged my pig for it.’
‘And the pig?’
‘Oh, I got that instead of my cow.’
‘And the cow?’
‘I got that for a horse.’
‘And the horse?’
‘I gave a lump of gold as big as my head for it.’
‘And the gold?’
‘Oh, that was my wages for seven years’ service.’
‘You certainly have known how to manage your affairs,’ said the grinder. ‘Now, if you could manage to hear the money jingling in your pockets when you got up in the morning, you would indeed, have made your fortune.’
‘How shall I set about that?’ asked Hans.
‘You must be a grinder like me—nothing is needed for it but a whetstone; everything else will come of itself. I have one here which certainly is a little damaged, but you need not give me anything for it but your goose. Are you willing?’
‘How can you ask me such a question?’ said Hans. ‘Why, I shall be the happiest person in the world. If I can have some money every time I put my hand in my pocket, what more should I have to trouble about?’
So he handed him the goose, and took the whetstone in exchange.
‘Now, said the grinder, lifting up an ordinary large stone which lay near on the road, ‘here is another good stone into the bargain. You can hammer out all your old nails on it to straighten them. Take it, and carry it off.’
Hans shouldered the stone, and went on his way with a light heart, and his eyes shining with joy. ‘I must have been born in a lucky hour,’ he cried; ‘everything happens just as I want it, and as it would happen to a Sunday’s child.’
In the meantime, as he had been on foot since daybreak, he began to feel very tired, and he was also very hungry, as he had eaten all his provisions at once in his joy at his bargain over the cow. At last he could hardly walk any further, and he was obliged to stop every minute to rest. Then the stones were frightfully heavy, and he could not get rid of the thought that it would he very nice if he were not obliged to carry them any further. He dragged himself like a snail to a well in the fields, meaning to rest and refresh himself with a draught of the cool water, So as not to injure the stones by sitting on them, he laid them carefully on the edge of the well. Then he sat down, and was about to stoop down to drink when he inadvertently gave them a little push, and both the stones fell straight into the water.
When Hans saw them disappear before his very eyes he jumped for joy, and then, knelt down and thanked God, with tears in his eyes, for having shown him this further grace, and relieved him of the heavy stories (which were all that remained to trouble him) without giving him anything to reproach himself with, ‘There is certainly no one under the sun so happy as I.’
And so, with a light heart, free from every care, he now bounded on home to his mother.
Jorinda and Joringel
There was once an old castle in the middle of a vast thick wood; in it there lived an old woman quite alone, and she was a witch. By day she made herself into a cat or a screech-owl, but regularly at night she became a human being again. In this way she was able to decoy wild beasts and birds, which she would kill, and boil or roast. If any man came within a hundred paces of the castle, he was forced to stand still and could not move from the place till she gave the word of release; but if an innocent maiden came within the circle she changed her into a bird, and shut her up in a cage which she carried into a room in the castle, She must have had seven thousand cages of this kind, containing pretty birds.
Now, there was once a maiden called Jorinda who was more beautiful than all other maidens. She had promised to marry a very handsome youth named Joringel, and it was in the days of their courtship, when they took the greatest joy in being alone together, that one day they wandered out into the forest. ‘Take care,’ said Joringel; ‘do not let us go too near the castle.’
It was a lovely evening. The sunshine glanced between the tree-trunks of the dark green-wood, while the turtle-doves sang plaintively in the old beech-trees. Yet Jorinda sat down in the sunshine, and could not help weeping and bewailing, while Joringel, too, soon became just as mournful. They both felt as miserable as if they had been going to die. Gazing round them, they found they had lost their way, and did not know how they should find the path home. Half the sun still appeared above the mountain; half had sunk below, Joringel peered into the bushes and saw the old walls of the castle quite close to them; he was terror-struck, and became pale as death. Jorinda was singing:
‘My birdie with its ring so red
Sings sorrow, sorrow, sorrow;
My love will mourn when I am dead,
To-morrow, morrow, mor——jug, jug.’
Joringel looked at her, but she was changed into a nightingale who sang ‘Jug, jug.’
A screech-owl with glowing eyes flew three times round her, and cried three times ‘Shu hu-hu.’ Joringel could not stir; he stood like a stone without being able to speak, or cry, or move hand or foot. The sun had now set; the owl flew into a bush, out of which appeared almost at the
same moment a crooked old woman, skinny and yellow; she had big, red eyes and a crooked nose whose tip reached her chin. She mumbled something, caught the nightingale, and carried it away in her hand. Joringel could not say a word nor move from the spot, and the nightingale was gone. At last the old woman came back, and said in a droning voice: ‘Greeting to thee, Zachiel! When the moon shines upon the cage, unloose the captive, Zachiel!’
Then Joringel was free. He fell on his knees before the witch, and implored her to give back his Jorinda; but she said he should never have her again, and went away. He pleaded, he wept, he lamented, but all in vain. ‘Alas! what is to become of me?’ said Joringel. At last he went away, and arrived at a strange village, where he spent a long time as a shepherd. He often wandered round about the castle, but did not go too near it. At last he dreamt one night that he found a blood-red flower, in the midst of which was a beautiful large pearl. He plucked the flower, and took it to the castle. Whatever he touched with it was made free of enchantment. He dreamt, too, that by this means he had found his Jorinda again. In the morning when he awoke he began to search over hill and dale, in the hope of finding a flower like this; he searched till the ninth day, when he found the flower early in the morning. In the middle was a big dewdrop, as big as the finest pearl. This flower he carried day and night, till he reached the castle. He was not held fast as before when he came within the hundred paces of the castle, but walked straight up to the door.
At last the old woman came back, and said in a droning voice: ‘Greeting to thee, Zachiel!’
Joringel was filled with joy; he touched the door with the flower, and it flew open. He went in through the court, and listened for the sound of birds. He went on, and found the hall, where the witch was feeding the birds in the seven thousand cages. When she saw Joringel she was angry, very angry—scolded, and spat poison and gall at him, He paid no attention to her, but turned away and searched among the bird-cages. Yes, but there were many hundred nightingales; how was he to find his Jorinda?