Selected Tales of the Brothers Grimm

by Jacob Grimm

  It so happened that another king to whom the forest belonged went hunting in it. When the dogs came to the tree, they sniffed about, ran around it, and barked. Whereupon the king said to his hunters, “Go have a look at what kind of game is hidden inside.”

  The hunters obeyed his command, and upon their return they reported: “In the hollow of the tree lies a wondrous creature the like of which we have never seen – its skin is covered with a thousand kinds of hide. It lies there fast asleep.”

  Said the king, “Go see if you can catch it alive, then bind it to your cart and bring it to me.”

  When the hunters touched the girl, she awakened riddled with fear and cried out to them, “I am a poor child forsaken by father and mother. Have pity on me and take me with you.”

  To which they replied, “All-Kind-of-Hide, we can use you in the kitchen. Just come with us and you can sweep the ashes.” So they put her in the cart and drove her back to the king’s castle. There they assigned her a little cubbyhole under the stairs where the sun never shone and said, “Little wild thing, you can sleep here.” Then they sent her to work in the kitchen, to carry wood and water, stoke the fire, pluck poultry feathers, tend to the vegetables, sweep the ashes, and to do all the lowliest tasks.

  All-Kind-of-Hide lived quite miserably in this way for a long time. Oh, you lovely princess, what, pray tell, will become of you! But one day it so happened that they threw a party in the castle, so she said to the cook, “May I go up for a little while to watch? I’ll stay outside and just peek in through the open door.”

  Said the cook, “Sure, go ahead, but in half an hour you must be back to gather up the ashes.”

  Whereupon she took her little oil lamp, went to her little cubbyhole, took off the coat of many hides, and washed the soot off her face and hands, and there she stood again in all her loveliness. Then she opened her nutshell and pulled out her gown, the one that shone as golden as the sun. Once dressed, she went up to the party, and everyone made way for her, as no one recognized her, and they all thought she must surely be a princess. But the king came toward her, reached out his hand to dance with her, and thought to himself, Never have my eyes seen a creature so lovely. When the dance was done, she bowed, and no sooner did the king turn to look than she was gone, and no one knew where. The guards posted outside the castle gates were summoned and interrogated, but not a one had seen her.

  She had rushed back to her little cubbyhole, swiftly slipped out of her dress, blackened her face and hands, donned the rough coat, and was again All-Kind-of-Hide. When she returned to the kitchen to resume her work, intending to sweep up the ashes, the cook said, “That can wait until tomorrow. Boil me up the king’s soup – I too would like to take a peek at the festivities – but don’t let a hair fall in, or else you’ll get nothing more to eat.”

  So the cook headed to the party, and All-Kind-of-Hide boiled up the king’s soup, a bread soup, as tasty as can be, and when it was done she went to her little cubbyhole to fetch the golden ring and dropped it in the king’s soup bowl. When the ball was over the king called for his soup and ate it, and it tasted so good he thought he had never tasted a soup quite so delicious. But when he got to the bottom of the bowl he saw a golden ring and couldn’t fathom how it got there. So he commanded the cook to appear before him. The cook took fright and said to All-Kind-of-Hide, “I bet you let a hair drop in the soup. If you did I’ll skin your hide.”

  When the cook appeared before the king, His Majesty asked who boiled up the soup.

  Said the cook, “I did.”

  But the king said, “It cannot be, for it’s not the soup I’m accustomed to. It’s boiled up much better than usual.”

  Whereto the cook replied, “I must confess, it was not I who boiled it up but the wild child.”

  Said the king, “Go and bid her appear before me.”

  When All-Kind-of-Hide came up, the king asked, “Who are you?”

  “I am a poor child forsaken by father and mother.”

  “What are you doing in my castle?” he asked.

  “I’m good for nothing but to have boots hurled at my head.”

  “Where did you get the ring I found in my soup?” he sounded her out.

  Whereto she replied, “I know nothing of the ring.”

  Frustrated, the king sent her away.

  Time passed and the king once again threw a party. As before, All-Kind-of-Hide asked the cook’s permission to take a peek.

  “Yes,” said the cook, “but be back in half an hour to boil up the bread soup that the king likes so much.”

  So she ran to her little cubbyhole, washed herself up lickety-split, and took from the nutshell and donned the dress as silvery as the moon. Then she went up, resplendent as a princess, and the king came toward her, glad to see her again, and as the ball was just starting they danced together. But when the dance was done she disappeared so fast the king had no idea where she went. She scampered back to her little cubbyhole, made herself back up as the wild child, and went to the kitchen to boil up the bread soup. Once the cook was out of sight, she fetched the golden spinning wheel, dropped it in the bowl, and poured the soup all over it. Whereupon the soup was served to the king, who ate it, and he liked it as much as he had the last time. So he once again called for the cook, who once again had to confess that it was All-Kind-of-Hide who had boiled it up. And again she appeared before the king, but she replied that she was good for nothing but to have boots hurled at her head, and that she knew nothing of the golden spinning wheel.

  When the king threw a third party, things went pretty much the same as they had before. Though this time the cook said, “You must be a witch, wild child, always adding something to the soup that makes it taste better to the king than what I cook him.” But because she pleaded with him, he finally let her go up for a short time to take a peek at the party. This time she put on her dress that was as sparkling as the stars and, so attired, strode into the ballroom. Again the king danced with the lovely maiden and thought that she looked lovelier than ever. And mid-dance, without her noticing it, he slipped a golden ring onto her finger, and he ordered that the dance last a long while. Once the dance was done, he wanted to hold her fast in his hands, but she tore herself free of his grip and leapt so quickly among the other guests that she disappeared before his very eyes. She ran as fast as she could to her little cubbyhole beneath the stairs, but because she’d stayed away so long, more than the half-hour leave the cook had allowed her, she had no time to take off the lovely gown but just drew her coat of many hides over it, and in her haste she failed to apply enough soot, leaving one finger white. In this state All-Kind-of-Hide ran to the kitchen, cooked the king his bread soup, and once the cook was gone, dropped the little golden reel in the soup. When the king found it at the bottom of his bowl he called for All-Kind-of-Hide – whereupon he spotted the white finger and the gold ring he’d slipped on it during the dance. So he grabbed hold of her hand and held it tight, and when she struggled to break free, the coat of many hides split open and the dress that was as sparkling as the stars shimmered forth. The king grabbed hold of the coat and tore it off. Whereupon her golden hair spilled out, and she stood there in all her beauty and could no longer disguise herself. And once she had wiped all the soot and ash from her face, she was lovelier than ever there was a woman on earth.

  Then the king said, “You are my beloved bride, and we will never again part.” Then the wedding was celebrated, and they lived happily together until their dying day.

  THE SEVEN RAVENS

  A man had seven sons and still not a single little daughter, as much as he hoped for one. At last his wife announced that she was once again expecting, and when the child was born, it was indeed a girl. The father’s joy was great, but the child was frail and small, and on account of her frailty was to be baptized posthaste lest she die. The father bid one of his sons rush to the well to fetch water for the baptism The other six ran after him, and because each of them wanted to be the first to d
raw the water, they dropped the jug into the well. Whereupon they stood around, not knowing what to do, and not a one dared go home. When they didn’t show up, the father grew impatient and said, “I’ll bet they got caught up in a game and forgot, the godless lads.” He was afraid the girl would die before being baptized, and in his anger he cried out, “I wish those no-good boys would all turn into ravens!” No sooner were the words spoken than he heard a crowing in the sky overhead, looked up, and saw seven coal-black ravens fly away.

  The parents could no longer take back the malediction, and as sad as they were about the loss of their seven sons, they found some solace in their dear daughter, who soon rallied and grew more beautiful every day. For a long time the girl did not even know that she had any siblings, as the parents took pains not to mention them, until one day she overheard people speaking about her. The girl was lovely to look at, they said, but she was, after all, the cause of her seven brothers’ misfortune. Greatly saddened, she went to her father and mother and asked them if she did indeed have brothers, and what had become of them. Now the parents could no longer keep the secret, but told her that fate had wanted it to be so, and that her birth was just a catalyst, not the cause. Nevertheless, every day the girl blamed herself and believed that it was up to her to free them from the spell. She could not rest easy, so one day she opened the door and went out into the world to track down her brothers and free them, whatever it might take. She took nothing with her but a little ring her parents had given her as a keepsake, a loaf of bread to still her hunger, a jug of water to slake her thirst, and a little stool for when she got tired.

  She kept on walking, farther and farther, all the way to the end of the world. She came to the sun, but the sun was too hot and terrible and consumed little children for lunch. So the girl ran away as fast as she could and ran to the moon, but the moon was too cold and just as gruesome and evil, and no sooner did it notice the presence of the child than it said, “I smell human flesh.”

  So the girl made tracks and came to the stars. They were friendly and good and each one sat on his own little stool. But the morning star stood up, gave her a little chicken bone, and said, “If you don’t have this little chicken bone you can’t unlock the Glass Mountain, and that’s where your brothers are.”

  The girl took the little bone, wrapped it in a little cloth, and kept on walking until she came to the Glass Mountain. The gate was locked and she wanted to take out the bone, but when she unfolded the cloth there was nothing in it. She had lost the gift of the good stars. So what was she to do now? She wanted to save her brothers and had no key to unlock the Glass Mountain. The good little sister took a knife, cut off her little finger, stuck it in the hole, and the lock clicked open. As soon as she went in a dwarf approached her and said, “My child, what are you searching for?”

  “I’m searching for my brothers, the seven ravens,” she replied.

  The dwarf said, “Messrs. Ravens aren’t home, but if you’d like to wait for them to return, you’re welcome to come in.” Thereupon the dwarf brought in the ravens’ food on seven little plates, and their water in seven little cups, and the little sister ate a crumb from each little plate and took a swallow from each little cup. But in the last little cup she dropped the little ring she’d brought along.

  Then all of a sudden she heard a whirring and whizzing, whereupon the dwarf said, “Messrs. Ravens are flying home.”

  So they came swooping in, wanted to eat and drink, and searched for their little plates and little cups. One after another they said, “Who has eaten from my little plate? Who has drunk from my little cup? It must have been a human mouth.”

  And when the seventh raven got to the bottom of his cup a little ring rolled out. He looked it over and recognized that it was a ring that belonged to their father and mother, and said, “God willing, if only our little sister were here, then we’d be saved.”

  When the girl, who was hiding behind the door, listening, heard that wish spoken, she stepped out from behind the door, and the ravens all got their human form back. And they hugged and kissed each other and happily hurried home.

  THE LEAPING, PEEPING LITTLE LION’S LARK

  There once was a man about to set out on a long journey, and upon taking leave he asked his three daughters what they would like him to bring back as a gift. The eldest wanted pearls, the middle daughter wanted diamonds, the youngest said, “Dear Father, I would like a leaping, peeping little lion’s lark.”

  The father said, “If I can find it, it’s yours,” then kissed all three goodbye and started on his way. When the time came for him to return home, he had bought the pearls and the diamonds for the two elder sisters, but he had sought in vain for the leaping, peeping little lion’s lark for the youngest, and he felt bad about it because he loved her the most of all. The way home led through a forest, and in the midst of the forest stood a splendid castle, and beside the castle stood a tree, and at the top of the tree, he spotted a leaping, peeping little lion’s lark. “You’re just what the doctor ordered,” he said, overjoyed, and ordered his servant to climb up and catch the little creature.

  But as the servant approached the tree, a lion leapt out from behind the trunk, reeled with anger, and roared so loud the leaves trembled on the branches. “He who tries to steal my leaping, peeping little lion’s lark,” he roared, “I’ll have for lunch!”

  Then the father said, “I didn’t know the bird belonged to you. I’ll make it up to you with silver and gold, if only you spare my life.”

  The lion said, “Nothing can save you, unless you promise to let me have who- or whatever first you meet when you get home. If you agree, I’ll spare your life and let you have the bird for your daughter to boot.”

  The man hesitated and said, “It could be my youngest daughter, since she loves me the most and always comes running when I get home.”

  But the servant was frightened and said, “Who says it has to be your daughter you meet first? It could just as well be a cat or a dog.”

  So the father let himself be persuaded, took the leaping, peeping little lion’s lark with him, and promised to let the lion have what first he met when he got home.

  As soon as he got home and stepped into his house, who should come running but his youngest, dearest daughter. She kissed and cuddled him, and when she saw that he had brought her a leaping, peeping little lion’s lark she was beside herself with joy. But the father, feeling no joy, burst out in tears and said, “My most beloved child, the little bird cost me dearly. I had to promise you in exchange to a wild lion, and when he has you he will tear you to shreds and devour you.” And he told her everything that had happened and begged her not to go to the lion, come what may.

  But she comforted him with these words: “Dear Father, the promise you made must be kept. I will go there, and don’t worry, somehow I’ll manage to pacify the lion, and I’ll return hail and healthy back to you.”

  The next morning she had him show her the way, bid farewell, and went with good cheer into the forest. The lion, as it turned out, was a bedeviled prince, a lion by day, and all his retinue had been turned into lions, but at night they resumed their human shape. Upon her arrival she was warmly received and shown into the castle. When night fell he was a handsome man, and the wedding was celebrated with great pomp. They lived happily together, awake at night, and asleep by day.

  One day he came to her and said, “Tomorrow there will be a big celebration in your father’s house. Your eldest sister’s getting married, and if you wish to attend, my lions will take you there.”

  Yes, she said, she would very much like to see her father again, and rode there with a retinue of lions. Everyone was overjoyed to see her, since they thought she had been torn to shreds by lions long ago. But she told them what a handsome husband she had and how happy she was and stayed until the end of the wedding festivities, whereupon she returned to the forest.

  When her second sister was to be married and she was once again invited to the wedding,
she said to the lion, “This time I don’t want to go alone. You must come with me.”

  But the lion said it would be too risky for him, for were he to be struck by a beam of burning light he would be transformed into a dove and would have to spend seven years flying with the doves.

  “Oh,” she said, “just come along. I’ll watch over you and guard you from the glimmer of any light.”

  So they set out together and took along the little child who had been born to them.

  She had a hall built with walls so strong and thick that not a ray of light could burst in. But the door was made of freshly hewn wood, and it sprung a tiny fissure no eye could see.

  Now the marriage was celebrated with great pomp, but on the wedding party’s way back from the church, all lit up with torches and lanterns, as they passed the hall a hair’s breadth flicker of light fell on the prince, and as soon as it grazed him, at that very moment he was transformed. When she came in looking for him, he was nowhere in sight, but in his place she found a snow-white dove.

  The dove spoke to her: “For seven years must I fly around the world, but every seven flaps I will let a red drop of blood and a white feather fall. They will show you the way, and if you follow my path you can break the spell.”

  Whereupon the dove flew out the door and she followed, and every seven flaps a drop of red blood and a snow-white feather fell and showed her the way. So she went out into the big wide world, never looking about, never resting, until almost seven years had elapsed. She rejoiced, thinking his redemption was so close, and yet it was still so far.

  Once, as she went walking, no feather fell and no drop of red blood, and when she looked about she saw that the dove had disappeared. And as she thought, Humans cannot help me here, she climbed up to the sun and said to it, “You shine through every rift and over every spire. Did you not see a white dove flying by?”