by Jacob Grimm
“Who’s there?” asked the old woman.
“It’s Little Red Cape bringing you some cake and wine. Open the door!”
“Just press down the latch,” called Grandmother. “I’m feeling too poorly to get out of bed.”
So the wolf pressed down the latch, the door opened, and without a word he went straight over to Grandmother’s bed and swallowed her up. Then he dressed in her clothes, put her cap on his head, got into her bed and pulled the curtains around it.
Little Red Cape, however, had been running about picking flowers, and when she had such an armful that she couldn’t carry any more she remembered Grandmother, and set off for her house. She was surprised to find the door open, and when she went in she felt so strange that she thought: Dear me, how scared I feel, and I usually love visiting Grandmother!
“Good morning,” she called out, but there was no reply.
Then she went over to the bed and pulled back the curtains. There lay Grandmother with her cap pulled well down over her face, looking very odd.
“Oh, Grandmother, what big ears you have!” said the little girl.
“All the better to hear you with.”
“Oh, Grandmother, what big eyes you have!”
“All the better to see you with.”
“Oh, Grandmother, what big hands you have!”
“All the better to grab you with!”
“But oh, Grandmother, what a terribly big mouth you have!”
“All the better to EAT you with!”
And as soon as the wolf had said that, he jumped out of bed and swallowed poor Little Red Cape all up.
When the wolf had satisfied his hunger he lay down in the bed again, fell asleep and began snoring as loud as thunder. The huntsman happened to be passing the house, and he said to himself: How loud the old lady is snoring! I’d better go in and make sure there’s nothing wrong with her.
He walked into the house, and when he went over to the bed he saw the wolf lying there.
“So here you are, you wicked old sinner!” he said. “I’ve been looking for you a long time.”
He was about to fire his gun, but then it struck him that the wolf could have swallowed Grandmother whole, and perhaps she might still be saved. So he didn’t fire the gun, but took a pair of scissors and began cutting open the sleeping wolf ’s belly. When he had snipped a couple of times he saw the bright red of the little cape, and after another few snips the little girl jumped out, crying, “Oh, how scared I was! It was so dark inside the wolf!” Then her old grandmother came out too, still alive but very short of breath.
Little Red Cape quickly collected some large stones and put them in the wolf ’s belly. When he woke up he tried to run away, but the stones were so heavy that he collapsed at once and fell down dead.
So all three of them were happy. The huntsman skinned the wolf and went home with the skin, while Grandmother ate the cake and drank the wine that Little Red Cape had brought her, and she soon felt better. As for Little Red Cape, she thought: I’ll never again in my life stray away from the path through the forest when Mother tells me not to.
There’s another story too, a tale of how Little Red Cape was taking her old grandmother some cake another day, and another wolf spoke to her and tried to make her stray away from the path. But Little Red Cape was on her guard, and went straight to Grandmother’s house. She told Grandmother how she had met the wolf, and he had wished her good day, but there was such a wicked look in his eyes.
“If we hadn’t been there in the middle of the path,” she said, “I’m sure he would have eaten me.”
“Come along in,” said Grandmother, “and we’ll bolt the door to keep him out.”
Soon the wolf knocked at the door, calling, “Open up, Grandmother, it’s Little Red Cape with some cake for you.”
But they kept perfectly quiet and didn’t open the door, so the grey wolf prowled around the house several times, and finally jumped up on the roof. He was planning to wait until Little Red Cape started for home in the evening, and then he was going to slink after her and gobble her up in the dark. However, Grandmother guessed his plan. There was a big stone trough outside the house, and she told the little girl, “Take the bucket, Little Red Cape. I was boiling sausages yesterday, and I want you to carry out the water I boiled them in and pour it into the trough.”
Little Red Cape carried out the sausage water until the big, big trough was full to the brim. The smell of sausages rose to the wolf ’s nostrils, and he sniffed, and peered down, and at last he craned over so far that he lost his balance and began to slide. He slid right off the roof, straight into the big trough, and there he drowned.
As for Little Red Cape, she went happily home, and no one ever tried to harm her again.
THE TAILOR AND HIS THREE SONS
THE TAILOR AND HIS THREE SONS
ONCE UPON A TIME there was a tailor who had three sons, and they owned a single goat whose milk had to feed them all. So the goat needed good fodder, and she was taken out to pasture every day. The sons took turns looking after her. One day the eldest son took her out to the churchyard where the best grass grew, and let her graze and run about there.
In the evening, when it was time to go home, he asked: “Goat, have you had enough to eat?”
And the goat replied:
“That grass was a delicious treat.
Another blade I couldn’t eat.
Bleat, bleat, bleat!”
“Come along home, then,” said the boy, and he took her halter, led her home and tied her up in the shed.
“Well,” said the old tailor, “did the goat have good grazing?”
“Oh yes,” said his son, “she said it was such a treat that she couldn’t eat another blade of grass.”
But the boy’s father wanted to make sure, so he went down to the shed, patted the animal and asked, “Goat, have you really had enough to eat?”
And the goat replied:
“All I could do in the churchyard was play.
I saw not a blade of grass all day.
So how would I get enough to eat?
Bleat, bleat, bleat!”
“What’s all this?” cried the tailor, and he ran into the house and said to his son, “Oh, you liar! You said the goat had good grazing, but you let her go hungry all day!” He was so angry that he took his yardstick off the wall where it was hanging and drove the boy out of the house with it.
Next day it was the second son’s turn. He found a good place by the garden hedge where grass and herbs grew, and the goat ate everything within her reach.
In the evening, when it was time to go home, he asked: “Goat, have you had enough to eat?”
And the goat replied:
“Those herbs were a delicious treat.
Another sprig I couldn’t eat.
Bleat, bleat, bleat!”
“Come along home, then,” said the boy, and he took her back and tied her up in the shed.
“Well,” said the old tailor, “did the goat have good grazing?”
“Oh yes,” said his son, “she said it was such a treat she couldn’t eat another sprig of herbs.”
But the tailor didn’t trust his son, so he went down to the shed and asked, “Goat, have you really had enough to eat?”
And the goat replied:
“All I could do by the bushes was play.
I found no grass or herbs all day.
So how would I get enough to eat?
Bleat, bleat, bleat!”
“Oh, the wicked boy!” cried the tailor. “Letting such a good goat go hungry!” And he ran upstairs and drove the second son out of the house with his yardstick.
Now it was the third son’s turn. He wanted to be sure the goat was well fed, so he looked for the bushes with the juiciest leaves and let the goat graze on them.
In the evening, when it was time to go home, he asked: “Goat, have you had enough to eat?”
And the goat replied:
“Those leaves were a delici
ous treat.
Another leaf I couldn’t eat.
Bleat, bleat, bleat!”
“Come along home, then,” said the boy, and he took her home and tied her up in the shed.
“Well,” said the old tailor, “did the goat have good grazing?”
“Oh yes,” said his son, “she said it was such a treat she couldn’t eat another leaf.”
But the boy’s father wanted to make sure, so he went down to the shed, patted the animal and asked, “Goat, have you really had enough to eat?”
And the goat replied:
“All I could do in the bushes was play.
I had not a single leaf all day.
So how would I get enough to eat?
Bleat, bleat, bleat!”
“Oh, what liars they are!” cried the tailor. “Each of those boys is as wicked and undutiful as the next! Well, you don’t fool me any longer!” And beside himself with rage, he jumped up and beat the poor boy with his yardstick so hard that the lad ran out of the house and away.
So now the old tailor was alone with his goat. Next day he went down to the shed, patted the animal and said, “Come along, good little goat, I’m going to take you out to pasture myself.”
Leading her by the halter, he took her out to pasture where green hedges and yarrow grew, along with other plants that goats like to eat. “There, you can eat your fill for once,” he told her, and he let her graze until evening. Then he asked: “Goat, have you had enough to eat?”
And the goat replied:
“All that was a delicious treat.
Another plant I couldn’t eat.
Bleat, bleat, bleat!”
“Come along home, then,” said the tailor, and he took her home and tied her up in the shed. As he was leaving, he turned around and said, “Well, at least you’ve had enough to eat this time!”
But the goat wasn’t letting him off any more lightly than his sons, and she replied:
“All I could do out at pasture was play.
I saw no grass or leaves all day.
So how would I get enough to eat?
Bleat, bleat, bleat!”
When the tailor heard that, he was taken aback, and he saw that he had driven his three sons away for no good reason. “Just you wait, you ungrateful creature!” he cried. “Chasing you away isn’t punishment enough. I’ll teach you not to show your face among honest tailors again!” And he ran upstairs, fetched his razor, soaped the goat’s head and shaved it as smooth as the flat of his hand. Then, thinking his yardstick too good for her, he picked up a whip and lashed her until she ran away.
Now that the tailor was left all alone in his house he felt very sad, and he wished his sons were home again, but no one knew where they had gone. As it happened, the eldest son had apprenticed himself to a joiner. He soon learnt the trade and worked hard, and when it was time for him to go on his travels as a journeyman his master gave him a little table. It didn’t look anything special, and it was made of ordinary wood—but it had one remarkable quality. If you put it down on the ground and said, “Little table, lay yourself!” the good little table was suddenly covered with a clean tablecloth, and on the cloth stood a plate with a knife and fork beside it, and as many dishes as there was room for. They were full of braised and roast meat, and there was a big glass of bright red wine to drink with your dinner and cheer your heart.
Well, thought the young journeyman, this table will provide for me all my life! So he travelled cheerfully around, and he never had to wonder whether an inn was good or bad, or whether he could even get a meal there at all. If he didn’t feel like it he needn’t even go indoors, since he could just take his little table off his back out in the fields or the woods or in a meadow, anywhere he liked, put it down on the ground and say, “Little table, lay yourself.” And next moment it was laden with everything his heart could desire.
After a while he decided to go back to his father, whose anger must have died down by now, and who would surely be glad to see him and his wonderful table. It so happened that one evening, on his way home, he went into an inn full of other guests. They welcomed him and invited him to share their meal, saying he’d have difficulty in getting anything to eat otherwise.
“No, no,” replied the joiner, “I won’t deprive you of any of your supper. Indeed, you must all be my guests instead!”
They laughed, thinking he was joking. But he put his little wooden table down in the middle of the room and said, “Little table, lay yourself!” At once it was covered with food much better than anything the landlord of the inn could serve, and a most delicious smell rose to the guests’ nostrils.
“Help yourselves, good friends,” said the joiner, and when the guests saw that he meant it they didn’t wait to be asked twice but pulled up their chairs, took out their knives and ate a hearty meal. What surprised them most of all was to see that as soon as a dish was empty a full one appeared in its place, entirely of its own accord.
Now the landlord of the inn was standing in a corner, watching all this. He hardly knew what to say, but he thought to himself: I could do with a cook like that here!
The joiner and the rest of the company made merry until late into the night, when at last they lay down to sleep. The young journeyman put his little wishing table beside the wall when he went to bed. But the landlord’s thoughts wouldn’t let him rest, and he remembered that he had an old table which looked just like the joiner’s in his lumber room—so very quietly he carried it in, and exchanged it for the wishing table.
Next morning the joiner paid for his night’s rest, picked up his table, never dreaming that he might have the wrong one, and went on his way. At midday he came to his father’s house, and the tailor was delighted to see him.
“Well, my dear son, what have you learnt?” his father asked.
“I’m a joiner now, dear Father.”
“That’s a good trade,” replied the old man. “And what have you brought home from your travels?”
“The best thing I’ve brought home, dear Father, is this little table.”
The tailor looked at it from all sides and said, “Well, that’s no masterpiece! It’s just an old table, and badly made at that.”
“Ah, but it’s a wishing table,” replied his son. “If I put it down and tell it to lay itself, it’s immediately covered with the most wonderful food, and wine to cheer your heart. So invite all our friends and relations to come and eat and drink their fill, because this table will provide for them all.”
When the company arrived, he put his little table down in the middle of the room and said, “Little table, lay yourself.” But the table didn’t do anything at all, and stood there as empty as any other table that doesn’t understand human language. At that the poor journeyman realised that his own table had been stolen, and he felt ashamed because now he looked like a liar. As for his relations, they laughed heartily, but they had to go home again without any food or drink. His father picked up his needle and his cloth and went on with his tailoring, and the son went to work for a master joiner living near by.
The second son had apprenticed himself to a miller, and when his apprenticeship was over his master said, “You’ve done well, so I’m giving you a very special donkey. But mind, he doesn’t pull a cart, and he doesn’t carry sacks.”
“Then what use is he?” asked the young journeyman miller.
“He spits gold, that’s what,” replied the miller. “If you stand him on a cloth and say, ‘Bricklebrit’, then this good little donkey will shed gold pieces at both ends, from his mouth and his behind.”
“Well, what a fine donkey he is!” said the journeyman, and he thanked his master and went out into the world. When he needed gold, he had only to say “Bricklebrit” to his donkey, and there was a shower of gold pieces. All he had to do was bend down and pick them up. Wherever he went on his travels nothing but the best was good enough for him, and the more expensive the better, because his purse was always full.
When he had been aro
und the world for a while, he thought: It’s time to go home and see my father—and if I bring the donkey who spits gold with me, he’ll forget his anger and welcome me kindly.
Now it so happened that he stopped at the very same inn where the landlord had cheated his brother out of the little wishing table. He was leading his donkey, and the landlord was going to take the animal from him and tie it up, but the young journeyman miller said, “Don’t trouble yourself. I’ll take my grey friend here to the stable and tie him up myself. I have to know just where he is.”
Well, this seemed strange to the landlord, and he thought that a man who had to look after his own donkey wouldn’t have much money to spend. But when, to his amazement, the stranger put his hand in his pocket, brought out two gold pieces and told him to get something good for his supper, the landlord hurried off to find the very best that money could buy.
After supper his guest asked what he owed, and the landlord decided to charge double the proper price and demanded two more gold pieces. The journeyman put his hand in his pocket, but he had run out of gold.
“Wait a minute, landlord,” said he. “I’ll just go and get some more money.” And he took the tablecloth with him. The landlord had no idea what that might be for, but he felt curious, so he followed in secret, and when his guest bolted the stable door he peered through a knothole in the wood. The stranger spread out the cloth under the donkey’s hooves, said, “Bricklebrit”, and at once a shower of gold came out of the animal at both ends. Gold pieces fairly rained down on the ground.
“My word!” said the landlord. “That’s a good way of coining money! I wouldn’t mind a purse of gold like this donkey!”
The guest paid what he owed and lay down to sleep, but during the night the landlord went down to the stable, led away the donkey that could spit gold pieces and tied up another donkey in its place.