by Jacob Grimm
Then she went quietly on out of the city, and the two gooseherds drove the geese into the fields. When she had reached the meadow, she sat on the grass and let down her hair, which was like pure gold. Curdie saw the way it shone, and thought he would like to pull out a few of those hairs, but the goosegirl said:
“Blow hard, wind, blow hard today,
Blow Curdie’s hat away.
Send him chasing high and low
Far and wide make him go,
While I comb my hair and then
Pin it neatly up again.”
And such a strong wind got up that it blew Curdie’s hat all over the countryside, so that he had to run after it. By the time he came back, she had finished combing her hair and pinning it up, and he couldn’t snatch a single golden hair. That made Curdie cross, and he wouldn’t speak to her. So they herded the geese until evening, and then they went home.
Next morning, as they drove the geese under the dark gateway, the girl said:
“Falada dear, I see you there.”
And the head replied:
“And I see you too, Princess dear.
If your royal mother knew
Her poor heart would break in two.”
Once outside the city, she sat down in the meadow again and began combing out her hair. When Curdie came running up, trying to snatch a hair or so, she quickly said:
“Blow hard, wind, blow hard today
And blow Curdie’s hat away.
Send him chasing high and low
Far and wide make him go,
While I comb my hair and then
Pin it neatly up again.”
Then the wind blew, swept his hat off his head and far away, so that Curdie had to run after it, and by the time he came back she had finished doing her hair and pinning it up again, and still he couldn’t snatch a single golden hair. So they herded the geese until it was evening.
After they had gone home that evening, however, Curdie went to the old King and said, “I don’t want to herd geese with that girl any more.”
“Why not?” asked the old King.
“Oh, she bothers me all day long.”
The old King ordered him to say just what had happened. So Curdie said, “In the morning, when we pass under the dark gateway with the flock of geese, there’s a horse’s head nailed up on the wall, and she says to it:
‘Falada dear, I see you there.’
Then the head replies:
‘And I see you too, Princess dear.
If your royal mother knew
Her poor heart would break in two.’”
And Curdie went on with his story, telling the King what happened on the meadow with the geese, and how he had to run after his hat in the wind.
The old King told him to drive the geese out again as usual next day, and when morning came he himself stood by the dark gateway and heard the girl talking to Falada’s head. Then he followed her out of the city and hid behind a bush in the meadow. So he saw for himself how the goosegirl and Curdie drove the flock out, and how she sat down after a while and let down her shining golden hair. Then she said again:
“Blow hard, wind, blow hard today
Blow Curdie’s hat away.
Send him chasing high and low
Far and wide make him go,
While I comb my hair and then
Pin it neatly up again.”
And along came a gust of wind to blow Curdie’s hat away, so that he had to run after it while the girl combed and braided her hair and pinned it up. The old King watched it all. Then he went back to the city unobserved, and when the goosegirl came home in the evening he called her aside and asked why she did these things.
“I can’t tell you,” she said. “I can’t tell my troubles to any human soul, because I swore under the open sky not to speak of them, and if I hadn’t sworn that oath I would have died.”
He urged her to tell him more, and gave her no peace, but he couldn’t get her to say anything. Then he said, “If you won’t tell me, then tell your troubles to the iron stove there.” So saying, he went away.
Then she crept into the iron stove and began weeping and wailing, pouring out her whole heart. “Here I am,” she said, “forsaken by everyone although I am a King’s daughter, and a false chambermaid forced me to strip off my royal clothes and took my place with my bridegroom, so that now I have to toil as a common goosegirl. If my royal mother knew, her poor heart would break in two.”
But the old King was standing outside by the stovepipe, listening, and he heard all that she said. Then he came in again and told her to get out of the stove. Royal clothes were brought for her to wear, and everyone marvelled at her beauty. The old King called for his son, and told him that he had the wrong bride; she was only a chambermaid, but here was his true bride, the former goosegirl. The young King was glad at heart when he saw how beautiful and good the real princess was, and a great banquet was held to which all the royal family’s friends were invited. The bridegroom sat at the head of the table, with the King’s daughter on one side of him and the chambermaid on the other, but the chambermaid was dazzled and didn’t recognize the true bride in all the bright jewellery she was wearing. When they had eaten and drunk and were all merry, the old King asked the chambermaid a riddle: What did a woman deserve who had deceived her master in a certain way? And he described all that had happened and asked, “What do you say should be done to her?”
The false bride said, “She deserves to be stripped naked, put in a barrel full of sharp nails, and then two white horses should be harnessed to the barrel to drag her uphill and downhill until she is dead.”
“You are that woman,” said the old King, “and you have passed sentence on yourself.” And when the sentence had been carried out, the young King was married to his true bride, and they ruled the kingdom together in peace and happiness.
BEARSKIN
BEARSKIN
ONCE UPON A TIME there was a young man who enlisted as a soldier, fought bravely and was always in the forefront of the battle when shots came raining down. As long as the war lasted, all went well for him, but when peace was made he was dismissed, and his captain said he was free to go where he liked. His parents were dead, he had no home any more, so he went to his brothers and asked them to take him in until war broke out again. His brothers, however, were hard-hearted, and said, “What do you think we can do for you? We don’t need you here. You’ll have to see how you can fend for yourself.” So the soldier had no recourse to anything but his gun, and he put it over his shoulder and went out into the world.
He came to a great stretch of moorland, where there was nothing to be seen but a circle of trees. He sat down sadly under the trees and thought about his fate. I have no money, said he to himself, I have learnt no trade but war, and now that peace has come I’m no longer needed. I can see that I shall starve to death.
All of a sudden he heard a noise among the trees, and when he looked around there stood a stranger wearing a green coat, a man of distinguished appearance, but with an ugly cloven hoof instead of one foot. “I know what you want,” said the man, “and you shall have as much money and property as you can possibly desire. However, first I must know whether yours is a timorous nature. I don’t want to go throwing my riches away for nothing.”
“How would a soldier’s trade go hand in hand with a timorous nature?” the soldier replied. “Put me to the test.”
“Look behind you,” said the man. The soldier turned round, and he saw a great bear growling as it came towards him.
“Oho,” said the soldier, “would you, then? I’ll tickle your nose, and you’ll never want to growl any more.” With these words, he aimed his gun and shot the bear in the muzzle. It fell down dead and didn’t move again.
“I can see that you have plenty of courage,” said the stranger, “so there’s just one more condition for you to meet.”
“If it doesn’t damage my chances of eternal bliss,” said the soldier, who was well aware of th
e nature of the person he was facing. “Otherwise I’ll have nothing to do with it.”
“That’s up to you,” said the man in the green coat. “For the next seven years you must not wash, or comb your hair or beard, you must not cut your nails or say the Lord’s Prayer. If you agree to that, I will give you a coat and a cloak, and you must wear them all that time. If you die during those seven years, you are mine, but if you live you will be free and rich for the rest of your days.”
The soldier thought of the great need he was in, and as he had so often faced death he decided that he would brave it again, and he agreed. The Devil took off his green coat, handed it to the soldier and said, “If you wear this coat and put your hand in the pocket, you will always have plenty of money.” Then he skinned the dead bear and said, “This shall be your cloak and also your bed, for you must sleep on it and nowhere else. And because you wear these things, you will be known as Bearskin.” With these words the Devil disappeared.
The soldier put on the coat, put his hand in its pocket and found that it was all true. He slung the bear’s skin around his shoulders, went cheerfully out into the world and he did not fail to enjoy himself and spend his money freely. All went pretty well for the first year, but by the time the second began he already looked like a monster. His hair covered almost his whole face, his beard was like a piece of coarse, felted cloth, his fingers ended in claws and his face was covered with so much dirt that if you had sown cress on it the seeds would have sprouted. Those who set eyes on him ran away, but because he gave money to the poor everywhere he went, asking them to pray that he did not die during the seven years, and because he paid well for everything, he was always given shelter.
In the fourth year he came to an inn where the landlord did not want to take him in, or even let him sleep in the stables, because he was afraid that he would frighten the horses. However, when Bearskin put his hand in his pocket and brought it out full of money, the landlord softened, and gave him a room in the buildings at the back, on condition that he let no one set eyes on him, in case he damaged the reputation of the inn.
But in the evening, when Bearskin was sitting there alone and wishing with all his heart that the seven years were up, he heard weeping and wailing in the room next door. He had a kind heart, and so he opened the door and saw an old man shedding bitter tears, with his hands clasped together above his head. Bearskin went closer, but the man jumped up and was about to run away. At last, when he heard a human voice, he could be induced to listen, and speaking in friendly tones Bearskin persuaded him to reveal the cause of his grief. His fortune had gradually been lost, he said, he and his daughters would be left destitute, he was so poor that he couldn’t even pay the landlord here, and he was afraid he would be put in prison.
“If that’s the sum of your troubles,” said Bearskin, “I have plenty of money.” He called for the landlord, paid him and gave the unfortunate old man a purse full of gold to take away.
When the old man was free from all anxiety, he didn’t know how best to show his gratitude. “Come with me,” he said to Bearskin. “My daughters are marvellously beautiful—choose one of them as your wife. When she hears what you have done for me, I am sure she won’t refuse. You look a little strange, to be sure, but she will soon set that to rights.” Bearskin was pleased, and went away with the old man. But when the eldest daughter set eyes on him, his face horrified her so much that she screamed and ran away. The second daughter stood her ground, and looked him up and down, but then she said, “How can I take a husband who doesn’t even look human? I preferred the furious bear that once ran wild here, making out that he was a man. At least he wore a hussar’s uniform and white gloves. If ugly looks were the only problem, I could get used to him.” But the youngest daughter said, “Dear Father, this must be a good man, since he helped you in your hour of need, and if you have promised him a bride in return, your word must be kept.”
It was a pity that Bearskin’s face was covered with dirt and hair, or anyone could have seen how glad his heart was at these words. He took a ring off his finger, broke it in two, gave her one half and kept the other half himself. But he wrote his name inside her half of the ring, and hers in his own half, and he asked her to keep her part of the ring safe. Thereupon he said goodbye, telling her, “I have three more years to roam the world. If I don’t come back again after that time, you are free, because I shall be dead. But pray to God that he will spare my life.”
The poor bride dressed herself all in black, and when she thought of her bridegroom tears came to her eyes. She met with nothing but mockery and scorn from her sisters. “Take care,” said the eldest. “If you give him your hand, he will strike you down with his great paw.” “Take care,” said the second. “Bears love sweet things, and if he likes you he will eat you up.”
“You must remember to do as he wants,” the eldest sister went on, “or he will begin to growl.” And the second sister added, “But what a merry sight the wedding will be! Bears are good dancers.” However, the bride said nothing, and did not let them shake her faith in Bearskin.
Bearskin himself, however, went all around the world from place to place, doing all the good that he could, and giving generously to the poor so that they would pray for him. At last, when the final day of the seven years dawned, he went out on the moorland again and sat down inside the circle of trees. Before long the wind rose, and there stood the Devil before him, looking sour and cross. Then he threw Bearskin his old coat and said he wanted the green one back.
“We haven’t reached that point yet,” said Bearskin. “First you must clean me up.” And like it or not, the Devil had to fetch water, wash Bearskin, comb his hair and cut his nails. After that he looked like a brave soldier again, and was much more handsome than before.
When the Devil had gone away, Bearskin felt light at heart. He went into the city, bought a fine velvet coat, sat in a carriage drawn by four white horses and drove to his bride’s house. No one recognized him; the girls’ father took him for a distinguished military officer, led him into the room where his daughters were sitting and invited him to sit down between the two oldest. They poured him wine, put the best morsels to eat in front of him and thought they had never set eyes on such a handsome man. The bride, however, sat opposite him all in black, kept her eyes cast down, and did not say a word. When at last he asked her father if he would give him one of his daughters as a wife, up jumped the two oldest girls and ran to their bedrooms to put on their finest clothes, because each of them imagined that she would be chosen. However, as soon as the stranger was alone with his bride, he took out his half of the ring, dropped it into a glass of wine and handed the glass to her across the table. She took it, but when she had drunk the wine and found half of the ring lying at the bottom of the glass, her heart beat fast. She took out the other half, which she had been wearing on a ribbon around her neck, and saw that both halves fitted perfectly together. Then he said, “I am your promised bridegroom, whom you first saw in the likeness of Bearskin, but by God’s grace I am back in human form, clean and whole again.”
He went to her, put his arms round her and kissed her. Meanwhile her two sisters came back in all their finery, and when they saw that the handsome man was to marry the youngest daughter, and heard that he was Bearskin, they ran out of the room full of rage and fury. One of them drowned herself in the well, the other hanged herself from a tree.
That evening there came a knock at the door, and when the bridegroom opened it, he saw the Devil in his green coat. “Well,” said the Devil, “now I have two souls instead of just your one.”
THE POOR MILLER’S BOY AND THE LITTLE CAT
THE POOR MILLER’S BOY AND THE LITTLE CAT
THERE WERE ONCE three miller’s boys working in a mill for an old miller who had no wife or child. When they had served him for several years, he said to them, “Go out into the world, and I’ll leave my mill to whichever of you brings me back the finest horse.”
But the third of the l
ads was the least of them, and the others thought him a simpleton and weren’t going to allow him any chance of getting the mill. The three of them went away together, and when they came to the village the other two told simple Hans, “You’d better stay here. You’ll never come by any kind of horse in all your life.” However, Hans still went along with them, and when night fell they came to a cave and lay down in it to sleep. The two clever lads were just waiting for Hans to fall asleep, and then they got up and went off, leaving Hans where he was. They thought themselves very cunning. Well, they’d neither of them come to any good.
When the sun rose, and Hans woke up, he was lying in a great cave. He looked all around, and said to himself: Dear God, where am I? Then he got up, scrambled out of the cave and went into the forest, thinking: How will I ever get a horse now?
As he was going along like this deep in thought, a little tortoiseshell cat came towards him. “Hans,” said the cat, “what do you want?”
“Oh dear, you can’t help me,” said Hans.
“I know very well what you want,” said the little cat. “You want a fine horse. Come with me, be my faithful servant for seven years, and I will give you a horse, a finer horse than you have ever seen in your life.” So saying, she took him home with her to her enchanted castle, where he had to serve her and chop wood every day. To do the work he was given a silver axe, a silver wedge and a silver saw, and the club was made of copper. Well, he chopped wood, he stayed in the castle, he had plenty of good food and drink, but he never saw anyone but the little tortoiseshell cat. One day she told him, “Go and mow my meadow and dry the grass for hay,” and she gave him a silver scythe to do the work and a golden whetstone, telling him to be sure to bring the hay home properly. So off went Hans, did as he was asked, and when it was all done, and he brought the scythe, the whetstone and the axe home, he asked whether the cat wouldn’t give him his reward yet.