by Jacob Grimm
“No,” said the cat, “first you must do one more thing for me. Here’s timber made of silver for building, a carpenter’s hatchet, angle irons and everything else you’ll need, all of it silver, and you must build me a little house.”
So Hans built the house, and said that now he had done everything she asked, but still he had no horse. However, although seven years had passed they had seemed to him like no more than six months.
Then the cat asked if he would like to see her horses. “Yes, indeed,” said Hans. So she opened the doors of the little house for him, and there stood twelve horses, proud and beautiful, all with glossy, shining coats. His heart jumped for joy. She gave him food and drink, and then she said, “Go home now. I’m not giving you the horse to take with you, but in three days’ time I will follow you and bring it with me.”
So after she had shown him the way to the mill, Hans went home. She hadn’t even given him anything new to wear, only his ragged old smock that he had brought with him, and after seven years it was much too small. When he came home, the other two miller’s lads were there already, and each had brought back a horse, but one of the horses was blind and the other was lame. “Where’s your horse, Hans?” they asked him. “It will follow me in three days’ time,” said Hans.
At that they laughed and said, “Oh, Hans, where do you expect to be getting a horse? This will be a fine joke!”
Hans went into the mill, but the miller said he wasn’t to sit at table with them, his clothes were too torn and ragged, and if any visitors came he would be ashamed of him. So they gave him scraps of food to eat outside, and when they went to bed in the evening the other two lads wouldn’t let him have a bed. In the end he had to crawl into the goose pen and lie down on a little straw there.
Next morning, when he woke up, the three days were over, and up drove a coach with six horses gleaming until they shone, a very fine sight, and a servant leading a seventh. The seventh horse was for the poor miller’s lad, and out of the coach climbed a beautiful Princess who went into the mill. The Princess was the little tortoiseshell cat whom poor Hans had served for seven years. She asked the miller where the third of his lads, the youngest and smallest, was.
“Oh,” said the miller, “we can’t have him in the mill, he’s such a shabby sight that he must sleep in the goose pen.”
Then the Princess said they were to fetch him at once. So they fetched him, and he had to hold his old smock together to cover himself. Then the servant brought out fine clothes, washed Hans and put the clothes on him, and when he was ready no king could have looked more handsome.
After that the Princess asked to see the horses that the other two miller’s lads had brought back, one of them blind and the other lame. Then she told the servant to bring the seventh horse. When the miller saw it, he said he had never seen such a horse in his yard before. “This is for the third of your lads,” said the Princess.
“Then he must have the mill as well,” said the miller, but the Princess said that the horse was his now, and he could keep the mill as well. Then she took her faithful servant Hans, put him in the coach and drove away with him. First they drove to the little house that he had built with silver tools. It had turned into a huge castle with everything in it made of silver and gold, and she married him, and he was rich, so rich that he had enough for all his days. So don’t let anyone say that a man who is a little simple can never have any luck.
THE BLUE LAMP
THE BLUE LAMP
ONCE UPON A TIME there was a soldier who had served the King faithfully for many years, but when the war was over and the soldier couldn’t fight any more because of all the wounds he had suffered, the King told him, “You can go home now, I don’t need you any longer, and there’ll be no more money for you, because no one gets paid unless he can do something for me in return.”
With no idea how he could survive, the soldier went away weighed down by care. He walked all day until in the evening he came to a forest. When darkness fell he saw a light, and on approaching it he came to a house where a witch lived. “Give me a bed for the night and a little food and drink,” he asked her, “or I shall pine away and die.”
“What?” said she. “Who gives anything to a soldier on the run? But I will be charitable and take you in if you do as I ask.”
“What do you ask?” said the soldier.
“I’d like you to dig my garden tomorrow.”
Well, the soldier agreed, and he worked with all his might next day, but he couldn’t finish digging the garden before evening. “I can see you can’t do any more today,” said the witch. “I’ll keep you here one more night, and in return you can split me a cartload of wood tomorrow and chop it up.”
That took the soldier all day, and in the evening the witch said he could stay for another night. “I have only an easy task for you tomorrow. There’s an old well behind my house, it’s run dry now, and my lamp fell into it. The lamp burns with a blue flame and never goes out. I want you to fetch it up again.”
So next day the old witch led him to the well and let him down in a basket. He found the lamp and signalled to the witch to pull him up again. And she did pull him up, but when he was near the rim of the well she reached down her hand to take the lamp from him. “Oh no, you don’t,” said the soldier, guessing her evil intentions. “I’m not giving you this lamp until I have both feet on solid ground.” The witch fell into a rage, dropped him into the well again and went away.
The poor soldier fell to the damp bottom of the well, although without doing himself any harm, and the blue light of the lamp was still burning, but what good did that do him? He saw that he could not escape death. He sat there sadly for a while, and then by chance he put his hand in his pocket and found his pipe still half full of tobacco. I’ll smoke it as my last pleasure in life, he thought, and he took it out, lit it by the light of the blue lamp, and began to puff at it. But when smoke surrounded him in the shaft of the well, he saw a little man standing in front of him all of a sudden, asking, “Master, what are your orders?”
“Why would I be giving you orders?” asked the surprised soldier.
“Because I must do everything you say,” said the little man.
“Very well,” said the soldier. “Then help me out of this well first.”
The little man took his hand and led him along an underground passage, but he didn’t forget to take the blue lamp with him. On the way, its light showed him the treasures that the witch had accumulated and hidden down here, and the soldier took as much gold as he could carry. When he was above ground again, he said to the little man, “Now go and tie up the old witch and take her before the law courts.” It wasn’t long before she came riding a wild cat past him, screeching horribly, and again it wasn’t long after that before the little man came back.
“That’s all done,” said the little man, “and the witch is hanging from the gallows already. What other orders do you have for me, master?”
“None at the moment,” said the soldier. “You can go home, but come to me at once when I call you.”
“There’s no need for any calling,” said the little man. “Whenever you light your pipe from the blue lamp, I’ll be there in front of you.” And so saying he disappeared before the soldier’s eyes.
The soldier went back to the city he had come from. He went to the best inn, had fine clothes made for him and then he told the landlord to get a room furnished for him with all possible magnificence. When it was ready, and the soldier had moved in, he called for the little man and said, “I served the King faithfully, but he sent me away to starve, and now I’ll have my revenge.”
“What do you want me to do?” asked the little man.
“Late at night, when the King’s daughter is in bed, bring her to me still asleep, and she shall be my maidservant.”
“That’s easy for me, but dangerous for you,” said the little man. “If the whole story comes out, you’ll suffer for it.”
When the clock had struck t
welve, the door opened, and the little man carried in the King’s daughter. “Aha, so there you are!” the soldier said to her. “Get down to work now, take the broom and sweep this room.” When she had finished he told her to come over to the chair where he was sitting, stretched out his legs and said, “Take my boots off.” Then he threw them in her face, and she had to pick them up, clean them and polish them until they shone. She did all he said without resistance, silently and with her eyes half-closed. When the first rooster crowed, the little man carried her back to the royal palace again and laid her in her bed.
Next morning, when the King’s daughter was up and about, she went to her father and told him the strange dream she had had. “I was carried at lightning speed through the streets, and taken to the lodgings of a soldier whom I had to serve as his maid, waiting on him and doing all kinds of common work, sweeping the room and cleaning his boots. It was only a dream, and yet I’m as tired as if I had really done all that.”
“Your dream could have some truth in it,” said the King. “I advise you to fill your pocket with peas, and make a little hole in the pocket so that the peas will fall out and leave a trail along the street.”
But while the King said this, the little man, invisible, was standing by, and he heard it all. That night, when he carried the King’s daughter through the streets again, some peas did fall out of her pocket, but they couldn’t leave her trail because the cunning little man had already scattered peas along all the streets. However, the King’s daughter had to work as a common maidservant again until the first rooster crowed.
Next morning the King sent his men out to search for the trail, but it was useless, because poor children were sitting in all the streets picking up the peas, saying that it had been raining peas in the night.
“We must think of something else,” said the King. “Keep your shoes on when you go to bed, and before you come back hide one shoe, and I’ll soon find it.”
The little man heard this, and when the soldier told him that evening to go and fetch the King’s daughter again, he advised against it, saying that he knew no way around the difficulty this time. If the shoe was found in this room, it would be the worse for the soldier.
“Do as I say,” said the soldier, and the King’s daughter had to work as a maidservant for a third night, but before she was taken back she hid one of her shoes under the bed.
Next morning the King had the whole city searched for his daughter’s shoe. It was found in the soldier’s room, and the soldier himself, who had gone out on the little man’s advice, was soon captured and thrown into prison. He had left behind the best things he had as he fled, the blue lamp and his gold, and all he had left was one ducat in his pocket. When he looked out of the prison window, laden with chains as he was, he saw one of his old comrades passing by. He knocked on the pane, and when his comrade came over he said, “Be kind enough to bring me the little bundle that I’ve left behind at my inn, and I will give you a ducat.” So off went his old comrade, and brought him what he wanted.
As soon as the soldier was alone, he lit his pipe and summoned the little man. “Never fear,” the little man told his master, “go wherever they take you, and let them do whatever they like, but take the blue lamp with you.”
Next morning the soldier was tried in court, and although he had committed no crime the judge condemned him to death. When he was taken out for execution, he asked the King for one last favour.
“What is it?” asked the King.
“Let me smoke a last pipe of tobacco on my way.”
“You can smoke three,” said the King, “but don’t think I’m letting you off with your life.”
At that the soldier took out his pipe and lit it at the blue lamp. When a few smoke rings had risen, there stood the little man with a small cudgel in his hand.
“What are my master’s orders?” he said.
“Strike down the false judges and their officers,” said the soldier, “and don’t spare the King, who has treated me so badly.”
Then the little man went thwick-thwack with his cudgel, striking out back and forth like lightning, and anyone he so much as touched with it fell to the ground and dared not move. The King was afraid, and begged for mercy, and just to save his life he gave the soldier his kingdom and his daughter as his wife.
ONE-EYES, TWO-EYES AND THREE-EYES
ONE-EYES, TWO-EYES AND THREE-EYES
THERE WAS A WOMAN who had three daughters, and the eldest was called One-Eye, because she had only one eye in the middle of her forehead, while the second was called Two-Eyes, because she had two eyes like other people, and the third was called Three-Eyes, because she had an extra eye that, like her eldest sister’s, was also in the middle of her forehead. However, as Two-Eyes looked just like most human beings, her mother and sisters hated her, and told her, “With your two eyes you look no better than common folk. You don’t belong with us.” And they pushed her about, and threw her shabby old clothes to wear, and gave her only their left-over scraps to eat, making her life as much of a misery as they could.
It so happened that Two-Eyes was sent out into the fields to look after the goat, still feeling very hungry because her sisters had given her so little to eat. She sat down at the side of a field and began weeping and weeping so bitterly that two little streams of tears flowed out of her eyes. And when she happened to look up, there was a woman standing beside her, and she was a wise woman. “Two-Eyes, why are you so unhappy?” asked the woman.
“Why wouldn’t I be unhappy?” said Two-Eyes. “My mother and sisters hate me just because I have two eyes like other people. They push me about, throw me shabby old clothes to wear and give me nothing but their leftover scraps to eat. Today they gave me almost nothing, so I’m still very hungry.”
“Two-Eyes, dry your tears,” said the wise woman. “I will tell you something that will keep you from suffering from hunger ever again. Just say to your goat:
‘Bleat, goat, lay a table, bleat,
with all the food that I can eat!’
and a neatly laid little table will appear in front of you with the best of food, so that you can eat as much as you want. And when you have had enough and you don’t need the little table any more, just say:
‘Bleat, goat; table, go away
And come again another day,’
and it will disappear before your eyes.”
With these words the wise woman went away, and Two-Eyes thought: I must see if what she said is true at once, I’m so hungry. So she said:
“Bleat, goat, lay a table, bleat,
with all the food that I can eat!”
No sooner had she said those words than a nicely laid little table appeared, covered with a white cloth, and a plate with a knife, fork and spoon. The most delicious dishes stood on the table, still hot, as if they had just come from the kitchen. Then Two-Eyes said the shortest grace that she knew: “Dear God, be a guest at our table for ever, amen!” And she set to and ate her fill. When she had had enough, she said what the wise woman had taught her:
“Bleat, goat; table, go away
And come again another day.”
At once the little table and everything on it disappeared again. What a wonderful way to keep house, thought Two-Eyes, and she was very happy and cheerful. That evening she drove the goat home, and didn’t even touch the scraps of food that her sisters had left for her in an earthenware pot. Next day she went out with the goat again, and once more she left the few scraps offered to her. The first time and the second time this happened, her sisters didn’t notice, but when things went on like this they began to wonder what had happened, and said, “Something is wrong with Two-Eyes. She never touches her food, and she always used to wolf down everything we gave her. She must be getting food on the sly somehow.” And to discover the truth, they decided that One-Eye would go out to the pasture with Two-Eyes, pay attention to what she was doing and see whether someone might be bringing her food and drink.
When Two-Eyes drove th
e goat out to pasture again, One-Eye went to her and said, “I’m coming with you to make sure that you look after the goat well and drive her to find fodder.” But Two-Eyes saw what One-Eye had in mind, and she drove the goat out into the tall grass and said, “Come along, One-Eye, let’s sit down, and I will sing you something.” One-Eye sat down, feeling tired after walking all that way, which was not her habit, in the summer heat, and Two-Eyes kept on singing:
“One-Eye, are you waking?
One-Eye, are you sleeping?”
Then One-Eye closed her single eye, and fell asleep. When Two-Eyes saw that One-Eye was fast asleep, and couldn’t give her secret away, she said:
“Bleat, goat, lay a table, bleat,
with all the food that I can eat!”
and sat down at her little table and ate and drank until she had had enough. Then she cried again:
“Bleat, goat; table, go away
And come again another day.”
and it all disappeared. Then Two-Eyes woke One-Eye and said, “Dear me, One-Eye, you come out to herd the goat and fall asleep! Why, the goat could have run away to goodness knows where. Come along, let’s go home.” So they went home, and once again Two-Eyes left her dish of scraps untouched. One-Eye couldn’t tell her mother why her sister didn’t want to eat, and confessed, “I fell asleep out there.”
Next day the mother said to Three-Eyes, “You go out with Two-Eyes, and mind you notice whether she is eating and drinking out in the pasture, and whether anyone brings her food and drink, for she has to eat and drink some time or other.” So Three-Eyes went to Two-Eyes and said, “I’m coming with you to make sure that you look after the goat well and drive her to find fodder.” But Two-Eyes saw what Three-Eyes had in mind, and she drove the goat out into the tall grass and said, “Come along, Three-Eyes, let’s sit down, and I will sing you something.” Three-Eyes sat down, feeling tired after walking all that way in the summer heat, and Two-Eyes struck up the same song as before, this time singing: