The Juniper Tree and Other Tales

by Jacob Grimm

  “Three-Eyes, are you waking?”

  And next she meant to sing:

  “Three-Eyes, are you sleeping?”

  But she was careless, and sang instead:

  “Two-Eyes, are you sleeping?”

  So she kept singing:

  “Three-Eyes, are you waking?

  Two-Eyes, are you sleeping?”

  Then two of her sister’s three eyes closed and went to sleep, but the third eye, which wasn’t mentioned in the song, did not sleep. However, out of cunning Three-Eyes closed it and pretended that it was sleeping, but it was really awake and noticed all that went on. When Two-Eyes thought that Three-Eyes was asleep, she said her little verse:

  “Bleat, goat, lay a table, bleat,

  with all the food that I can eat!”

  ate and drank to her heart’s content, and then sent the table away again, saying:

  “Bleat, goat; table, go away

  And come again another day.”

  But Three-Eyes had seen it all. Then Two-Eyes went over to her and said, “Dear me, Three-Eyes, you’ve been asleep! You’re a fine one for herding goats! Come along, let’s go home.” Once they were home, Two-Eyes didn’t touch the scraps left for her, and Three-Eyes told her mother, “Now I know why that proud creature doesn’t eat. When she is out in the pasture and says to the goat:

  ‘Bleat, goat, lay a table, bleat,

  with all the food that I can eat!’

  a little table appears in front of her, laden with good food, much better than we eat here, and when she has had enough she says:

  ‘Bleat, goat; table, go away

  And come again another day,’

  and it disappears again. I saw it all; she put two of my eyes to sleep with a little verse, but luckily the one in the middle of my forehead stayed awake.”

  The mother cried furiously, “Would you set yourself up as better than us, Two-Eyes? Well, we’ll soon teach you what’s what!” And then she fetched a slaughterer’s knife and plunged it into the heart of the goat, which fell down dead.

  When Two-Eyes saw that, she went out to the edge of the field in great grief, and sat down to shed bitter tears again. Suddenly there was the wise woman in front of her once more, saying, “Two-Eyes, why are you weeping?”

  “Why wouldn’t I weep?” said the girl. “My mother has killed the goat who spread such good food in front of me every day when I said your little verse, and now I must suffer hunger and grief again.”

  But the wise woman said, “I will give you a piece of good advice, Two-Eyes; ask your sisters to give you the entrails of the slaughtered goat, bury them outside the door of the house, and good luck will be yours.”

  Then she disappeared, and Two-Eyes went home and said to her sisters, “Dear sisters, give me a part of my goat. I’m not asking for the best of it, just let me have the entrails.” They laughed at her, and said, “If that’s all you want, you can have them and welcome.” So Two-Eyes took the goat’s entrails and buried them quietly outside the door of the house that evening, as the wise woman had advised.

  Next morning, when they all woke up and went out of the house, there was a wonderful, stately tree growing there, with leaves of silver and golden fruit hanging among them. Nothing more beautiful and delicious was ever seen. But they didn’t know how this tree had suddenly grown in the night. Only Two-Eyes saw that it must have sprouted directly from the entrails of the goat, for it stood exactly where she had buried them.

  The girls’ mother said to One-Eye, “Climb up this tree, my child, and pick the fruit.” One-Eye climbed the tree, but when she was about to pick one of the golden apples the branch drew back from her hands, and the same thing happened every time she tried. Whatever she did, she couldn’t pick any of the golden apples. Then her mother said, “Three-Eyes, you climb the tree. With your three eyes, you can see better than One-Eye.” One-Eye slid down the tree and Three-Eyes climbed up it, but she was no more skilful, and longingly as she might look at them, the golden apples always drew back from her. Finally the mother climbed the tree herself, but she was no better than One-Eye and Three-Eyes at grasping the fruit, and kept seizing empty air.

  Then Two-Eyes said, “I’ll climb the tree. Perhaps I shall have better luck.”

  “What do you think you can do, with your two eyes?” cried her sisters, but Two-Eyes climbed the tree, and the golden apples did not retreat from her, but you might have thought they were hurrying to reach her hands. She picked apple after apple, and came down with her apron full of them. Her mother took them from her, and instead of treating poor Two-Eyes better for that, she and One-Eye and Three-Eyes were envious because only she had been able to pick the fruits, and they were harder on her than ever.

  It so happened that one day, when she was standing alone by the tree, a young knight came that way. “Quick, Two-Eyes,” cried her sisters, “get out of sight to spare us being ashamed of you.” And they pushed poor Two-Eyes under an empty cask that was standing near the tree, stuffing the golden apples that she had picked under it too. When the knight came closer, they saw that he was a handsome man. He admired the fine gold-and-silver tree, and asked the two sisters, “Whose is this beautiful tree? If the owners would give me a branch of it, they could ask what they liked of me in return.”

  One-Eye and Three-Eyes replied that the tree was theirs, and said they would be happy to give him a branch of it. But hard as they both tried, they couldn’t do it, for the branches and fruit drew back from them all the time. “It’s a strange thing,” said the knight, “that you say the tree belongs to you, and yet you’re unable to break anything off it!”

  They still insisted that the tree was theirs, but as they were talking Two-Eyes, who was angry to hear One-Eye and Three-Eyes telling lies, rolled two golden apples out from under the cask and they stopped at the knight’s feet. When the knight saw the apples, he was amazed, and asked where they came from. One-Eye and Three-Eyes said that they had another sister, but she wasn’t fit to be seen, because she had two eyes like other folk. But the knight said he wanted to see her, and he cried, “Come out, Two-Eyes.” Then Two-Eyes, feeling more confident, came out from under the cask, and the knight was astonished to see her beauty. “I am sure, Two-Eyes,” he said, “that you can break off a branch of the tree for me.”

  “Yes, indeed, sir,” said Two-Eyes. “I am sure I can, for the tree is mine.” And she climbed it and easily broke off a branch bearing silver leaves and golden fruit, and gave it to the knight.

  Then the knight said, “Two-Eyes, what shall I give you in return?”

  “Oh, sir,” replied Two-Eyes, “I suffer from hunger and thirst, grief and want here from morning to evening. If you would take me with you and free me from such a life I would be happy.” Then the knight lifted Two-Eyes up on his horse and took her home to his father’s castle, where he gave her fine clothes, all the food and drink she could wish for, and because he had fallen in love with her, he found a priest to marry them, and their wedding was held with great rejoicing.

  When Two-Eyes had been taken away by the handsome knight, her two sisters were very envious of her good fortune. Well, they thought, at least the wonderful tree will stay with us, and even if we can’t pick its fruit everyone who comes this way will stop to marvel at it and praise it, so who knows what luck that may yet bring us? But next morning the tree had disappeared, and when Two-Eyes looked out of the castle window, there it was standing outside, so she knew that it had followed her.

  Two-Eyes had been living happily with the knight for a long time when two poor women came to the castle one day, asking for charity. Then Two-Eyes looked at them, and recognized her sisters One-Eye and Three-Eyes, who had become so poor that they went around begging their bread from door to door. But Two-Eyes welcomed them in, and was so kind to them, and treated them so well, that they were heartily sorry for all their unkindness to their sister.

  SNOW-WHITE AND ROSE-RED

  SNOW-WHITE AND ROSE-RED

  A POOR WIDOW LIVED
ALONE in a little cottage, and outside the cottage there was a garden with two rose bushes in it. One of them bore white roses, the other red roses. The widow had two daughters like the rose bushes, and one of them was called Snow-White and the other Rose-Red. They were as good and devout, as hard-working and dauntless, as two girls ever were in this world. The only difference was that Snow-White was quieter and gentler than her sister. Rose-Red loved to run around in the fields and meadows, looking for flowers and chasing the birds in summer, while Snow-White stayed at home with their mother, helping her about the house, or reading aloud to her when there was no housework to be done. The two girls loved one another so much that they always held hands when they went out together, and when Snow-White said, “We will never be parted,” Rose-Red would add, “As long as we live,” and their mother said, “You must each of you share what you have with the other.”

  They often roamed the forest, picking red berries, but none of the wild animals ever harmed them. Rabbits ate cabbage leaves from their hands, deer grazed beside them, the birds stayed where they were, perching on the branches, and sang whatever they knew. No accident ever happened to them; if they stayed out late in the forest, and night overtook them, they would lie down on the moss side by side and sleep until morning, and since their mother knew that, she did not feel anxious. Once, when they had spent the night in the forest, and dawn woke them, they saw a beautiful child in a white, shining garment sitting beside them. The child stood up and gave them a friendly smile, but said nothing, and went into the forest. When they looked around, they saw that they had been sleeping very close to the edge of a precipice, and they would probably have fallen over it if they had gone a few steps further in the darkness. Their mother told them that the child must have been a guardian angel looking after good children.

  Snow-White and Rose-Red kept their mother’s little house so neat and clean that it was a delight to see it. In summer Rose-Red looked after the house, and put a bunch of flowers by her mother’s bed every morning when she woke up, with a rose from each of the two bushes among the flowers. In the winter Snow-White lit the fire and hung the big pot from the hook over it. The pot was made of brass, but it shone like gold, they scoured it so clean. In the evening, when snow was falling, their mother would say, “Go and bolt the door, Snow-White,” and then they sat by the hearth, and their mother put on her glasses and read from a big book. The two girls listened as they sat there spinning with a little lamb on the floor beside them, and a white dove on a perch behind them with its head tucked under its wing.

  One evening, when they were sitting comfortably like this, someone knocked on the door as if asking to be let in. Their mother said, “Quick, Rose-Red, open the door. It must be a traveller looking for shelter.” Rose-Red went to push back the bolt, but instead of a traveller a bear put his huge shaggy head through the doorway. Rose-Red cried out aloud, and shrank back; the lamb bleated, the dove fluttered up from its perch, and Snow-White hid behind her mother’s bed. But the bear began to speak, saying, “Don’t be afraid, I will do you no harm. I’m half frozen, and I only want to warm myself a little in your house.”

  “Oh, poor bear,” said the girls’ mother. “Lie down by the fire, but take care that you don’t singe your fur.” Then she said, “Snow-White, Rose-Red, come out, the bear won’t hurt you. He means well.” They both came out, and so, slowly, did the lamb and the dove, and they weren’t afraid any more.

  “Children,” said the bear, “knock some of the snow off my fur, will you?” They fetched the broom, and swept the snow off the bear’s fur, while he stretched out by the fire, growling happily with pleasure. Before long they felt at ease with their clumsy guest, and played mischievous tricks on him, running their hands through his fur, putting their feet on his back, and pushing him this way and that, or whipping him gently with a hazel rod, and when he growled they laughed. The bear was happy to let them do as they liked, and only if they were a little too rough with him did he cry, “Let me live, children!

  Snow-White, Rose-Red,

  You’ll strike your suitor dead.”

  When it was time to go to sleep, and the others went to bed, the girls’ mother said to the bear, “You can stay here beside the hearth, in God’s name, and you will have shelter from the cold and the wild weather.”

  When day broke, the two children let him out, and he trotted over the snow and into the forest. From then on the bear came every evening at the same time, lay down by the hearth, and let the girls amuse themselves playing with him as much as they liked. Soon they were so used to him that they didn’t bolt the door until their black friend had arrived.

  One morning when spring had come, and everything out of doors was green, the bear said to Snow-White, “Now I must leave, and I can’t come back all summer long.”

  “Where are you going, dear bear?” asked Snow-White.

  “I must go into the forest and guard my treasure from the wicked dwarves. In winter, when the earth is frozen hard, they have to stay underground and can’t break out, but now that the sun has thawed the soil and warmed it, they break through, climb up above ground, and go looking for what they can steal. And anything that falls into their hands and is stored in their caves doesn’t easily find its way back to the light of day.”

  Snow-White was very sorry to say goodbye to the bear, but she unbolted the door, and when he pushed his way through it, he got stuck on the latch of the door and left a little of his fur there. It seemed to Snow-White that she saw something shining like gold beneath his pelt, but she wasn’t sure, because the bear lumbered away in a hurry, and had soon disappeared behind the trees.

  Some time later their mother sent the girls into the forest to collect brushwood. They found a huge tree lying felled on the ground, and something was jumping up and down on the grass beside the trunk, but they couldn’t see what. When they came closer they saw a dwarf with an old, wrinkled face, and a long snow-white beard. The end of his beard was caught in a split in the tree trunk, and the little creature was jumping up and down like a puppy pulling at a lead, and didn’t know what to do. He glared at the girls with his red, fiery eyes, and shouted, “Why are you just standing around like that? Can’t you come over here and help me instead?”

  “What were you doing, little man?” asked Rose-Red.

  “You silly inquisitive goose,” said the dwarf. “I was trying to split this trunk to get some small logs of firewood for the kitchen. Big logs burn the little bit of food that’s enough for the likes of us, folk that aren’t as greedy as you coarse, nasty humans. I drove a wedge into the wood, and it would all have gone well if the accursed timber hadn’t been so slippery, and the wedge accidentally slipped out, so that the split tree sprang back together again, too soon for me to get my nice white beard out of the way. Now it’s stuck, and so am I. Don’t you silly milksops laugh! What nasty folk you are!”

  The girls did all they could to pull the beard out, but it was stuck too fast. “I’ll run off to get people to come and help,” said Rose-Red.

  “You stupid creatures,” snarled the dwarf, “who needs people? Two of you are already too many for me. Can’t you think of anything better?”

  “Don’t be impatient,” said Snow-White. “I’m sure I’ll think of some way out.” Then she took her little pair of scissors out of her pocket and cut off the end of the dwarf ’s beard. As soon as he felt he was free, he snatched up a sack full of gold lying among the tree roots, growling, “Clumsy creatures! Cutting off a piece of my beautiful beard. Bad luck to you!” With these words he slung the sack over his shoulder and went away without another glance for the children.

  A little while after that, Snow-White and Rose-Red were going fishing to catch fish for the pan. When they went down to the stream they saw something hopping about by the bank like a big grasshopper, as if it were trying to jump in. They ran down to the bank and saw the dwarf. “Where are you going?” asked Rose-Red. “You don’t want to jump into the water, do you?”

  “I�
�m not such a fool as that,” screamed the dwarf. “Can’t you see that this accursed fish is trying to pull me in?” The little fellow had been sitting there, fishing, and unfortunately the wind had tangled his beard in his rod and line. When a big fish took the bait next moment, the dwarf wasn’t strong enough to pull it out. The fish was stronger, and was pulling the dwarf towards the water. He clutched at all the grass and reeds that he could reach, but that wasn’t much help; he had to follow the movements of the fish, and he was in constant danger of falling into the stream. The girls arrived at just the right time, held him firmly and tried to free his beard from the line, but it was no use; the beard was hopelessly entangled with the fishing line. There was nothing for it but to bring out the scissors again and cut the beard free, losing part of it in the process. When the dwarf saw that, he cried, “You stupid girls, is that any way to disfigure a dwarf ’s face? Not content with cutting off the end of my beard, now you cut the best part of it away! I’m not fit to be seen by my own kind like this! I wish you’d had to run and lost the soles of your shoes!”

  Then he picked up a bag of pearls lying in the reeds, and without another word he carried it away and disappeared behind a rock.