Then Dummling said, ‘Father, please let me go and cut wood in the forest.’ His father sighed and tutted, ‘Your brothers have hurt themselves already doing that. Be quiet, Dummling. You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ But Dummling begged and pleaded for so long that eventually his father said, ‘All right then, go! And when you’ve damaged yourself, perhaps that’ll be a lesson to you.’ Dummling’s mother gave him a tasteless cake made with water and baked in the ashes and a bottle of sour beer to wash it down with. When he arrived in the forest, the little old grey man came up to him and greeted him, ‘Give me a bit of your cake and a swallow from your bottle. I am very hungry and thirsty.’ Dummling answered simply and honestly, ‘I’ve only got a flour-and-water cake and some stale ale; but if that’s good enough for you, you’re welcome to share it with me.’ So they sat down together, and when Dummling took out his cinder-cake it was now a superb sweet cake, and his sour beer had turned into the finest wine. They ate and drank contentedly, and afterwards the little grey man said, ‘Since you have such a kind heart, and share what little you have so generously, I am going to give you the gift of good luck. See that old tree over there? Well, chop it down and you will find something at its roots.’ Then the little man left Dummling alone. Dummling went straight over to the tree and cut it down, and when it fell there was a goose sitting in the roots with feathers of pure gold. He lifted her out, tucked her firmly under his arm, and set off for an inn where he intended to stay the night.
Now, the landlord of the inn had three daughters, and as soon as they saw the goose they were fascinated by it, and curious to find out what wonderful kind of bird it was. And they ended up by longing for one of its golden feathers. The eldest thought, ‘I’ll be smart and wait for a good opportunity and then I’ll pull out one of its feathers for myself.’ And as soon as Dummling had gone out, she grabbed the goose by its wing. But her fingers and hand stuck to the goose like glue. Soon afterwards, the second sister came along with exactly the same cunning idea of plucking out a golden feather all for herself. But no sooner had she touched her older sister than she was stuck to her. Then, last of all, the third sister came, hellbent on filching a feather, but the other two screamed out, ‘Stay away! For heaven’s sake stay away!’ But she didn’t see why she should be the only one to keep away, and thought, ‘If they’re doing it, why shouldn’t I?’ and rushed over to them. Of course, the moment she’d touched her sister she was stuck to her. And there the three of them had to stay all night, glued to the golden goose.
The next morning, Dummling tucked the goose under his arm and set off into the world, without so much as blinking an eye at the three sisters who were stuck behind him. The silly girls had to run after him, any old way he chose to go – left, right, fast, slow, wherever his legs carried him. As they were crossing the fields, the Parson noticed them, and when he saw the procession following Dummling, he said sternly, ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, you disgraceful girls, chasing after a young man through the fields like this. What are young girls coming to?’ And at the same time, he seized the youngest by the hand and tried to pull her away. But as soon as his hand touched hers he was stuck fast too, and had to run after them himself till he was puce in the face. Next thing, the Sexton came that way, and seeing the highly respectable Parson, that pillar of the community, running after three girls, he was very shocked indeed and called out, ‘Hoy, your reverence, where are you rushing off to? Have you forgotten we’ve got a christening today?’ He trotted up to him and tugged at his sleeve, but was stuck to it at once. While the five of them were jogging like this, one behind the other, two workers from the fields went past with their hoes. The Parson shouted out to them and begged for their help in setting him and the Sexton free. But no sooner had they touched the Sexton than the two of them became firmly stuck, and now there were seven of them running behind Dummling and his golden goose.
Eventually, they all arrived at a city. The King who ruled there had a daughter who was so serious that nothing and no one could make her laugh. Because of this, the King had given his word that whoever could make her laugh could marry her – simple as that. When Dummling heard about this, he went directly to the King’s daughter with his goose and the train of seven people behind him. The solemn-faced girl took one look at them all, running up and down as Dummling pleased, and burst out laughing. And she laughed so much it seemed she’d never stop! Straight away, Dummling asked to marry her, as was his right, and soon enough the peals of laughter became peals of wedding bells. The wedding was held at once; and Dummling became heir to the kingdom and lived long and merrily with his wife.
Ashputtel
One bleak time, there was a wealthy man whose wife became fatally ill. When she felt that the end of her life was near, she called her only little daughter to her bedside and said, ‘My darling girl, always try to be good, like you are now, and say your prayers. Then God will look after you, and I will look down at you from heaven and protect you.’ When she’d said these words, she closed her loving eyes and died. The young girl went out every day to cry beside her mother’s grave. When winter came, the snow put down a white shroud on the grave, and when the sun took it off again in the spring, the girl’s father remarried.
His new wife brought her two daughters to live with them. Although their faces were as lovely as flowers, their hearts were as ugly as thorns. And so, a time of real unhappiness began for the poor little stepdaughter. ‘Why should this eyesore sit next to us at supper?’ they squawked. ‘Those who want to eat bread must earn it. Go to the kitchen, kitchen maid!’ They stole her pretty dresses and made her wear an old grey smock and forced her perfect feet into wooden clogs. ‘Ooh, la-di-da!’ they sniggered. ‘Doesn’t the proud princess look perfect today!’ Their bright, mean eyes gleamed, and they laughed at her and put her in the kitchen. She had to do all the hard work from dawn till dusk – get up before sunrise, fetch water, make the fire and do the cooking and washing. As well as this, her stepsisters bullied her and poured peas and lentils into the ashes, then forced her to sit there and pick them all out. At night, when she was completely worn out and exhausted with work, she was given no bed to sleep in like the others, but had to lie down on the ashes by the hearth. And because this covered her in dust and grime and made her look dirty, they called her ‘Ashputtel’.
One day, their father was about to set off to the market fair and he asked his two stepdaughters what they would like as a present. ‘Beautiful dresses,’ said one. ‘Pearls and sparkling diamonds,’ said the second. ‘But what about you, Ashputtel?’ he said. ‘What would you like to have?’ ‘Father, break off the first twig that brushes against your hat on the way home and bring it to me.’ So he purchased fine dresses and precious stones for the two stepsisters; and on his way home, as he was riding through a wood, a hazel twig brushed his head and knocked off his hat. So he snapped off the twig and put it in his pocket. As soon as he arrived back home, he gave his stepdaughters what they had asked for – how their eyes widened! – and to Ashputtel he gave the twig from the hazel bush. Ashputtel said thank you, went out to her mother’s grave and planted the twig on it. She was so unhappy and cried so much that her tears watered the twig as they fell, and it grew into a beautiful tree. Three times every day Ashputtel went to the tree and wept and said her prayers. Each time, a little white bird came and perched on the tree; and whenever Ashputtel wished for something, the bird would drop whatever it was at her feet.
Now, it happened that the King decided that his son must choose a bride; so he announced that a feast would be held. It was to last for three whole days and all the pretty young girls in the country were to be invited. When the two stepsisters heard that this included them, they were thrilled, and their eyes shone and their feet tapped with excitement. They called Ashputtel and said, ‘Comb our hair, brush and polish our shoes and rouge our cheeks. We’re going to the wedding feast at the royal palace.’ Ashputtel did as they ordered, but she cried because she wanted to go
to the dance as well. She begged her stepmother to let her go, but her stepmother sneered, ‘You kitchen tramp! Look at yourself. Do you want to go to the feast all dusty and grimy? You haven’t any dresses or shoes, so how do you think you can go dancing, you little scruff?’ But when Ashputtel kept pleading and pleading, she finally said, ‘See here. I’ve poured this bowl of lentils into the ashes. If you can pick out all the lentils again in two hours, then you can come with us to the dance.’
Ashputtel went through the back door into the garden and called out, ‘Gentle doves and turtle-doves, all you birds of the sky come and help me sort out my lentils:
Into the pot if they’re nice to eat,
But swallow the bad ones with your beak.’
Then two white doves flew in at the kitchen window, and after them came the turtle-doves, and then all the birds of the air came swooping and crowding in and landed on the floor round the ashes. The doves nodded their small heads and began – peck, peck, pick, pick – and then the other birds joined in – pick, pick, pick, peck, peck, peck – and put all the good lentils into the bowl. They were so quick and efficient that they’d finished within an hour and flown back out of the window. Ashputtel hurried to show the bowl to her stepmother, bursting with happiness at the thought of going to the wedding feast. But her stepmother said, ‘No, Ashputtel, you’ve got no dress and you can’t dance. You’ll only show us up.’ But when Ashputtel burst into tears, she said, ‘If you can sort out two bowlfuls of lentils out of the ashes in one hour, you can come with us. She’ll never manage that,’ thought the stepmother to herself as she poured two bowlfuls of lentils into the ashes. ‘It’s impossible.’
Ashputtel went out into the garden and called, ‘Gentle doves and turtle-doves, all you birds of the sky, come and help me sort my lentils:
Into the pot if they’re nice to eat
But swallow the bad ones with your beak.’
Once again, the white doves, then the turtle-doves, then all the many birds of the sky came skimming and swirling in and peck-peck-pecked all the good grains into the bowls. And this time, it wasn’t even half an hour before they’d finished and flown out of the window. Ashputtel took the bowls straight to her stepmother, overjoyed at the thought of going to the feast. But her stepmother snapped, ‘It’s no good. You can’t come because you haven’t any fine dresses, you haven’t any shoes, you can’t dance and we’d all be ashamed of you.’ And she turned her back on Ashputtel and swept off with her two cruel daughters.
When everybody had gone and the house was empty, Ashputtel went to her mother’s grave under the hazel tree and called out:
‘Shake your leaves and branches, little tree,
Shower gold and silver down on me.’
And the white bird threw down a golden and silver dress and a pair of slippers embroidered in silk and silver. Quick as a smile, Ashputtel put it all on and hurried to the feast. She looked so stunning in the golden dress that her stepsisters and stepmother couldn’t see that it was Ashputtel and thought she must be a Princess from a foreign land. Ashputtel, they thought, even as they stared at this gorgeous girl, was crouched at home in the dirt, squinting and picking lentils out of the ashes. The Prince came over to her, bowed deeply, took her hand and danced off with her. He wouldn’t let go of her hand, or dance with anyone else, and if another man came up and asked her to dance, he said, ‘She is my partner.’
Ashputtel danced till it was evening, and then she wanted to go home. But, because the Prince was desperate to find out whose beautiful daughter this was, he announced, ‘I shall come with you and escort you home.’ But Ashputtel managed to slip away from him and hid up in the dovecote. The Prince waited until her father came home, and told him that the lovely, mysterious girl had jumped into the dovecote. The father thought, ‘Could she possibly be Ashputtel?’ So he sent for the axe and the pick and broke into the dovecote. It was empty. Ashputtel had jumped down from the other side and run to the divine hazel tree. She’d removed her divine clothes and laid them on her mother’s grave and the white bird had taken them away. Then she had crept back to the kitchen in her grubby grey smock. When the others came indoors, they saw only smelly little Ashputtel lying among the ashes in her crumpled clobber, with a dim little oil lamp flickering at the fireplace.
Next day, the second day of the feast, when everyone had left, Ashputtel went to the hazel tree and said:
‘Shake your leaves and branches, little tree,
Shower gold and silver down on me.’
This time, the bird dropped down an even more amazing dress than before, and when Ashputtel arrived at the feast, everyone gaped wide-eyed at her beauty. The Prince had been waiting only for her. He took her by the hand immediately and danced with her and nobody else. ‘She is my partner,’ he said to any man who came near her. When evening came and it was time for her to leave, the Prince followed her, watching which house she would enter. But she managed to lose him and ran into the garden behind the house, where there was a fine big tree with pears growing on it. She shot up it, fast as a squirrel, and hid in its branches, and the Prince hadn’t a clue where she was. When her father came, he said, ‘That strange, unknown girl has escaped me again. I think she must have jumped into this pear tree.’ The father thought, ‘Could it possibly be Ashputtel?’ So he sent for the axe again and chopped down the tree, but there was no one in it. And when they all went into the kitchen, there was Ashputtel curled up in her ashes as usual. She’d jumped down from the far side of the tree, given back her fabulous finery to the white bird, and dressed in her tatty grey smock again.
On the third day, when her parents and stepsisters had left, Ashputtel went again to her mother’s grave and sang to the hazel tree:
‘Shake your leaves and branches, little tree,
Shower gold and silver down on me.’
This time, the bird threw down a dress that was so sparkling and brilliant that the like of it had never been seen before, and the slippers were golden all over. When she appeared at the wedding feast in this wonderful costume, everyone was gobsmacked with admiration and wonder. The Prince danced only with her, and if anyone asked her for a dance, he said, ‘She is my partner.’ When evening came, Ashputtel decided to leave, and, even though the Prince wanted to come with her, she dashed away from him so speedily that he couldn’t follow. But this time, the Prince had thought of a trick. He had had the whole staircase covered with tar, and as she rushed down it, her left slipper got stuck there. The Prince picked it up and looked at it closely. It was small and slim and golden all over.
The next morning, the Prince took the slipper to the house of Ashputtel’s father and said to him, ‘I will only marry the girl whose foot fits into the golden shoe.’ Ashputtel’s two stepsisters were thrilled because they had beautiful feet. The eldest took the shoe up to her bedroom to try on, with her mother watching beside her. But the shoe was too small and she couldn’t fit her big toe in. And then her mother handed her a knife and said, ‘Slice off your toe. Once you’re Queen you won’t have to bother with walking.’ The girl chopped off her toe and pushed her foot into the shoe. She gritted her teeth against the terrible pain and limped back to the Prince. Seeing her foot in the golden slipper, the Prince took her as his bride and rode off with her on his horse. But their way took them past Ashputtel’s mother’s grave; and there were the two doves perched on the tree calling:
‘Rookity-coo, Rookity-coo!
There’s red blood in the golden shoe.
She chopped her toe, it was too wide,
And she is not your rightful bride.’
The Prince looked at her foot and saw the blood oozing out. He turned round his horse and rode straight back to the house and said she was the wrong girl and that the other sister must try on the shoe. So the second sister rushed up to her bedroom and managed to squeeze her toes into the shoe, but her heel wouldn’t fit. Her mother passed her the knife and said, ‘Carve a slice off your heel. When you’re Queen you won’t need to walk anywher
e.’ The girl hacked off a piece of her heel and forced her foot into the shoe. Then she bit her lip against the awful pain and hobbled back to the Prince. He took her as his bride, lifted her on to his horse and rode off. But as they passed the hazel tree by the grave, the two doves were perched there and called out:
‘Rookity-coo, Rookity-coo!
There’s red blood in the golden shoe.
She chopped her heel, it was too wide,
And she is not your rightful bride.’
The Prince looked at the foot and saw the blood seeping from the slipper and staining her white stocking crimson. So he turned round his horse and rode the false girl home. ‘She’s not the right one either,’ he said. ‘Have you got another daughter?’ ‘No,’ said the man. ‘The only other girl is a dirty little kitchen maid whom my dead wife left behind her. She can’t possibly be the bride.’ The King’s son asked for her to be sent for. ‘No,’ cried the stepmother. ‘She’s much too filthy. She’s not fit to be looked at.’ But the Prince insisted and Ashputtel had to appear. First, she scrubbed her face and hands quite clean, then went in and curtsied before the Prince. He handed her the golden shoe. Ashputtel sat down on a stool, took her slender foot out of the heavy wooden clog, and eased on the little slipper. Of course, it fitted her perfectly, and when she stood up and the Prince looked into her face he recognised her at once. She was the beautiful girl who had danced with him. ‘This is my rightful bride!’ he said. The stepmother and the two sisters were seething and turned ashen-faced with spite, but the Prince put Ashputtel on his horse and rode off with her. As they passed the hazel tree, the two white doves sang out:
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