Selected Tales of the Brothers Grimm

by Brothers Grimm

  We pass this book on to sympathetic hands, cognizant of the beneficent strength of the tales it contains, and sincerely wish that its mysteries may remain invisible to those who would begrudge such crumbs of poetry to the poor and the needy among us.

  Kassel, July 3, 1819

  *Foreword to the second edition of Kinder- und Hausmärchen (1819).

  *A Germanic tribe native to Hessen.

  Selected Tales of the

  Brothers Grimm

  THE GOLDEN KEY

  Once in wintertime, when everything was covered in a deep bed of snow, a poor boy had to go out on his sled to fetch wood. After he had finished gathering and loading the wood, feeling frozen to the bone, before heading home he wanted to build a fire and warm himself a bit. So he scraped away the snow and cleared a patch of earth, when lo and behold, he found a little golden key lying there. Well, he figured, where there’s a key there must also be a lock to fit it in, so he dug in the ground and found a little iron box. If only the key fits! he thought to himself. There must surely be precious things in the box. He looked and looked but could not find a keyhole; finally he found one, but it was so small he could hardly see it. He tried to insert the key and fortunately it fit. Then he turned it one time around, and now we will have to wait until he manages to open the lock and lift the lid to discover what sort of wondrous things are in the box.

  THE SINGING BONE

  Once upon a time a great lamentation arose in a certain land because of a wild boar that tore up the fields of the farmers, killed their livestock, and ripped open people’s bodies with its tusks. The king offered a great reward to anyone who could rid the land of this calamity, but the beast was so big and strong that nobody dared to approach the forest in which it dwelled. Finally the king let it be known that whosoever captured or killed the wild boar would have the hand of his only daughter in marriage.

  Now in this land there lived two brothers, sons of a poor man, who came to the king and were willing to take on this hazardous task. The elder brother, who was crafty and shrewd, offered his help out of pride; the younger brother, who was innocent and simple, did so out of the goodness of his heart. The king said, “So that you are all the more certain to find the beast, you will enter the forest from opposite sides.” The elder one entered from where the sun sets and the younger one from where it rises. And after the younger brother had been walking a short while, a little man came up to him, holding a black spear in his hand, and said, “This spear I give you because your heart is pure and good. With it you may confidently set upon the wild boar, and it will do you no harm.” The boy thanked the little man, hoisted the spear onto his shoulder, and continued fearlessly on his way. It wasn’t long before he spotted the beast as it came charging at him. He held out the spear, and in the creature’s rage it clove its heart in two. Then he lifted the monster onto his shoulder and carried it homeward, wanting to bring it to the king.

  When he emerged at the forest’s far side, he came upon an inn where people went to make merry with dance and wine. His elder brother had gone in, having thought to himself that the boar could wait and that before setting out he would first fortify himself with a glass or two. When he spotted his younger brother emerging from the forest with the prized carcass on his back, his envious and vindictive heart would not let him be. He called to him, “Do come in, dear brother, rest your weary bones and have a glass to refresh yourself.” The younger brother, who suspected no evil intent, went in and told his brother of the kind little man who gave him the spear with which he killed the boar. The elder brother wined and dined him until evening, then the two set out together. But when in the dark of night they came to a bridge over a brook, the elder brother let the younger one go ahead, and halfway across the water struck him from behind so that he tumbled down dead. He buried him beneath the bridge, then took the boar and brought it to the king, pretending that it was he who killed it, whereupon, as promised, he received the king’s daughter’s hand in marriage. And when the younger brother failed to return, he said, “The boar must have mauled him,” and everyone believed him.

  But since nothing can remain hidden from the eyes of God, this dark deed, too, had to be revealed. Many years later a shepherd drove his herd across the bridge and spotted a snow-white bone lying below in the sand. He thought to himself, That would make a good mouthpiece. So he climbed down, picked it up, and carved himself a mouthpiece for his horn. But when he blew on it for the first time, to the shepherd’s great surprise, the little bone started singing on its own:

  “Oh, dear little shepherd boy,

  The bone you blow on knows no joy,

  My brother slayed me.

  Beneath the bride he laid me

  All for the wild boar’s hide

  To make the king’s daughter his bride.”

  “What a wondrous little horn is this,” said the shepherd, “an instrument that sings by itself. I must bring it to the king.” And when he brought it before the king, the little horn started singing its song again. The king immediately understood its meaning, had the ground dug up under the bridge, and all the slaughtered brother’s bones were unearthed. The evil brother could not deny the deed, was sewn up in a bag, and drowned, but the bones of the murdered one were laid to rest in the churchyard in a lovely grave.

  THE TALE OF THE JUNIPER TREE

  It happened long, long ago, more than two thousand years gone by. There was a rich man who had a beautiful and God-fearing wife, and they loved each other very much. But they had no children, much as they badly wanted them. And the woman prayed so hard day and night, but still she had no children, not a one.

  Now in the yard, in front of their house, stood a juniper tree. One day in winter the woman stood beneath it, peeling herself an apple, and as she peeled she cut her finger, and the blood dripped into the snow. “Oh,” said the woman with a deep sigh when she saw the blood in the snow, and suddenly felt overwhelmed with sadness, “if only I had a child as red as blood and as white as snow.” Having let these words spill from her lips, she felt a great happiness, and she was certain it would come to pass.

  So she went back into the house, and after a month went by the snow melted. After two months, everything was green. After three months, flowers blossomed from the ground. After four months, all the trees in the forest grew heavy with leaves, and the green branches were all entwined with one another. And the little birds twittered so that the entire forest resounded with their song, and the blossoms fell from the trees. Then a fifth month had gone by, and she stood again beneath the juniper tree; it smelled so sweet her heart nearly burst for joy, and she fell to her knees and was beside herself with emotion. And after the sixth month had lapsed, the fruit hung thick and plump, and she fell still. At the end of the seventh month, she picked all the juniper berries and gobbled them down so greedily it made her sick and solemn. The eighth month passed, and she called her husband to her. Weeping, she said to him, “If I die, bury me under the juniper tree.” Then she felt greatly relieved and happy, and at the end of the ninth month she bore a child as white as snow and as red as blood, and when she set eyes on the child she was so glad that she died.

  Her husband buried her beneath the juniper tree, and he cried and cried inconsolably. In time he felt a little better, and although he still shed tears at least his grief was bearable. And not long after that he took another wife.

  With the second wife he had a daughter, but the child he’d had with his first wife was a little son, and he was as red as blood and as white as snow. When the woman looked at her daughter she loved her a lot, but then she looked at the little lad and it gnawed at her heart to see him, as if he would forever stand in the way, and she couldn’t stop thinking how to keep the inheritance all for her daughter. And the Evil One wouldn’t let up, so that she was altogether filled with hatred for the little lad. She kept shoving him around from one place to another, and slapped him here and whacked him there, so that the poor little fellow was frightened all the time. As s
oon as he came home from school he could find no place of refuge from her wrath.

  Once when the woman went up to her room, her little daughter came bounding up the stairs after her and said, “Mother, give me an apple.”

  “Yes, my child,” said the woman, and took a luscious-looking apple from the chest and gave it to her. The chest had a great big heavy lid with a large sharp iron lock.

  “Mother,” said the little girl, “will my brother not get one too?”

  The woman winced, but she said, “Yes, when he comes home from school.” And when, peering out the window, she saw him coming, it was as if the Evil One grabbed hold of her, and she reached out and took back the apple from her daughter and said, “You shan’t have one before your brother.” Then she flung the apple back into the chest and locked it. Whereupon the little lad walked through the door, and the Evil One made her speak sweetly to him. “My son,” she said, “would you like to have an apple?” And she gave him such a nasty look.

  “Mother,” said the little fellow, “how cross you look! Yes, give me an apple.”

  She felt as if she had to convince him. “Come with me,” she said, lifting the lid, “and pick out an apple.” And when the little boy bent over, the Evil One beckoned, and blam! She slammed the lid so that his head was chopped off and landed among the red apples. Riddled with fear at what she’d done, she thought to herself, I’ve got to find a way to get out of this! Then she went up to her room, opened her chest of drawers, and pulled a white scarf out of the top drawer, set the boy’s head back on his neck, wrapped the scarf around it so that nobody could see that it was severed, propped him up on a stool in front of the door, and put the apple in his hand.

  Not long after that Marlenikin came over to her mother in the kitchen, who was standing by the fire, stirring and stirring a pot of hot water. “Mother,” said Marlenikin, “my brother is seated by the door all white in the face with an apple in his hand. I asked him to give me the apple but he made no reply. The sight of him gives me the creeps.”

  “Go back to him,” said the mother, “and if he still says nothing, give him a cuff on the ear.”

  So Marlenikin went and said, “Brother, give me the apple.” But when he made no reply, she boxed his ear, whereupon his head fell off. Then she panicked and started crying and screaming. And she ran to her mother and said, “Oh, Mother, I knocked my brother’s head off,” and kept crying and crying and would not stop crying.

  “Marlenikin,” said the mother, “what have you done! Better be quiet now, if you don’t want anyone to know. No point crying over spilt milk. We’ll boil him up and make a stew.” Then the mother took the little boy and hacked him into pieces, put the pieces in the pot, and prepared a stew. But Marlenikin stood beside her and kept crying and crying, and her tears fell in the pot, so it needed no salt.

  Then the father came home, sat himself down at the table, and said, “Where is my son?”

  The mother served him up a great big helping of stew, and Marlenikin wouldn’t stop crying.

  The father asked again, “Where is my son?”

  “Oh,” said the woman, “he took a trip to visit his mother’s great-uncle. He’ll stay there for a while.”

  “What in heaven’s name is he doing there? He didn’t even say goodbye to me?”

  “Oh, well, he wanted to go so badly, and asked if he could stay six weeks. I’m sure they’ll take good care of him there.”

  The man replied, “I’m so sad, it isn’t right that he should have left without saying goodbye.” Whereupon he started eating, and said, “Marlenikin, why are you crying? Your brother will be back soon.” Then he said, “Woman, this stew tastes so good, give me more!” And the more he ate, the more he wanted, and he said, “Give me more, the two of you shall have none. It seems to me as if it were all mine.” And he ate and ate, and dropped all the bones under the table, until he had gobbled it all up.

  Then Marlenikin went to her chest of drawers, drew her best silken scarf from the bottom drawer, and gathered all the bones little and big from under the table, bound them in her silken scarf, and hauled them out the door, where she wept bloody tears. She laid the bones out in the green grass under the juniper tree, and once she had done so she felt a whole lot better and didn’t cry anymore.

  After that the juniper tree started to sway, and the branches spread farther and farther apart and then came back together again, as if in a burst of joy someone were clapping his hands. And it was as if a mist rose from the tree, and in the midst of the mist a fire burned, and a beautiful bird flew out of the fire. It sang so sweetly and flew high up in the air, and once it was gone the juniper tree was again as before, and the cloth with the bones was gone. But Marlenikin felt so giddy and glad-hearted, as if her brother were still alive. Then she went cheerfully back into the house, sat down at the table, and ate.

  But the bird flew away, landed on the roof of a goldsmith’s house, and started singing:

  “My mother, she smote me,

  My father, he ate me,

  My sister, sweet Marlenikin,

  Gathered all my little bonikins,

  Bound them in a silken scarf,

  And lay them under the juniper tree.

  Tweet, tweet, I’m a pretty birdie, look at me!”

  The goldsmith, who sat at his workbench fashioning a golden chain, heard the bird perched on his rooftop singing. The song sounded so sweet to him that he got up to have a look, and as he crossed his doorstep he lost a slipper. But he strode out into the middle of the street with only one slipper and one sock on, draped in his leather apron and with the golden chain in one hand and his tongs in the other. And the sun shone brightly on that street. He stepped forward, then stood still and said to the bird, “Your song is so sweet, will you sing it again?”

  “No,” said the bird, “I won’t sing it a second time for nothing. Give me the golden chain and I’ll do as you ask.”

  “Here,” said the goldsmith, “take the golden chain, and sing it again.”

  Then the bird swooped down and snatched the golden chain with its right claw, landed in front of the goldsmith, and sang:

  “My mother, she smote me,

  My father, he ate me,

  My sister, sweet Marlenikin,

  Gathered all my little bonikins,

  Bound them in a silken scarf,

  And lay them under the juniper tree.

  Tweet, tweet, I’m a pretty birdie, look at me!”

  Then the bird flew to a shoemaker, landed on his rooftop, and sang:

  “My mother, she smote me,

  My father, he ate me,

  My sister, sweet Marlenikin,

  Gathered all my little bonikins,

  Bound them in a silken scarf,

  And lay them under the juniper tree.

  Tweet, tweet, I’m a pretty birdie, look at me!”

  Entranced by the song, the shoemaker ran out the door in his shirtsleeves, peered up at his roof, and held his hand in front of his eyes to keep from being blinded by the sun. “Bird,” said he, “you sure can sing.” Then he called to his wife through the open door: “Honey, why don’t you come out and get a load of this bird here, boy can it ever sing!” Then he called to his daughter and her children, to the journeymen, the apprentice, and the maid, and they all came out into the street to have a look at the bird; they saw how beautiful it was with its red-and-green plumage, and around its neck it wore a golden chain, and its eyes twinkled like stars. “Bird,” said the shoemaker, “sing me that ditty again.”

  “No,” said the bird, “I won’t sing it a second time for nothing, you’ve got to give me something.”

  “Honey,” said the man to his wife, “go to the shop and bring me the pair of red shoes on the top shelf.” So his wife went and fetched the shoes. “Here, bird,” said the man, “now sing me that ditty one more time.”

  Then the bird swooped down, grabbed hold of the shoes with its left claw, and flew back up to the rooftop and sang:

  �
�My mother, she smote me,

  My father, he ate me,

  My sister, sweet Marlenikin,

  Gathered all my little bonikins,

  Bound them in a silken scarf,

  And lay them under the juniper tree.

  Tweet, tweet, I’m a pretty birdie, look at me!”

  And once it had sung the song to the end, it flew away. With the golden chain in its right claw and the shoes in its left, it flew to a mill. And the mill went: “Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop.” And in the mill sat twenty apprentices hammering and chiseling away at a millstone: “Slam-bam, slam-bam, slam-bam.” And the mill went: “Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop.” The bird landed on a juniper tree that stood in front of the mill and sang:

  “My mother, she smote me.”

  Whereupon one apprentice stopped what he was doing.

  “My father, he ate me.”

  Two more stopped working and listened up.

  “My sister, sweet Marlenikin.”

  Four more stopped to listen.

  “Gathered all my little bonikins,

  Bound them in a silken scarf.”

  Now only eight kept hammering.

  “And lay them under . . .”