And Gretel said, “I think I’ll take some too,” and filled her apron with them.
“We’d better go now and get out of the witch’s woods,” said Hansel. But after they’d walked for hours, they came to a great big lake. “We can’t get across,” said Hansel. “I don’t see a ford or footbridge.”
“There’s no boat either,” said Gretel, “but there’s a little white duck swimming along. If I ask it, maybe it will help us get across.” And she called out:
“Duckling, duckling, soft and white,
There’s no ford or footbridge in sight.
Gretel and Hansel beg you with a quack:
Carry us across on your soft white back.”
The duckling came swimming up, and Hansel sat himself on its back and bid his sister sit beside him. “No,” replied Gretel, “the little duck can’t bear the weight of us both. Let it ferry us across one after the other.” The kind little creature did just that, and once they were safely across, the woods looked more and more familiar, and finally they glimpsed from afar their father’s house. Then they started running, burst in, and fell into their father’s arms. The man had not had a moment of peace ever since he left his children in the woods, but the woman had died. Gretel shook her apron out, so that the pearls and precious stones spilled all over the room, and Hansel emptied his pockets, one fistful after another. Their troubles had come to an end, and they lived happily together.
My fairy tale too has come to an end. There’s a mouse running there, and whoever catches it can make himself a big fur hat.
THE GOLDEN GOOSE
There once was a man who had three sons, the youngest of whom was called “Simpleton” and was scorned and ridiculed and slighted time and again. It so happened one day that the eldest son had to go to the forest to cut wood, and before he left, his mother gave him a lovely-looking and delicious pancake and a bottle of wine to satisfy his hunger and quench his thirst. At the forest’s edge he happened upon a little gray man who bid him good day and said, “Give me a piece of the pancake in your pocket and let me have a swallow of your wine. I’m so hungry and thirsty.”
To which the savvy son replied, “If I give you my pancake and my wine I’ll have none left for myself. Be off with you!” So he left the stranger high and dry and continued on his way. But when he started cutting down a tree it wasn’t long before he took a bad swing and the ax struck him in the arm, so that he had to return home and get himself bandaged up. This happened on account of his treatment of the little gray man.
Then the second son went to the forest, and just as she had done with the eldest, the mother gave him a pancake and a bottle of wine. He too encountered the little gray man, who stopped him to ask for a bite of his pancake and a swallow of his wine. But the second son sensibly replied, as had the first, “Whatever I give you will be all the less for me. Be off with you!” And he left the little man high and dry and continued on his way. The punishment followed promptly; with a misguided swing of the ax at a tree he struck himself in the leg and had to be carried back home.
Then Simpleton said, “Father, let me go cut wood.”
To which the father replied, “Your brothers landed themselves some nasty gashes in the process, better not try. You don’t know how to cut wood.” But Simpleton pleaded so long that the father finally said, “Go then if you must. The wounds may make you wise.”
The mother gave him a water-based cake baked in ashes and a bottle of sour beer. When he got to the forest he also met the little old gray man, who greeted him and said, “Give me a piece of your cake and a swig from your bottle. I’m so hungry and thirsty.”
To which Simpleton replied, “I only have ash cake and sour beer, but if that’s good enough for you, let’s sit down and eat.”
Then they sat down and Simpleton pulled out his ash cake, but it was a splendid pancake, and his sour beer had turned into fine wine. So they ate and drank, and after that the little man said, “Because you have a good heart and shared what’s yours, I will grant you good fortune. Yonder stands an old tree. Cut it down, and you will find something at its roots.” Whereupon the stranger took his leave.
Simpleton went over and hacked down the tree, and as it fell, there at the roots sat a goose with feathers of pure gold. He picked it up, took it with him, and went to an inn to spend the night. But the innkeeper had three daughters who saw the goose, were curious what kind of wondrous bird it was, and craved one of its golden feathers. The eldest thought, I’ll find an occasion to pluck out a feather. And when Simpleton happened to go out she grabbed the goose by one of its wings, but her hand got stuck. Not long after that the second sister was dead set on the same, to pluck out a feather – but no sooner did she touch her sister than she got stuck. Finally the third sister came with the same idea, but the others screamed, “Stay back, for heaven’s sake, stay back.” But she did not fathom why she should stay away, and thought, If they’re at it, I might as well join in. And so she leapt forward, and as soon as she touched the middle sister’s hand, she too got stuck. So they had to spend the night with the goose.
The following morning Simpleton took the goose under his arm and went on his way, not concerning himself with the three girls stuck to it. They had to keep running after him, left right, left right, according to the rhythm of his step. In the middle of a field they met a pastor, and when he saw the entourage he said, “You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, you nasty girls, to be running after that young boy through hill and dale. It’s just not right.” At these words, he grabbed the youngest by the hand to tear her away – but as soon as he touched her, he too got stuck and had to run along behind them.
Not long after that the sexton came and saw the pastor following the three girls. Very much surprised, he called out, “Hey, pastor, what’s the hurry? Don’t forget that we still have a baptism to officiate today.” He ran after him and grabbed him by the sleeve, and promptly got stuck. Two peasants came strolling out of the field dragging a hoe, surprised to see the five of them trudging along. The pastor pleaded for them to release the sexton and himself. But as soon as they touched the sexton’s hand, they too got stuck, and now there were seven running after Simpleton and his golden goose.
They soon came to a city ruled by a king who had a daughter so somber and serious nobody could make her laugh. Therefore he passed a law that whosoever could make her laugh would have her as his bride. When Simpleton heard this, he went with his goose and his entourage to present himself to the princess, and as soon as she saw the seven souls running after him she split her sides laughing and couldn’t stop. So Simpleton asked for her hand in marriage, but the king, hardly inclined to accept such a son-in-law, raised all sorts of objections and said that he first had to bring him a man who could drink up a cellar-full of wine.
Simpleton, thinking that the little gray man might be able to help, went out into the forest, and at the spot where he had cut down the tree he saw a man seated there with a sad expression on his face. Simpleton asked what caused him such a heavy heart, to which the man replied, “I have such a mighty thirst I can’t quench it. I can’t abide cold water. I’ve already guzzled down a cask of wine, but that’s just a drop in the bucket.”
“I can help you,” said Simpleton. “Come with me, and you’ll drink your fill.” He took him to the king’s wine cellar, and the man promptly attacked the casks. He drank until his sides ached, and before the day was done he had drunk up the entire cellar.
Simpleton once again demanded his bride, but the king could not abide that such a lowly fellow whom everyone called Simpleton should carry off his daughter, and so set new stipulations. He first had to find a man who could eat up a mountain of bread. Simpleton didn’t hesitate for long but went straight to the woods, and there at the same spot sat a man with a strap tied tightly around his middle and a dour look, who said, “I gobbled up an entire oven-full of bread crumbs, but it’s no use, I’m still so hungry. My belly’s empty and I have to tighten my belt, lest I die of hunge
r.”
Simpleton smiled and said, “Get up and come with me, and you’ll eat your fill.” He led him to the king’s court, where the king had amassed all the flour in his realm, which he’d had baked into a prodigious mountain of bread. But the man from the forest set to it and started eating, and in a day’s time the entire mountain of bread was gone.
So for a third time Simpleton demanded his bride, but the king sought yet another pretext to refuse, demanding a ship that could sail on land and water. “As soon as you come sailing up in such a vessel,” he said, “I’ll give you my daughter’s hand in marriage.”
So Simpleton went straight back to the forest. Seated at the selfsame spot he found the little gray man, who said, “For you I drank and ate, and I’ll get you the vessel too – all because you were merciful to me.” Then he gave him the ship that could sail on land and water, and as soon as the king saw Simpleton sailing up to the castle he could no longer refuse him his daughter. The wedding was celebrated, and after the king’s death Simpleton inherited the kingdom and lived a long life with his wife.
THE OWL
Several centuries ago, when people weren’t half as canny and shrewd as they are today, a curious occurrence came to pass in a small town. One of those great big owls called Shuhus flew into town from the neighboring woods one night, took refuge in the barn of a respected burgher, and fearing the other birds, who, upon seeing it, gave off an awful squall, didn’t dare come out again. When the farmhand entered the barn the following morning to gather hay, he took such a terrible fright at the sight of the owl seated in the corner that he ran away and reported to his master that a monster the likes of which he had never seen was seated in the barn, its great eyes rotating in its head, liable to gobble you up in a single bite.
“I know your kind,” said the master. “You’re brave enough to hunt down a blackbird in the field, but spot a dead chicken and you’ll first find a stick to poke it before drawing near. Let me go see for myself what kind of monster it is,” the master added, courageously entering the barn and looking around. But when he saw the strange and terrible creature with his own eyes, he took no less a fright than his farmhand. Howling a string of words to himself, he trundled out of the barn, ran to his neighbors, and begged them to stand by him to face the unknown and terrible creature, lest the entire town risk its wrath were it to break out of his barn where it sat.
A great hubbub arose in the streets. The burghers came armed with pikes, pitchforks, scythes, and axes, as though they meant to make war on the enemy. They were joined by all the councilmen, led by the mayor. Once they’d gathered in the marketplace, they set out for the barn and surrounded it on all sides, whereupon one of the bravest of the lot stepped forward and entered the barn with his sharpened pike raised. But he promptly came running back out again, pale as death and unable to utter a word. Two others dared enter, but they fared no better.
Finally a big strong man stepped forward, famous hereabouts for his feats of bravery in war, and said, “It won’t do any good just to ogle the beast, we need a plan. But I can see that you’ve all gone yellow and not one of you dares bite the fox by its tail.” He had them bring him a suit of armor, a sword, and a spear, and readied himself to do battle. Everyone marveled at his pluck but feared for his life. The two doors were flung open and all present caught site of the owl that had in the meantime perched on a big crossbeam in the middle of the barn. The brave man had a ladder brought in, and as he set it in place and prepared to climb, everyone told him to hold firm, as did Saint George when he tilted with the dragon. Once he’d climbed to the top and the owl saw the man draw near, befuddled by the mob below and the cry of the crowd, and not knowing how to get out, it rotated its eyes, ruffled its feathers, spread its wings, snapped its beak, and let out its stentorian “Shuhu, Shuhu.”
“Heave to, heave to!” the crowd outside cried to the brave hero.
“Anyone standing where I’m standing,” he replied, “wouldn’t cry: Heave to!” He raised a foot to climb another rung, then started to tremble, and half faint with fear, posted a hasty retreat.
Now there was no one left to face the danger. “By just snapping and breathing upon him,” they said, “the monster poisoned the strongest man among us, sending him to his grave. Should we too lay our lives on the line?” They put their heads together to try to figure out what to do to save the city.
For the longest time it seemed like there was no way out, until finally the mayor came up with a plan. “In my opinion,” he said, “we pool our resources to buy this barn, including everything in it, grain, straw, and hay, from the owner, and then we burn it all to the ground, the terrible creature along with it, so that nobody need risk his life. There’s no time to lose, we dare spare no expense.” Everyone agreed. So the barn was set on fire from all four corners and the poor owl went down along with it. If you don’t believe me, just go there and ask for yourself.
A FAIRY TALE ABOUT A BOY WHO SET OUT TO LEARN FEAR
A father had two sons. The elder one was savvy and smart and able to attend to every task at hand. But the younger one was a fool unable to grasp or learn anything. When people saw him, they said, “The poor father’s sure got his hands full with that one!” And whenever there was anything that needed to be done, the elder one always had to do it. But when it was late in the day, or night had already fallen and the father wanted him to fetch something that forced him to pass in front of a graveyard or some other scary place, the elder son said, “Oh, no, Father, I won’t go there, it gives me the creeps!” for he was fearful. Or when stories were told by the fire at night that made your skin crawl, he would often remark, “Lord, it gives me the willies!” But the younger son sat in his corner and had no idea what they were talking about. “People always say It gives me the creeps, it gives me the willies! But nothing scares me – it’s probably another thing I know nothing about.”
One day the father said to him, “You there in your corner, you’re getting big and strong, and it’s time you learned something that’ll let you earn your daily bread. See how your brother applies himself to everything he does, but with you, it’s a lost cause.”
“Oh, Father,” he replied, “I would gladly learn something. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to learn fear. That’s something I just don’t understand.”
The elder son laughed out loud when he heard this, and thought to himself, Dear God, my brother is a hopeless case, he’ll never amount to anything – as the twig is bent, so it grows.
The father sighed and said, “Fear, my son, is something you’ll learn by and by, but you won’t earn your bread with it.”
Not long after that the sexton happened to drop by; the father poured out his heart to him and told him how his younger son was such a ne’er-do-well, he couldn’t learn a thing. “Can you imagine, when I asked him how he hoped to earn his bread, he asked to learn fear.”
“If that’s your only worry,” replied the sexton, “he can learn it from me. Just send him over, I’ll set him straight.”
The father was pleased, since he thought to himself, He’ll sharpen that dull blade for me. So the sexton took the boy with him and had him ring the church bells. A few days later the sexton awakened him at midnight and told him to get up, climb the belfry, and ring the bells. You’ll learn fear all right, he thought to himself, then snuck on ahead of him, and when the lad had climbed the tower and turned around, he saw a white figure standing before him on the steps opposite the resonance chamber.
“Who’s there?” he called, but the figure made no reply and didn’t stir or budge. “Answer me,” cried the boy, “or begone. You have no business being here.”
But the sexton didn’t budge, so that the simpleton would think he was a ghost. The boy cried out a second time, “What business do you have here? Speak, if you’re an honest man, or I’ll throw you down the steps.”
The sexton thought, He can’t be serious. So he made no reply, and stood there as still as a stone.
Now the boy addressed him a third time, and when this too was to no avail, he lunged at him and shoved the ghost down the stairs, so that he landed in a corner ten steps below. Whereupon he calmly rang the bell, headed home, lay down without another word, and went back to sleep.
The sexton’s wife waited a long time for her husband, but he didn’t return. Finally she got frightened, woke the boy, and asked him, “Don’t you know where my husband is? He climbed the belfry before you.”
“No,” replied the boy, “but I did see somebody standing on the stairs in front of the resonance chamber, and since he didn’t answer when spoken to, and wouldn’t go away, I took him for a thief and threw him down. Better go there and see if it was him or not. I’m awful sorry if it was.”
The woman made haste and found her husband lying in a corner with a broken leg, wailing.
She helped him down the belfry steps, and then hurried off in a huff to have it out with the boy’s father. “Your son,” she yelled, “did a terrible thing. He threw my husband down the steps, so that he broke a leg – get that good-for-nothing out of our house!”
Horrified, the father came running over and bawled the boy out. “What a dumb-ass thing to do. The devil himself must have made you do it.”
“But Father,” the boy replied, “just listen, I’m completely innocent – he stood there in the dark like someone with evil intentions. I had no idea who it was, and warned him three times to speak up or begone.”
“Dear God,” said the father, “you bring me nothing but misfortune. Begone yourself, I don’t want to see you again.”
“Yes, Father, gladly I will. Just wait until daybreak, and I’ll set out to learn fear, then at least I’ll know something I can live on.”
“Learn what you like,” said the father, “it’s all the same to me. Here, take these fifty pence to start you on your way. Go out into the world and don’t tell a single soul where you come from and who your father is. You bring me nothing but shame.”
Selected Tales of the Brothers Grimm Page 4