Yes! with all her heart; she must and would get thither if it were possible in any way; and as for fear, however madly he went, she wouldn’t be at all afraid.
‘Very well, then,’ said the North Wind, ‘but you must sleep here tonight, for we must have the whole day before us, if we’re to get thither at all.’
Early next morning the North Wind woke her, and puffed himself up, and blew himself out, and made himself so stout and big, ’twas gruesome to look at him; and so off they went high up through the air, as if they would never stop till they got to the world’s end.
Down here below there was such a storm; it threw down long tracts of wood and many houses, and when it swept over the great sea, ships foundered by hundreds.
So they tore on and on, – no one can believe how far they went, – and all the while they still went over the sea, and the North Wind got more and more weary, and so out of breath he could scarce bring out a puff, and his wings drooped and drooped, till at last he sunk so low that the crests of the waves dashed over his heels.
‘Are you afraid?’ said the North Wind.
‘No!’ she wasn’t.
But they weren’t very far from land; and the North Wind had still so much strength left in him that he managed to throw her up on the shore under the windows of the castle which lay east o’ the sun and west o’ the moon; but then he was so weak and worn out, he had to stay there and rest many days before he could get home again.
Next morning the lassie sat down under the castle window, and began to play with the gold apple; and the first person she saw was the Long-nose who was to have the Prince.
‘What do you want for your gold apple, you lassie?’ said the Long-nose, and threw up the window.
‘It’s not for sale, for gold or money,’ said the lassie.
‘If it’s not for sale for gold or money, what is it that you will sell it for? You may name your own price,’ said the Princess.
‘Well! if I may get to the Prince, who lives here, and be with him tonight, you shall have it,’ said the lassie whom the North Wind had brought.
Yes! she might; that could be done. So the Princess got the gold apple; but when the lassie came up to the Prince’s bedroom at night he was fast asleep; she called him and shook him, and between whiles she wept sore; but all she could do she couldn’t wake him up. Next morning as soon as day broke, came the Princess with the long nose, and drove her out again.
So in the daytime she sat down under the castle windows and began to card with her golden carding-comb, and the same thing happened. The Princess asked what she wanted for it; and she said it wasn’t for sale for gold or money, but if she might get leave to go up to the Prince and be with him that night, the Princess should have it. But when she went up she found him fast asleep again, and all she called, and all she shook, and wept, and prayed, she couldn’t get life into him; and as soon as the first gray peep of day came, then came the Princess with the long nose, and chased her out again.
So in the daytime the lassie sat down outside under the castle window, and began to spin with her golden spinning-wheel, and that, too, the Princess with the long nose wanted to have. So she threw up the window and asked what she wanted for it. The lassie said, as she had said twice before, it wasn’t for sale for gold or money; but if she might go up to the Prince who was there, and be with him alone that night, she might have it.
Yes! she might do that and welcome. But now you must know there were some Christian folk who had been carried off thither, and as they sat in their room, which was next the Prince, they had heard how a woman had been in there, and wept and prayed, and called to him two nights running, and they told that to the Prince.
That evening, when the Princess came with her sleepy drink, the Prince made as if he drank, but threw it over his shoulder, for he could guess it was a sleepy drink. So, when the lassie came in, she found the Prince wide awake; and then she told him the whole story how she had come thither.
‘Ah,’ said the Prince, ‘you’ve just come in the very nick of time, for tomorrow is to be our wedding-day; but now I won’t have the Long-nose, and you are the only woman in the world who can set me free. I’ll say I want to see what my wife is fit for, and beg her to wash the shirt which has the three spots of tallow on it; she’ll say yes, for she doesn’t know ’tis you who put them there; but that’s a work only for Christian folk, and not for such a pack of Trolls, and so I’ll say that I won’t have any other for my bride than the woman who can wash them out, and ask you to do it.’
So there was great joy and love between them all that night. But next day, when the wedding was to be, the Prince said –
‘First of all, I’d like to see what my bride is fit for.’
‘Yes!’ said the stepmother, with all her heart.
‘Well,’ said the Prince, ‘I’ve got a fine shirt which I’d like for my wedding shirt, but somehow or other it has got three spots of tallow on it, which I must have washed out; and I have sworn never to take any other bride than the woman who’s able to do that. If she can’t, she’s not worth having.’
Well, that was no great thing they said, so they agreed, and she with the long nose began to wash away as hard as she could, but the more she rubbed and scrubbed, the bigger the spots grew.
‘Ah!’ said the old hag, her mother, ‘you can’t wash; let me try.’
But she hadn’t long taken the shirt in hand, before it got far worse than ever, and with all her rubbing, and wringing, and scrubbing, the spots grew bigger and blacker, and the darker and uglier was the shirt.
Then all the other Trolls began to wash, but the longer it lasted, the blacker and uglier the shirt grew, till at last it was as black all over as if it had been up the chimney.
‘Ah!’ said the Prince, ‘you’re none of you worth a straw: you can’t wash. Why there, outside, sits a beggar lassie, I’ll be bound she knows how to wash better than the whole lot of you. COME IN, LASSIE! he shouted.
Well, in she came.
‘Can you wash this shirt clean, lassie, you?’ said he.
‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘but I think I can.’
And almost before she had taken it and dipped it in the water, it was as white as driven snow, and whiter still.
‘Yes; you are the lassie, for me,’ said the Prince.
At that the old hag flew into such a rage, she burst on the spot, and the Princess with the long nose after her, and the whole pack of Trolls after her, – at least I’ve never heard a word about them since.
As for the Prince and Princess, they set free all the poor Christian folk who had been carried off and shut up there; and they took with them all the silver and gold, and flitted away as far as they could from the castle that lay east o’ the sun and west o’ the moon.
THE GOOD GIRL AND THE ORNERY GIRL
(NORTH AMERICAN: OZARKS)
ne time there was an old woman lived away out in the timber, and she had two daughters. One of them was a good girl and the other one was ornery, but the old woman liked the ornery one best. So they made the good girl do all the work, and she had to split wood with a dull axe. The ornery girl just laid a-flat of her back all day and never done nothing.
The good girl went out to pick up sticks, and pretty soon she seen a cow. The cow says, ‘For God’s sake milk me, my bag’s about to bust!’ So the good girl milked the cow, but she didn’t drink none of the milk. Pretty soon she seen a apple tree, and the tree says, ‘For God’s sake pick these apples, or I’ll break plumb down!’ So the good girl picked the apples, but she didn’t eat none. Pretty soon she seen some cornbread a-baking, and the bread says, ‘For God’s sake take me out, I’m a-burning up!’ So the good girl pulled the bread out, but she didn’t taste a crumb. A little old man come along just then, and he throwed a sack of gold money so it stuck all over her. When the good girl got home she shed gold pieces like feathers off a goose.
Next day the ornery girl went out to get her some gold too. Pretty soon she seen a cow, and t
he cow says, ‘For God’s sake milk me, my bag’s about to bust!’ But the ornery girl just kicked the old cow in the belly, and went right on. Pretty soon she seen a apple tree, and the tree says, ‘For God’s sake pick these apples, or I’ll break plumb down!’ But the ornery girl just laughed, and went right on. Pretty soon she seen some cornbread a-baking, and the bread says, ‘For God’s sake take me out, I’m a-burning up!’ But the ornery girl didn’t pay no mind, and went right on. A little old man come along just then, and he throwed a kettle of tar so it stuck all over her. When the ornery girl got home she was so black the old woman didn’t know who it was.
The folks tried everything they could, and finally they got most of the tar off. But the ornery girl always looked kind of ugly after that, and she never done any good. It served the little bitch right, too.
THE ARMLESS MAIDEN
(RUSSIAN)
n a certain kingdom, not in our land, there lived a wealthy merchant; he had two children, a son and a daughter. The father and mother died. The brother said to the sister: ‘Let us leave this town, little sister; I will rent a shop and trade, and find lodgings for you; we will live together.’ They went to another province. When they came there, the brother inscribed himself in the merchants’ guild, and rented a shop of woven cloths. The brother decided to marry and took a sorceress to wife. One day he went to trade in his shop and said to his sister: ‘Keep order in the house, sister.’ The wife felt offended because he said this to his sister. To revenge herself she broke all the furniture and when her husband came back she met him and said: ‘See what a sister you have; she has broken all the furniture in the house.’ ‘Too bad, but we can get some new things,’ said the husband.
The next day when leaving for his shop he said farewell to his wife and his sister and said to his sister: ‘Please, little sister, see to it that everything in the house is kept as well as possible.’ The wife bided her time, went to the stables, and cut off the head of her husband’s favorite horse with a saber. She awaited him on the porch. ‘See what a sister you have,’ she said. ‘She has cut off the head of your favorite horse.’ ‘Ah, let the dogs eat what is theirs,’ answered the husband.
On the third day the husband again went to his shop, said farewell, and said to his sister: ‘Please look after my wife, so that she does not hurt herself or the baby, if by chance she gives birth to one.’ When the wife gave birth to her child, she cut off his head. When her husband came home he found her sitting and lamenting over her baby. ‘See what a sister you have! No sooner had I given birth to my baby than she cut off his head with a saber.’ The husband did not say anything; he wept bitter tears and turned away.
Night came. At the stroke of midnight he rose and said: ‘Little sister, make ready; we are going to mass.’ She said: ‘My beloved brother, I do not think it is a holiday today.’ ‘Yes, my sister, it is a holiday; let us go.’ ‘It is still too early to go, brother,’ she said. ‘No,’ he answered, ‘young maidens always take a long time to get ready.’ The sister began to dress; she was very slow and reluctant. Her brother said: ‘Hurry, sister, get dressed.’ ‘Please,’ she said, ‘it is still early, brother.’ ‘No, little sister, it is not early, it is high time to be gone.’
When the sister was ready they sat in a carriage and set out for mass. They drove for a long time or a short time. Finally they came to a wood. The sister said: ‘What wood is this?’ He answered: ‘This is the hedge around the church.’ The carriage caught in a bush. The brother said: ‘Get out, little sister, disentangle the carriage.’ ‘Ah, my beloved brother, I cannot do that, I will dirty my dress.’ ‘I will buy you a new dress, sister, a better one than this.’ She got down from the carriage, began to disentangle it, and her brother cut off her arms to the elbows, struck his horse with the whip, and drove away.
The little sister was left alone; she burst into tears and began to walk in the woods. She walked and walked, a long time or a short time; she was all scratched, but could not find a path leading out of the woods. Finally, after several years, she found a path. She came to a market town and stood beneath the window of the wealthiest merchant to beg for alms. This merchant had a son, an only one, who was the apple of his father’s eye. He fell in love with the beggar woman and said: ‘Dear Father and Mother, marry me.’ ‘To whom shall we marry you?’ ‘To this beggar woman.’ ‘Ah, my dear child, do not the merchants of our town have lovely daughters?’ ‘Please marry me to her,’ he said. ‘If you do not, I will do something to myself.’ They were distressed, because he was their only son, their life’s treasure. They gathered all the merchants and clerics and asked them to judge the matter: should they marry their son to the beggar woman or not? The priest said: ‘Such must be his fate, and God gives your son his sanction to marry the beggar woman.’
So the son lived with her for a year and then another year. At the end of that time he went to another province, where her brother had his shop. When taking his leave he said: ‘Dear Father and Mother, do not abandon my wife; as soon as she gives birth to a child, write to me that very hour.’ Two or three months after the son left, his wife gave birth to a child; his arms were golden up to the elbows, his sides were studded with stars, there was a bright moon on his forehead and a radiant sun near his heart. The grandparents were overjoyed and at once wrote their beloved son a letter. They dispatched an old man with this note in all haste. Meanwhile the wicked sister-in-law had learned about all this and invited the old messenger into her house: ‘Come in, little father,’ she said, ‘and take a rest.’ ‘No, I have no time, I am bringing an urgent message.’ ‘Come in, little father, take a rest, have something to eat.’
She sat him down to dinner, took his bag, found the letter in it, read it, tore it into little pieces, and wrote another letter instead: ‘Your wife,’ it said, ‘has given birth to a half dog and half bear that she conceived with beasts in the woods.’ The old messenger came to the merchant’s son and handed him the letter; he read it and burst into tears. He wrote in answer, asking that his son be not molested till he returned. ‘When I come back,’ he said, ‘I will see what kind of baby it is.’ The sorceress again invited the old messenger into her house. ‘Come in, sit down, take a rest,’ she said. Again she charmed him with talk, stole the letter he carried, read it, tore it up, and instead ordered that her sister-in-law be driven out the moment the letter was received. The old messenger brought this letter; the father and mother read it and were grieved. ‘Why does he cause us so much trouble?’ they said. ‘We married him to the girl, and now he does not want his wife!’ They pitied not so much the wife as the babe. So they gave their blessing to her and the babe, tied the babe to her breast, and sent her away.
She went, shedding bitter tears. She walked, for a long time or a short time, all in the open field, and there was no wood or village anywhere. She came to a dale and was very thirsty. She looked to the right and saw a well. She wanted to drink from it but was afraid to stoop, lest she drop her baby. Then she fancied that the water came closer. She stooped to drink and her baby fell into the well. She began to walk around the well, weeping, and wondering how to get her child out of the well. An old man came up to her and said: ‘Why are you weeping, you slave of God?’ ‘How can I help weeping? I stooped over the well to drink water and my baby fell into it.’ ‘Bend down and take him out.’ ‘No, little father, I cannot; I have no hands, only stumps.’ ‘Do as I tell you. Take your baby.’ She went to the well, stretched out her arms, and God helped, for suddenly she had her hands, all whole. She bent down, pulled her baby out, and began to give thanks to God, bowing to all four sides.
She said her prayers, went on farther, and came to the house where her brother and husband were staying, and asked for shelter. Her husband said: ‘Brother, let the beggar woman in; beggar women can tell stories and recount real happenings.’ The wicked sister-in-law said: ‘We have no room for visitors, we are overcrowded.’ ‘Please, brother, let her come; there is nothing I like better than to hear beggar women tell
tales.’ They let her in. She sat on the stove with her baby. Her husband said: ‘Now, little dove, tell us a tale – any kind of story.’
She said: ‘I do not know any tales or stories, but I can tell the truth. Listen, here is a true happening that I can recount to you.’ And she began: ‘In a certain kingdom, not in our land lived a wealthy merchant; he had two children, a son and a daughter. The father and mother died. The brother said to the sister: “Let us leave this town, little sister.” And they came to another province. The brother inscribed himself in the merchants’ guild and took a shop of woven cloth. He decided to marry and took a sorceress to wife.’ At this point the sister-in-law muttered: ‘Why does she bore us with her stories, that hag?’ But the husband said: ‘Go on, go on, little mother, I love such stories more than anything!’
‘And so,’ the beggar woman went on, ‘the brother went to trade in his shop and said to his sister: “Keep order in the house, sister.” The wife felt offended because he had said this to his sister and out of spite broke all the furniture.’ And then she went on to tell how her brother took her to mass and cut off her hands, how she gave birth to a baby, how her sister-in-law lured the old messenger – and again the sister-in-law interrupted her, crying: ‘What gibberish she is telling!’ But the husband said: ‘Brother, order your wife to keep quiet; it is a wonderful story, is it not?’
She came to the point when her husband wrote to his parents ordering that the baby be left in peace until his return, and the sister-in-law mumbled: ‘What nonsense!’ Then she reached the point when she came to their house as a beggar woman, and the sister-in-law mumbled: ‘What is this old bitch gibbering about!’ And the husband said: ‘Brother, order her to keep quiet; why does she interrupt all the time?’ Finally she came to the point in the story when she was let in and began to tell the truth instead of a story. And then she pointed at them and said: ‘This is my husband, this is my brother, and this is my sister-in-law.’
Angela Carter's Book Of Fairy Tales Page 15