Fairy Tales from the Brothers Grimm

by Philip Pullman

  In the morning the Lord said, ‘Now, Hans, I’d like to give you three gifts as a reward for your hospitality. What would you like?’

  The Lord had been thinking that Hans would ask for a guaranteed place in heaven, but he soon found out he was wrong about that.

  ‘Well, that’s very handsome of you, Lord. I’d like a pack of cards that’ll always win, I’d like a pair of dice that’ll always win, and I’d like a . . . a . . . a . . . let me see: I’d like a tree that grows all kinds of fruit, right, and one other thing about this tree: if anybody climbs it, they can’t get down till I give them permission.’

  ‘Oh, very well,’ said the Lord, and produced the cards and the dice with a flick of his fingers.

  ‘And the tree?’ said Hans.

  ‘It’s outside in a pot.’

  So the Lord and St Peter went on their way.

  After that, Hans began to gamble as he’d never gambled before. He won every bet he made, and before long he owned half the world. St Peter was keeping an eye on him, and he said to the Lord: ‘Lord, we can’t have this. Any day now he’ll own the whole world. We’ve got to send Death to fetch him.’

  So they did. When Death turned up, Hans was at the gaming table as usual.

  ‘Hans,’ said Death, ‘it’s time to stop gambling. In fact time’s up for you altogether. Come along.’

  Hans just happened to have a royal flush in his hand, and when he felt bony fingers grasping his shoulder and looked up and saw Death, he said, ‘Oh, it’s you. I’ll be along in a minute. Do us a favour, would you? There’s a tree outside with some nice fruit on it. Climb up and pick a bit of that, and we can eat it on the way.’

  So Death climbed the tree, and of course he couldn’t get down. Hans just left him there for seven years and in all that time nobody died.

  Finally St Peter said to the Lord, ‘Lord, this has gone on for long enough. We’ll have to do something about it.’

  The Lord agreed, and he told Hans to let Death down from the tree. Hans had to do that, of course, and Death went up to him at once and strangled him.

  So off they went into the other world. When they got there, Hans went straight up to the gate of heaven and knocked.

  ‘Who’s there?’ said St Peter.

  ‘It’s me, Gambling Hans.’

  ‘Well, go on, clear off. You needn’t think you’re coming in here.’

  Next he went to the gate of Purgatory and knocked there.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Gambling Hans.’

  ‘Go away. We’ve got enough misery here – we don’t want gambling as well to make it worse.’

  So Hans had nowhere to go but hell, and when he knocked on the gate there, they let him in at once. There was no one at home but the Devil himself and all the ugly devils, because the handsome devils had gone to earth on business. The second Hans got there he sat down to play. The Devil had nothing to stake but his ugly devils, and soon they all belonged to Hans, because he was playing with the cards that couldn’t lose.

  Once he’d won the ugly devils he took them all off to Hohenfurt, where they grow hops. They pulled out all the hop poles and climbed up to heaven, and then they began to lever up the walls.

  The stonework was beginning to give way, so St Peter said, ‘Lord, we’ll have to let him in. We haven’t got a choice.’

  So they let him in. But as soon as he was inside, Hans set about gambling again, and very soon there was such a noise of shouting and arguing among the citizens that the angels couldn’t hear themselves think.

  St Peter went to the Lord once more.

  ‘Lord, I’ve had enough,’ he said. ‘We’ve got to chuck him out. He’s driving everyone mad.’

  So they got hold of him and hurled him out of the gate and all the way down to earth. His soul was smashed to pieces, and the little splinters went everywhere; in fact there’s one of them in the soul of every gambler who’s alive today.

  ***

  Tale type: ATU 330A, ‘The Smith’s Three Wishes’

  Source: a story written and sent to the Grimms by Simon Sechter

  Simon Sechter, who originally recorded this tale, was a composer and teacher of music from Weitra in Lower Austria, and the Grimms transmitted it in the dialect version in which it came from him:

  Is is emohl e Mon gewön, der hot ninx us g’spielt, und do hobend’n d’Leut nur in ‘Spielhansl’ g’hoaßen, und wal er gor nit afg’hört zen spielen, se hot e san Haus und ullss vespielt.

  One of the Grimms’ first impulses towards collecting folk tales was, of course, due to their philological interest in the varieties of the German language. It’s debatable whether we should present this tale, and perhaps ‘The Fisherman and His Wife’ and ‘The Juniper Tree’, in some dialectal variety of English to try and imitate what they are like in German. My feeling is that if anyone is really interested in that aspect of language, they would probably rather look at the original than at some laborious attempt to replicate its effect, and that most readers who want an English version would prefer to read one that presents as few obstacles as possible.

  The other thing to say about this tale is that it’s lively, swift and ludicrous.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THE SINGING, SPRINGING LARK

  Once upon a time there was a man who was about to set off on a long journey. Before he left he asked his three daughters what they’d like him to bring back for them. The oldest daughter wanted pearls, the second asked for diamonds, and the youngest said, ‘Dear father, I’d like a singing, springing lark.’

  The father said, ‘If I can find one, you shall have it.’

  Then he kissed all three and set off. In the course of his journey he bought pearls and diamonds for the two eldest daughters, but he searched everywhere without success for a singing, springing lark. He was unhappy about that, because the youngest daughter was his favourite.

  As it happened, his road led him through a forest, in the middle of which stood a magnificent castle. Near the castle was a tree, and right at the top of the tree there was a lark, singing and springing.

  ‘You’re just what I wanted,’ he said, and he told his servant to climb the tree and catch the little bird.

  But as the servant approached the tree, a lion leaped out from under it, shook himself, and roared till every leaf on the tree trembled.

  ‘If anyone tries to steal my singing, springing lark,’ cried the lion, ‘I’ll eat them up.’

  ‘My apologies,’ said the man. ‘I didn’t know the bird belonged to you. Let me make it up to you. I’ll give you gold if you spare our lives.’

  ‘Gold is no good to me,’ said the lion. ‘I want whatever first comes to meet you when you arrive home. Promise me that, and you can have your life, and your daughter can have the lark as well.’

  At first the man refused. ‘The first to meet me could be my youngest daughter,’ he said. ‘She loves me the most, and she always runs out to greet me when I get home.’

  ‘But it might not be her!’ said his servant, who was frightened. ‘It might be a dog or a cat!’

  The man let himself be persuaded. He took the singing, springing lark, and promised to give the lion whatever came to meet him first when he arrived home.

  And when he got home and entered his house, the first to come and greet him was none other than his youngest, dearest daughter. She came running, kissed and hugged him, and when she saw that he’d brought a singing, springing lark for her, she was beside herself with joy.

  Her father couldn’t be glad, though, and he began to weep.

  ‘My dearest child,’ he said, ‘this little bird cost me dear. To get it I had to promise to give you to a wild lion, and when he gets you, he’ll tear you to pieces and eat you.’

  He told her everything that had happened, and begged
her not to go to the lion, come what may.

  But she consoled him and said, ‘Dearest father, we must keep your promise. I’ll go there and pacify the lion, and come back safe and sound.’

  Next morning her father showed her the way, and she set off confidently into the forest.

  Now in fact the lion was an enchanted prince. During the day he and all his courtiers had the form of lions, but at night they turned back into human beings. When the girl reached the castle it was nightfall, and they welcomed her courteously. The prince was a handsome man, and soon their wedding was celebrated with great splendour and rejoicing. Because of the enchantment he was under, they slept all through the day, and stayed happily awake at night.

  One day her husband said to her, ‘Tomorrow your elder sister is getting married, and there’s going to be a feast at your father’s house. If you like, my lions will take you there.’

  She said that she’d be glad to see her father again, so she set off, accompanied by the lions. There was great joy when she arrived, because they all thought that she’d been torn to pieces and was long dead, but she told them all about her handsome husband and the life they spent together. She stayed until the wedding celebrations were over, and then she went back to the forest.

  When the second daughter got married she was invited again, and she said to the lion, ‘I don’t want to go on my own this time. I’d like you to come with me.’

  The lion said that it would be very dangerous. If a ray of light fell on him, even the light of a single candle, he would be changed into a dove, and he would have to fly away with the doves for seven years.

  ‘Oh, please come!’ she said. ‘I’ll protect you. I’ll keep every ray of light from you, I promise.’

  He was persuaded, and off they went, taking their small child with them. At her father’s house she had a special room built, with thick walls and no windows at all. When the wedding lights were lit he was to stay in the room for safety, but the builders had made the door out of unseasoned wood, and after it was hung it split and developed a tiny crack, which no one noticed.

  The wedding was celebrated with great joy, and the procession set out from the church to the bride’s father’s house. Torches flared and lanterns shone, and as they went past the prince’s room, a single ray of light no wider than a hair shone through and touched him. And when his wife came in looking for him, she didn’t see him: all she found was a white dove.

  The dove said, ‘I must fly about the world for seven years. But every seven steps, I’ll drop a white feather and a drop of blood to show you where I’ve gone. If you follow the trail you’ll be able to save me.’

  The dove flew out of the door, and she followed him at once. As he’d said, every seven steps a white feather and a drop of blood fell to show her the way.

  She followed him further and further away, out into the wide world far from home. Thinking of nothing else but following him, she didn’t look aside, and didn’t rest until the seven years were nearly up. All that time she hoped that she would soon save him, but she was wrong: because one day as she was walking on, no feather fell, and no drop of blood either. She looked up, but the dove had vanished.

  ‘Well, no human being can help me now,’ she said, and so saying, she climbed right up to the sun.

  ‘Sun,’ she said, ‘you shine over every mountain, and into every crack and cranny. Have you seen my little white dove flying past?’

  ‘No,’ said the sun, ‘I haven’t seen your dove, but I’ll give you this casket. Open it when you’re in great need.’

  She thanked the sun and went on her way till night came and the moon was shining. She said to the moon, ‘Moon, you shine all night on the fields and the forests. Have you seen my little white dove flying past?’

  ‘No,’ said the moon, ‘I haven’t seen your dove, but I’ll give you this egg. Break it open when you’re in great need.’

  She thanked the moon and walked on. The night wind rose and blew against her, and she said to it, ‘Night wind, you blow through all the trees in the world. Have you seen my little white dove flying past?’

  ‘No,’ said the night wind, ‘I haven’t seen him myself, but I’ll ask the other winds. They might have seen him.’

  He asked the east wind and the west wind, and they came blowing and told her that they’d seen no dove; but the south wind came and said, ‘Yes, I saw the little white dove. He was flying to the Red Sea. He’s become a lion again, because the seven years are over, and he’s fighting a serpent. Be careful, though, because the serpent is an enchanted princess.’

  The night wind said to her, ‘Look, I’ll give you some advice. Go to the Red Sea. On the right bank you’ll see a bed of tall reeds. Count them carefully and cut the eleventh one, and hit the serpent with it. Then the lion will be able to beat it, and they’ll both become human again. Nearby you’ll see the griffin that lives by the Red Sea. Climb on his back with your beloved, and he will carry you home across the sea. And take this nut. When you’re flying over the middle of the sea, drop it down and a tall nut tree will sprout at once for the griffin to rest on. If he doesn’t have any rest, he won’t be able to carry you home. Don’t lose this nut whatever you do, or you’ll all fall in the sea and drown.’

  So she went to the Red Sea and found everything just as the night wind had said. She counted the reeds, plucked the eleventh one, and struck the serpent with it. Immediately the lion forced back the serpent and subdued it, and the moment the serpent surrendered, both of them became human again.

  But before the lion’s wife could move, the princess who had been the serpent seized the prince’s hand and tugged him up on to the back of the griffin, and they flew away.

  So there the poor wanderer stood, alone and forsaken once more. She had to sit down and cry. Eventually, though, she took heart and said, ‘I’ll keep going as far as the wind blows and as long as the cock crows, until I find him again.’

  And she set off. She travelled a long, long way, until she came at last to a castle where the lion-prince and the serpent-princess were living together. There she heard that their wedding was to be celebrated very soon.

  She said, ‘God will help me yet,’ and opened the little casket that the sun had given her. Inside was a golden dress that shone as brightly as the sun itself. She put it on and went into the castle, and everyone, including the bride, was struck with wonder. In fact the bride liked it so much she wanted it for her wedding dress, and she asked if it was for sale.

  ‘Not for gold or for good,’ said the girl, ‘but for flesh and blood.’

  ‘And what does that mean?’ said the princess.

  The girl asked to spend one night in the room where the bridegroom slept. The bride didn’t like the sound of that, but she wanted the dress so much that she agreed. However, she told the prince’s servant to give him a sleeping draught.

  That night, after the prince was already asleep, the girl was taken to his room. When they closed the door, she sat on the bed and whispered to him: ‘I’ve followed you for seven years. I went to the sun and the moon and the four winds to ask after you, and I helped you conquer the serpent. Are you going to forget me completely?’

  But the prince was sleeping so soundly that he thought her whispers were merely the wind sighing in the fir trees.

  When morning broke she was led out of his room, and she had to give up the golden dress. Seeing that her trick hadn’t helped, she grew very sad and went out to a meadow, where she sat and wept. But then she remembered the egg that the moon had given her. She was certainly in great need now, so she broke it open.

  Out came a mother hen and twelve little chicks, all made of gold. The chicks ran about cheeping and then ran back to their mother and sheltered under her wings. There was no prettier sight in the world.

  The girl stood up and drove them ahead of her around the meadow, until the ca
stle window opened and the bride looked out. She liked them so much that, as before, she asked if they were for sale.

  ‘Not for gold or good, but for flesh and blood; let me sleep one more night in the bridegroom’s bedchamber.’

  The bride agreed, and planned to trick her as she’d done the previous night.

  However, this time the prince asked his servant about the murmuring and rustling in the night. The servant confessed that the bride had ordered him to give the prince a sleeping draught, because a poor girl wanted to sleep in his room.

  The prince said, ‘Well, tonight you can pour the drink out of the window.’

  That night the girl was led in again, and this time when she began to whisper her story the prince recognized his dear wife’s voice at once and embraced her.

  ‘Now I’m free!’ he said. ‘I feel as if I’d been in a dream. I think the princess bewitched me and made me forget you. But God lifted the spell in time!’

  They both tiptoed out and left the castle secretly, because they were afraid of the bride’s father, who was a powerful sorcerer.

  They found the griffin and climbed on his back, and he set off at once to fly them home. Halfway across the Red Sea the wife remembered to drop the nut. At once a tall nut tree grew up high, and the griffin rested in its branches before flying on to their home. There they found their child, who had grown tall and handsome; and from then on they lived happily until they died.

  ***

  Tale type: ATU 425C, ‘Beauty and the Beast’

  Source: a story told to the Grimm brothers by Dortchen Wild

  (Somewhat) Similar stories: Katharine M. Briggs: ‘The Three Feathers’ (Folk Tales of Britain); Italo Calvino: ‘Bellinda and the Monster’ (Italian Folktales)