When the Shepherd heard this he came up and said, “What are you doing here? What will you not do?”
The Farmer replied, “They will make me mayor if I keep in this cask; but, no, I will not be here!”
“Oh,” said the Shepherd, “if nothing more is wanting to be mayor, I am willing to put myself in the cask.”
“Yes, you will be mayor if you do that,” said the Farmer; and getting out of the cask the other got in, and the Farmer nailed the lid down again. Now he took the Shepherd’s flock and drove it away, while the parson went to the judge and told him he had said the prayers for the dead. Then they went and rolled the cask down to the water; and while it rolled the Shepherd called out, “Yes, I should like to be mayor!” They thought it was the Little Farmer who spoke; and saying, “Yes, we mean it; only you must first go below there;” and they sent the cask right into the sea.
That done, the farmers returned home; and as they came into the village, so came also the Little Farmer driving a flock of sheep quietly and cheerfully. The sight astounded the others, and they asked, “Whence comest thou? dost thou come out of the water?” “Certainly,” answered he, “I sank deeper and deeper till I got to the bottom, where I pushed up the head of the cask, and, getting out, there were beautiful meadows upon which many lambs were pasturing, and I brought this flock of them up with me.”
“Are there any more?” inquired the farmers. “Oh, yes!” replied he, “more than you know what to do with.”
Then the farmers agreed that they would go and each fetch up a flock for himself, but the Mayor said, “I must go first.” So they went together down to the water, and there happened to be a fine blue sky with plenty of fleecy clouds over it, which were mirrored in the water and looked like little lambs. The farmers called one to another, “Look there! we can see the sheep already on the ground below the water!” and the Mayor, pressing quite forward, said, “I will go first and look about me, and see if it is a good place, and then call you.”
So saying, he jumped in plump, and, as he splashed the water about, the others thought he was calling, “Come along!” and so one after another the whole assemblage plunged in in a grand hurry. Thus was the whole village cleared out, and “the Little Farmer,” as their only heir, became a very rich man.
Jorinde and Joringel
Once upon a time, in a castle in the midst of a large thick wood, there lived an old Witch, all by herself. By day she changed herself into a cat or an owl; but in the evening she resumed her right form. She was able also to allure to her the wild animals and birds, whom she killed, cooked, and ate, for whoever ventured within a hundred steps of her castle was obliged to stand still, and could not stir from the spot until she allowed it; but if a pretty maiden came into the circle the Witch changed her into a bird, and then put her into a basket, which she carried into one of the rooms in the castle; and in this room were already many thousand such baskets of rare birds.
Now, there was a young maiden called Jorinde, who was exceedingly pretty, and she was betrothed to a youth named Joringel, and, just at the time that the events which I am about to relate happened, they were passing the days together in a round pleasure. One day they went into the forest for a walk, and Joringel said, “Take care that you do not go too near the castle.” It was a beautiful evening; the sun shining between the stems of the trees, and brightening up the dark green leaves, and the turtle-doves cooing softly upon the may-bushes. Jorinde began to cry, and sat down in the sunshine with Joringel, who cried too, for they were quite frightened, and thought they should die, when they looked round and saw how far they had wandered, and that there was no house in sight. The sun was yet half above the hills and half below, and Joringel, looking through the brush wood, saw the old walls of the castle close by them, which frightened him terribly, so that he fell off his seat. Then Jorinde sang—
“My little bird, with his ring so red,
Sings sorrow, and sorrow, and woe,
For he sings that the turtle-dove soon will be dead,
Oh sorrow, and sorrow—jug, jug, jug.”m
Joringel lifted up his head, and saw Jorinde was changed into a nightingale, which was singing “Jug, jug, jug,” and presently an owl flew round thrice, with his eyes glistening, and crying, “Tu wit, tu woo.” Joringel could not stir; there he stood like a stone, and could not weep, nor speak, nor move hand or foot. Meanwhile the sun set, and, the owl flying into a bush, out came an ugly old woman, thin and yellow, with great red eyes, and a crooked nose which reached down to her chin. She muttered, and seized the nightingale, and carried it away in her hand, while Joringel remained there incapable of moving or speaking. At last the Witch returned, and said with a hollow voice, “Greet you, Zachiel! if the moon shines on your side, release this one at once.” Then Joringel became free, and fell down on his knees before the Witch, and begged her to give him back Jorinde; but she refused, and said he should never again have her, and went away. He cried, and wept, and groaned after her, but all to no purpose; and at length he rose and went into a strange village, where for some time he tended sheep. He often went round about the enchanted castle, but never too near, and one night, after so walking, he dreamt that he found a blood-red flower, in the middle of which lay a fine pearl. This flower, he thought, he broke off, and, going therewith to the castle, all he touched with it was free from enchantment, and thus he regained his Jorinde.
When he awoke the next morning he began his search over hill and valley to find such a flower, but nine days had passed away. At length, early one morning he discovered it, and in its middle was a large dewdrop, like a beautiful pearl. Then he carried the flower day and night, till he came to the castle, and although he ventured within the enchanted circle he was not stopped, but walked on quite to the door. Joringel was now in high spirits, and touching the door with his flower it flew open. He entered, and passed through the hall, listening, for the sound of the birds, which at last he heard. He found the room, and went in, and there was the enchantress feeding the birds in the seven thousand baskets. As soon as she saw Joringel she became frightfully enraged, and spat out poison and gall at him, but she dared not come too close. He would not turn back for her, but looked at the baskets of birds; but, alas! there were many hundreds of nightingales, and how was he to know his Jorinde? While he was examining them he perceived the old woman secretly taking away one of the baskets, and slipping out of the door. Joringel flew after her, and touched the basket with his flower, and also the old woman, so that she could no longer bewitch; and at once Jorinde stood before him, and fell upon his neck, as beautiful as she ever was. Afterwards he disenchanted all the other birds, and then returned home with his Jorinde, and for many years they lived together happily and contentedly.
Fir - Apple
Once on a time as a forester was going into the wood he heard a cry like that of a child, and walking in the direction of the sound he came to a fir-tree on which sat a little boy. A mother had gone to sleep under the tree with her child in her lap, and while she slept a golden eagle had seized it, and borne it away to the topmost bough in his beak. So the forester mounted and fetched the child down, and took it home to be brought up with his daughter Helen, and the two grew up together. The boy whom he had rescued he named Fir-apple, in remembrance of his adventure, and Helen and the boy loved each other so fondly, that they were quite unhappy whenever they were separated. This forester had also an old cook, who one evening took two pails and went to fetch water; but she did not go once only, but many times, to the spring. Little Helen, seeing her, asked, “Why do you carry in so much water, old Sarah?”
“If you will promise not to tell any one, I will let you know,” replied the Cook.
Little Helen promised not to tell, and the Cook said, “Early in the morning, when the forester is away to the chase, I shall heat the water, and when it boils I shall throw in Fir-apple and stew him!”
The next day the forester arose with the sun and went out, while the children were still in
bed. Then Helen said to Fir-apple, “Forsake me not, and so I will never leave you;” and he replied, “Now and for ever I will stay with you.”
“Do you know,” continued Helen, “yesterday the old cook fetched ever so many pails of water, and I asked her why she did so, and she said to me, ‘If you do not say anything I will tell you;’ and, as I promised not to tell, she said, early this morning, when father has gone out, she should boil the copper full of water and stew you in it. But let us get up very quickly, and escape while there is time.” So saying, they both arose, and dressing themselves very hastily, ran away as quickly as they could. When the water had become boiling hot the old Cook went into the sleeping-room to fetch Fir-apple, but lo! as soon as she entered and stepped up to the beds, she perceived that both the children were off, and at the sight she grew very anxious, saying to herself, “What shall I say if the forester comes home and finds both the children gone? I must send after them and fetch them back.”
Thus thinking, she sent after them three slaves, bidding them overtake the children as quickly as possible and bring them home. But the children saw the slaves running towards them, and little Helen said, “Forsake me not, and so I will never leave you.”
“Now and always I will keep by you,” replied Fir-apple.
“Do you then become a rose-stock, and I will be the bud upon it,” said Helen.
So, when the slaves came up, the children were nowhere to be found, and only a rose-tree with a single bud thereon to be seen, and the three agreed there was nothing to do, and went home and told the old cook they had seen nothing at all in the world but a rose-tree with a single flower upon it. At their tale the old Cook began to scold terribly, and said, “You stupid simpletons, you should have cut the rose-bush in two, and broken off the flower and brought it home to me; make haste now and do so.” For the second time they had to go out and search, and, the children seeing them at a distance, little Helen asked her companion the same question as the first time, and when he gave the same reply she said, “Do you then become a church and I will be the crown therein.”
When now the three slaves approached, they found nothing but a church and a crown inside, so they said to one another, “What can we do here? let us go home.” As soon as they reached the house, the cook inquired what they had found, and when they had told their tale she was very angry, and told them they ought to have pulled down the church and brought the crown home with them. When she had finished scolding she set out herself, walking with the three slaves, after the children, who espied her coming from a distance. This time little Helen proposed that she should become a pond, and Fir-apple a duck, who should swim about on it, and so they changed into these immediately. When the old woman came up and saw the pond, she lay down by it and began to drink it up, but the duck swam very quickly towards her, and without her knowledge stuck his beak into her cap and drew her into the water, where, after vainly endeavouring to save herself, she sank to the bottom.
After this the children returned home together and were very happy; and, if they are not dead, I suppose they are still alive and merry.
Catherine and Frederick
Once upon a time there were a youth named Frederick, and a girl called Catherine, who had married and lived together as a young couple. One day Fred said, “I am now going into the fields, dear Catherine, and by the time I return let there be something hot upon the table, for I shall be hungry, and something to drink too, for I shall be thirsty.”
“Very well, dear Fred,” said she, “go at once, and I will make all right for you.”
As soon, then, as dinner time approached, she took down a sausage out of the chimney, and putting it in a frying-pan with batter set it over the fire. Soon the sausage began to frizzle and spit while Catherine stood by holding the handle of the pan and thinking; and among other things she thought that while the sausage was getting ready she might go into the cellar and draw some beer. So she took a can and went down into the cellar to draw the beer, and while it ran in she bethought herself that perhaps the dog might steal the sausage out of the pan, and so up the cellar stairs she ran, but too late, for the rogue had already got the meat in his mouth and was sneaking off. Catherine, however, pursued the dog for a long way over the fields, but the beast was quicker than she, and would not let the sausage go, but bolted off at a great rate. “Off is off!” said Catherine, and turned round, and, being very tired and hot, she went home slowly to cool herself. All this while the beer was running out of the cask, for Catherine had forgotten to turn the tap off, and so as soon as the can was full the liquor ran over the floor of the cellar until it was all out. Catherine saw the misfortune at the top of the steps. “My gracious!” she exclaimed, “what shall I do that Fred may not find this out?” She considered for some time till she remembered that a sack of fine malt yet remained from the last brewing, in one corner, which she would fetch down and strew about in the beer. “Yes,” said she, “it was spared at the right time to be useful to me now in my necessity;” and down she pulled the sack so hastily that she overturned the can of beer for Fred, and away it mixed with the rest on the floor. “It is all right,” said she, “where one is, the other should be;” and she strewed the malt over the whole cellar. When it was done she was quite overjoyed at her work, and said, “How clean and neat it does look, to be sure!”
At noontime Fred returned. “Now, wife, what have you ready for me?” said he. “Ah, my dear Fred,” she replied, “I would have fried you a sausage, but while I drew the beer the dog stole it out of the pan, and while I hunted the dog the beer all ran out, and as I was about to dry up the beer with the malt I overturned your can; but be contented, the cellar is quite dry again now.”
“Oh, Catherine, Catherine!” said Fred, “you should not have done so! to let the sausage be stolen! and the beer ran out! and over all to shoot our best sack of malt!!!”
“Well, Fred,” said she, “I did not know that; you should have told me.”
But the husband thought to himself, if one’s wife acts so, one must look after things oneself. Now he had collected a tolerable sum of silver dollars, which he changed into gold, and then he told his wife, “Do you see, these are yellow counters, which I will put in a pot and bury in the stable under the cow’s stall; but mind that you do not meddle with it, or you will come to some harm.”
Catherine promised to mind what he said, but, as soon as Fred was gone, some hawkers came into the village with earthenware for sale, and amongst others they asked her if she would purchase anything. “Ah, good people,” said Catherine, “I have no money, and cannot buy anything, but if you can make use of yellow counters I will buy them.”
“Yellow counters! ah! why not? let us look at them,” said they.
“Go into the stable,” she replied, “and dig under the cow’s stall, and there you will find the yellow counters. I dare not go myself.”
The rogues went at once, and soon dug up the shining gold, which they quickly pocketed, and then they ran off, leaving behind them their pots and dishes in the house. Catherine thought she might as well make use of the new pottery, and, since she had no need of anything in the kitchen, she set out each pot on the ground, and then put others on the top of the palings round the house for ornament. When Fred returned, and saw the fresh decorations, he asked Catherine what she had done. “I have bought them, Fred,” said she, “with the yellow counters which lay under the cow’s stall; but I did not dig them up myself; the pedlars did that.”
“Ah, wife, what have you done?” replied Fred, “they were not yellow counters, but bright gold, which was all the property we possessed: you should not have done so.”
“Well, dear Fred,” replied his wife, “you should have told me so before. I did not know that.”
Catherine stood considering for a while, and presently she began, “Come, Fred, we will soon get the gold back again; let us pursue the thieves.”
“Well, come along,” said Fred; “we will try at all events; but take butter and
cheese with you, that we may have something to eat on our journey.”
“Yes, Fred,” said she, and soon made herself ready; but, her husband being a good walker, she lagged behind. “Ah!” said she, “this is my luck, for when we turn back I shall be a good bit forward.” Presently she came to a hill, on both sides of which there were very deep ruts. “Oh, see!” said she, “how the poor earth is torn, flayed, and wounded: it will never be well again all its life!” And out of compassion she took out her butter, and greased the ruts over right and left, so that the wheels might run more easily through them, and, while she stooped in doing this, a cheese rolled out of her pocket down the mountain. Catherine said when she saw it, “I have already once made the journey up, and I am not coming down after you: another shall run and fetch you.” So saying, she took another cheese out of her pocket, and rolled it down; but, as it did not return, she thought, “Perhaps they are waiting for a companion, and don’t like to come alone,” and down she bowled a third cheese. Still all three stayed, and she said, “I cannot think what this means; perhaps it is that the third cheese has missed his way: I will send a fourth, that he may call him as he goes by.” But this one acted no better than the others, and Catherine became so anxious that she threw down a fifth and a sixth cheese also, and they were the last. For a long time after this she waited, expecting they would come, but when she found they did not she cried out, “You are nice fellows to send after a dead man! you stop a fine time! but do you think I shall wait for you? Oh, no! I shall go on; you can follow me; you have younger legs than I.”
Grimm's Fairy Tales (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) Page 27