The Complete Grimm's Fairy Tales

by Jacob Grimm

  Told by generation after generation, the traditional stories projected the deepest wishes of the folk, generalized diverse characters into a few types, selected the incidents that would most strikingly illustrate what heroes and heroines, witches, enchanters, giants and dwarfs, the haughty, the envious and the unfaithful were capable of. As in work long thought about and lived with, the stories have something which the most brilliant improvisations are without—depth, fullness, a mysterious relation of parts. We can think upon them, reflect over them. How it can come about that a king’s daughter can be made to marry a beggarly fiddler, sit at a street corner selling crockery, be sent back as a kitchen maid to her father’s castle to remain there unknown until the man she rejected in her haughtiness comes to claim her, and how it all can be intelligible, we do not know. But we believe in the movement to the king’s castle and back to the king’s castle through the hut in the forest and the crockery stall in the street and admit that her adversity has made the king’s daughter a more human person.

  We go to our writers for distraction or relaxation while still keeping hold on our daily affairs, but the people who listened to him or to her went to the storyteller for release, leaving their daily affairs outside the house door. They felt, as we do not feel, the rhythm that succeeds the rhythm of the day. Compulsiveness gave place to acquiescence. Outside, the geese, the goats, the sheep and the cattle were folded; within, the cat purred, the dog lay in a corner, and on a beam at the opening of the roof the hens roosted. Elders and youngsters sat round the fire or beside the stove; the candle or dim oil lamp made shadows on the walls; a woman spun a thread. Out of the reverie such settled and familiar things held came the storyteller’s utterance, familiar, too, in repetition of traditions that were the people’s own like the table, the bench, the grandmother’s chair. What was told was news of persons they knew—the queen’s daughter who herded geese, the king’s son whose quest was for nothing less than the Water of Life, the miller’s youngest son who would show he had deeper wisdom than his elder, clever brothers.

  Heroes and heroines moved towards and gained an absolute worth in life; after subjection they became wise kings and beloved queens and lived happy ever afterwards. Elders and youngsters heard about people who were as beautiful, wise and fortunate as human beings could be, who had envious, unfaithful, unworthily privileged fellows, who knew giants and dwarfs who threatened or helped them, who had birds or animals for friends.

  They had belief in magic, witchcraft, transformation; they had no doubt about the efficacy of spells, charms, incantations; many incidents in what they related came from savage conceptions. But in their stories human behavior is always in accordance with a fine ideal. A real faith in human powers is present. Happiness is possible and compensation is due to those who have been wronged. Envy and unfaithfulness are condemned and punished. There is no concern with what is negative. Wicked people keep on their course of badness but they are not bored. Decent people may be lonely but they are never despondent. In the traditional stories—at least in the stories the Brothers Grimm brought us—revenge and cruelty for its own sake have no place.

  For stories in which a character may be put in a barrel studded with nails and hauled by a horse through a town until she is dead, it is odd to claim a humane quality. But notice that such punishments are infrequent; that those condemned have broken trust and have been unfaithful and oppressive. Even so, the storytellers are troubled about it and have the criminal herself pronounce the doom. We hear of queens unjustly accused being condemned to be burned to death. But the burning never eventuates. In the world that is opened to us by the Brothers Grimm good-will predominates: the hero is characterized by courtesy as the heroine by gentleness.

  We have mentioned a name that is august in the world of traditional stories: the Brothers Grimm. Their “Household Tales,” almost the first, have remained the most popular of the collections of European folk-tales. To the great German pioneers and to the many who followed them in various European countries, all imaginative and studious men, we owe a deep debt of gratitude. They brought us lore that will always be an entertainment for us; they brought us, too, an account of our forefathers’ ways which we should be mindful of. The people who told and who listened to the traditional stories lived under emperors, monarchs, viceroys; they spoke diverse languages; they lived on mountains and in valleys, in forests and dales. But they were at one in their love for certain things—for human good nature, for enterprise, wisdom and devotion, for the genius through which men are drawn to the far-off and the superior—the Golden Tree, the Water of Life, the Matchless Maiden.

  We have another past besides the past that history tells us about, a past which is in us, in individuals, more livingly than the recorded past. It is a past in which men slowly arrived at self-consciousness while building up the community, the arts and the laws. Today we have advanced poets and novelists who are trying to find means to suggest the unrecorded past in our memories and in our attitudes and so give their work another dimension. Well, it is this long past, the past that merges with the time when men were comradely with the animals and personalized the powers of nature that comes over to us in these and in other traditional stories. With it certain things are restored to our imagination. Wilhelm Grimm who knew much more about the inwardness of these stories than the philologists and the historians of culture who were to comment on them was aware of “fragments of belief dating back to most ancient times, in which spiritual things are expressed in a figurative manner.” “The mythic element,” he told us, “resembles small pieces of a shattered jewel which are lying strewn on the ground all overgrown with grass and flowers, and can only be discovered by the most far-seeing eye.” “Their signification has long been lost, but it is still felt,” he says, “and imparts value to the story.” It is this felt but hidden value that makes a connection between certain subtle modern works and these old-world fairy tales.

  PADRAIC COLUM

  * J. M. Synge: The Aran Islands.

  THE FAIRY TALES

  The Frog-King, or Iron Henry

  IN OLDEN times when wishing still helped one, there lived a king whose daughters were all beautiful, but the youngest was so beautiful that the sun itself, which has seen so much, was astonished whenever it shone in her face. Close by the King’s castle lay a great dark forest, and under an old lime-tree in the forest was a well, and when the day was very warm, the King’s child went out into the forest and sat down by the side of the cool fountain; and when she was bored she took a golden ball, and threw it up on high and caught it; and this ball was her favorite plaything.

  Now it so happened that on one occasion the princess’s golden ball did not fall into the little hand which she was holding up for it, but on to the ground beyond, and rolled straight into the water. The King’s daughter followed it with her eyes, but it vanished, and the well was deep, so deep that the bottom could not be seen. At this she began to cry, and cried louder and louder, and could not be comforted. And as she thus lamented, someone said to her: “What ails you, King’s daughter? You weep so that even a stone would show pity.” She looked round to the side from whence the voice came, and saw a frog stretching forth its big, ugly head from the water. “Ah! old water-splasher, is it you?” said she; “I am weeping for my golden ball, which has fallen into the well.”

  “Be quiet, and do not weep,” answered the frog, “I can help you, but what will you give me if I bring your plaything up again?”

  “Whatever you will have, dear frog,” said she—“my clothes, my pearls and jewels, and even the golden crown which I am wearing.”

  The frog answered: “I do not care for your clothes, your pearls and jewels, nor for your golden crown; but if you will love me and let me be your companion and play-fellow, and sit by you at your little table, and eat off your little golden plate, and drink out of your little cup, and sleep in your little bed—if you will promise me this I will go down below, and bring you your golden ball up again.”
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  “Oh, yes,” said she, “I promise you all you wish, if you will but bring me my ball back again.” But she thought: “How the silly frog does talk! All he does is to sit in the water with the other frogs, and croak! He can be no companion to any human being!”

  But the frog when he had received this promise, put his head into the water and sank down, and in a short while came swimming up again with the ball in his mouth, and threw it on the grass. The King’s daughter was delighted to see her pretty plaything once more, and picked it up, and ran away with it. “Wait, wait,” said the frog. “Take me with you. I can’t run as you can.” But what did it avail him to scream his croak, croak, after her, as loudly as he could? She did not listen to it, but ran home and soon forgot the poor frog, who was forced to go back into his well again.

  The next day when she had seated herself at table with the King and all the courtiers, and was eating from her little golden plate, something came creeping splish splash, splish splash, up the marble staircase, and when it had got to the top, it knocked at the door and cried: “Princess, youngest princess, open the door for me.” She ran to see who was outside, but when she opened the door, there sat the frog in front of it. Then she slammed the door to, in great haste, sat down to dinner again, and was quite frightened. The King saw plainly that her heart was beating violently, and said: “My child, what are you so afraid of? Is there perchance a giant outside who wants to carry you away?” “Ah, no,” replied she, “it is no giant, but a disgusting frog.”

  “What does the frog want with you?” “Ah, dear father, yesterday as I was in the forest sitting by the well, playing, my golden ball fell into the water. And because I cried so, the frog brought it out again for me; and because he so insisted, I promised him he should be my companion, but I never thought he would be able to come out of his water! And now he is outside there, and wants to come in to me.”

  In the meantime it knocked a second time, and cried:

  “Princess! youngest princess!

  Open the door for me!

  Do you not know what you said to me

  Yesterday by the cool waters of the well?

  Princess, youngest princess!

  Open the door for me!”

  Then said the King: “That which you have promised must you perform. Go and let him in.” She went and opened the door, and the frog hopped in and followed her, step by step, to her chair. There he sat and cried: “Lift me up beside you.” She delayed, until at last the King commanded her to do it. Once the frog was on the chair he wanted to be on the table, and when he was on the table he said: “Now, push your little golden plate nearer to me that we may eat together.” She did this, but it was easy to see that she did not do it willingly. The frog enjoyed what he ate, but almost every mouthful she took choked her. At length he said: “I have eaten and am satisfied; now I am tired, carry me into your little room and make your little silken bed ready, and we will both lie down and go to sleep.”

  The King’s daughter began to cry, for she was afraid of the cold frog which she did not like to touch, and which was now to sleep in her pretty, clean little bed. But the King grew angry and said: “He who helped you when you were in trouble ought not afterwards to be despised by you.” So she took hold of the frog with two fingers, carried him upstairs, and put him in a corner. But when she was in bed he crept to her and said: “I am tired, I want to sleep as well as you, lift me up or I will tell your father.” At this she was terribly angry, and took him up and threw him with all her might against the wall. “Now, will you be quiet, odious frog,” said she. But when he fell down he was no frog but a king’s son with kind and beautiful eyes. He by her father’s will was now her dear companion and husband. Then he told her how he had been bewitched by a wicked witch, and how no one could have delivered him from the well but herself, and that to-morrow they would go together into his kingdom. Then they went to sleep, and next morning when the sun awoke them, a carriage came driving up with eight white horses, which had white ostrich feathers on their heads, and were harnessed with golden chains, and behind stood the young King’s servant, faithful Henry. Faithful Henry had been so unhappy when his master was changed into a frog, that he had caused three iron bands to be laid round his heart, lest it should burst with grief and sadness. The carriage was to conduct the young King into his kingdom. Faithful Henry helped them both in, and placed himself behind again, and was full of joy because of this deliverance. And when they had driven a part of the way, the King’s son heard a cracking behind him as if something had broken. So he turned round and cried: “Henry, the carriage is breaking.”

  “No, master, it is not the carriage. It is a band from my heart, which was put there in my great pain when you were a frog and imprisoned in the well.” Again and once again while they were on their way something cracked, and each time the King’s son thought the carriage was breaking; but it was only the bands which were springing from the heart of faithful Henry because his master was set free and was happy.

  Cat and Mouse in Partnership

  A CERTAIN cat had made the acquaintance of a mouse, and had said so much to her about the great love and friendship she felt for her, that at length the mouse agreed that they should live and keep house together. “But we must make a provision for winter, or else we shall suffer from hunger,” said the cat; “and you, little mouse, cannot venture everywhere, or you will be caught in a trap some day.” The good advice was followed, and a pot of fat was bought, but they did not know where to put it. At length, after much consideration, the cat said: “I know no place where it will be better stored up than in the church, for no one dares take anything away from there. We will set it beneath the altar, and not touch it until we are really in need of it.” So the pot was placed in safety, but it was not long before the cat had a great yearning for it, and said to the mouse: “I want to tell you something, little mouse; my cousin has brought a little son into the world, and has asked me to be godmother; he is white with brown spots, and I am to hold him over the font at the christening. Let me go out to-day, and you look after the house by yourself.” “Yes, yes,” answered the mouse, “by all means go, and if you get anything very good to eat, think of me, I should like a drop of sweet red christening wine myself.” All this, however, was untrue; the cat had no cousin, and had not been asked to be godmother. She went straight to the church, stole to the pot of fat, began to lick at it, and licked the top of the fat off. Then she took a walk upon the roofs of the town, looked out for opportunities, and then stretched herself in the sun, and licked her lips whenever she thought of the pot of fat, and not until it was evening did she return home. “Well, here you are again,” said the mouse, “no doubt you have had a merry day.” “All went off well,” answered the cat. “What name did they give the child?” “Top off!” said the cat quite coolly. “Top off!” cried the mouse, “that is a very odd and uncommon name, is it a usual one in your family?” “What does that matter,” said the cat, “it is no worse than Crumb-stealer, as your god-children are called.”

  Before long the cat was seized by another fit of yearning. She said to the mouse: “You must do me a favor, and once more manage the house for a day alone. I am again asked to be godmother, and, as the child has a white ring round its neck, I cannot refuse.” The good mouse consented, but the cat crept behind the town walls to the church, and devoured half the pot of fat. “Nothing ever seems so good as what one keeps to oneself,” said she, and was quite satisfied with her day’s work. When she went home the mouse inquired: “And what was this child christened?” “Half-done,” answered the cat. “Half-done! What are you saying? I never heard the name in my life, I’ll wager anything it is not in the calendar!”

  The cat’s mouth soon began to water for some more licking. “All good things go in threes,” said she, “I am asked to stand godmother again. The child is quite black, only it has white paws, but with that exception, it has not a single white hair on its whole body; this only happens once every few years, yo
u will let me go, won’t you?” “Top-off! Half-done!” answered the mouse, “they are such odd names, they make me very thoughtful.” “You sit at home,” said the cat, “in your dark-grey fur coat and long tail, and are filled with fancies, that’s because you do not go out in the daytime.” During the cat’s absence the mouse cleaned the house, and put it in order, but the greedy cat entirely emptied the pot of fat. “When everything is eaten up one has some peace,” said she to herself, and well filled and fat she did not return home till night. The mouse at once asked what name had been given to the third child. “It will not please you more than the others,” said the cat. “He is called All-gone.” “All-gone,” cried the mouse, “that is the most suspicious name of all! I have never seen it in print. All-gone; what can that mean?” and she shook her head, curled herself up, and lay down to sleep.

  From this time forth no one invited the cat to be godmother, but when the winter had come and there was no longer anything to be found outside, the mouse thought of their provision, and said: “Come, cat, we will go to our pot of fat which we have stored up for ourselves—we shall enjoy that.” “Yes,” answered the cat, “you will enjoy it as much as you would enjoy sticking that dainty tongue of yours out of the window.” They set out on their way, but when they arrived, the pot of fat certainly was still in its place, but it was empty. “Alas!” said the mouse, “now I see what has happened, now it comes to light! You a true friend! You have devoured all when you were standing godmother. First top off, then half done, then—” “Will you hold your tongue,” cried the cat, “one word more, and I will eat you too.” “All gone” was already on the poor mouse’s lips; scarcely had she spoken it before the cat sprang on her, seized her, and swallowed her down. Verily, that is the way of the world.