noticed that his treasure had been disarranged, and soon observed that coins were missing: but he was utterly unable to think how they could have been stolen, for the locks and bolts had not been tampered with, and everything was well fastened.
On going from the treasury, he warned the two sentinels, saying–
“Be on the watch, some one is after the money,” and quite soon, on Tom Thumb setting to work again, they heard very clearly the coins ringing, chink, chank, as they struck one against the other.
As quickly as possible they unfastened the building and went in, hoping to take the thief.
But Tom Thumb was too quick for them, he sprang into a corner, and hiding himself behind a coin, so that nothing of him was visible, he made fun of the sentinels; crying “I am here!” Then when the men hurried to the spot where the voice came from, he was no longer there, but from a different place cried out: “Ha, Ha! here I am!”
So the sentinels kept jumping about, but so cleverly did Tom move from one spot to another, that they were obliged to run around the whole time, hoping to find somebody, until at length, quite tired out, they went off.
Then Tomb Thumb went on with his work, and one after another he threw all the coins out of the window, but the very last he sounded and rang with all his might and springing nimbly upon it, so flew through the window.
The robbers were loud in their praises.
“Indeed you are a brave fellow,” they said, “will you be our captain?”
Tom Thumb, thanking them, declined this honor, for he was anxious to see more of the world. Then the booty was apportioned out, but only a ducat was given to the little tailor, for that was as much as he could carry.
So Tom girded on his sword again, and bidding farewell to the robbers, continued his travels.
He tried to get work under various masters, but they would have nothing to do with him, so after a while he took service at an inn. But the maids there disliked him, for he was about everywhere, and saw all that went on, without being seen himself; and he told their mistress of their dishonest ways, of what was taken off the plates, and from out the cellars.
So they threatened they would drown him, if they caught him, and determined to do him some harm. Then, one day, a maid mowing in the garden saw Tom Thumb running in and out between the blades of grass, so she cut the grass, in great haste, just where he chanced to be, tied it all in a bundle, and, without anyone knowing, threw it to the cows.
Then one big black cow took up a mouthful of grass directly, with Tom in it, and swallowed it down; without doing him any damage, however.
But Tom did not approve of his position, for it was pitch dark down there, with no light burning.
When milking time came, he shouted–
“Drip, drap, drop,
Will the milking soon stop?”
but the sound of the milk trickling into the pail prevented his voice being heard.
Not long afterwards the master came into the shed, and said:
“I will have that cow killed to-morrow.”
This put Tom Thumb into a great fright, and he called out loudly:
“Please let me out, here I am inside.”
This the master heard plainly enough, but could not make out where the voice came from.
“Where are you?” he inquired.
“In the black cow,” was the reply.
However, the master could not understand what was meant, and so went away.
The following morning the cow was killed, but fortunately in the cutting up the knife did not touch Tom Thumb, who was put aside with the meat that was to be made into sausages.
When the butcher began chopping, he cried as loudly as he could–
“Don’t chop far, I am down beneath,” but the chopper made so much noise, that he attracted no attention.
It was indeed a terrible situation for poor Tom. But being in danger brightens one’s wits, and he sprang so nimbly, this way and that, keeping clear of the chopper, that not a blow struck him, and he did not get even a scratch.
However, he could not escape, there was no help for it, he was forced into a skin with the sausage meat, so was compelled to make himself as comfortable as might be. It was very close quarters, and besides that, the sausages were suspended to smoke in the chimney, which was by no means entertaining, and the time passed slowly.
When winter came, he was taken down for a guest’s meal, and while the hostess was slicing the sausage he had to be on his guard, lest if he stretched out his head it might be cut off.
Watching his opportunity, at last he was able to jump out of the sausage, and right glad was he to be once again in the company of his fellow-men.
It was not very long, however, that he stayed in this house, where he had been met by so many misfortunes, and again he set forth on his travels, rejoicing in his freedom, but this did not long continue.
Swiftly running across the field came a fox, who, in an instant, had snapped up poor little Tom.
“Oh, Mr. Fox,” called out the little tailor, “it is I who am in your throat; please let me out.”
“Certainly,” answered Reynard, “you are not a bit better than nothing at all, you don’t in the least satisfy me; make me a promise, that I shall have the hens in your father’s yard, and you shall regain your liberty.”
“Willingly, you shall have all the hens; I make you a faithful promise,” responded Tom Thumb.
So the fox coughed and set him free, and himself carried Tom home.
Then when the father had his dear little son once more he gave the fox all his hens, with the greatest of pleasure.
“Here, father, I am bringing you a golden coin from my travels,” said the little fellow, and he brought out the ducat the thieves had apportioned to him.
“But how was it that the fox was given all the poor little hens?”
“Foolish little one, don’t you think your father would rather have you, than all the hens he ever had in his yard?”
SNOW-WHITE AND ROSE-RED
A poor widow once lived in a little cottage. In front of the cottage was a garden, in which were growing two rose trees; one of these bore white roses, and the other red.
She had two children, who resembled the rose trees. One was called Snow-White, and the other Rose-Red; and they were as religious and loving, busy and untiring, as any two children ever were.
Snow-White was more gentle, and quieter than her sister, who liked better skipping about the fields, seeking flowers, and catching summer birds; while Snow-White stayed at home with her mother, either helping her in her work, or, when that was done, reading aloud.
The two children had the greatest affection the one for the other. They were always seen hand in hand; and should Snow-White say to her sister, “We will never separate,” the other would reply, “Not while we live,” the mother adding, “That which one has, let her always share with the other.”
They constantly ran together in the woods, collecting ripe berries; but not a single animal would have injured them; quite the reverse, they all felt the greatest esteem for the young creatures. The hare came to eat parsley from their hands, the deer grazed by their side, the stag bounded past them unheeding; the birds, likewise, did not stir from the bough, but sang in entire security. No mischance befell them; if benighted in the wood, they lay down on the moss to repose and sleep till the morning; and their mother was satisfied as to their safety, and felt no fear about them.
Once, when they had spent the night in the wood, and the bright sunrise awoke them, they saw a beautiful child, in a snow-white robe, shining like diamonds, sitting close to the spot where they had reposed. She arose when they opened their eyes, and looked kindly at them; but said no word, and passed from their sight into the wood. When the children looked around they saw they had been sleeping on the edge of a precipice, and would surely have fallen over if they had gone forward two steps further in the darkness. Their mother said the beautiful child must have been the angel who keeps watch over good children.
Snow-White and Rose-Red kept their mother’s cottage so clean that it gave pleasure only to look in. In summer-time Rose-Red attended to the house, and every morning, before her mother awoke, placed by her bed a bouquet which had in it a rose from each of the rose-trees. In winter-time Snow-White set light to the fire, and put on the kettle, after polishing it until it was like gold for brightness. In the evening, when snow was falling, her mother would bid her bolt the door, and then, sitting by the hearth, the good widow would read aloud to them from a big book while the little girls were spinning. Close by them lay a lamb, and a white pigeon, with its head tucked under its wing, was on a perch behind.
One evening, as they were all sitting cosily together like this, there was a knock at the door, as if someone wished to come in.
“Make haste, Rose-Red!” said her mother; “open the door; it is surely some traveller seeking shelter.” Rose-Red accordingly pulled back the bolt, expecting to see some poor man. But it was nothing of the kind; it was a bear, that thrust his big, black head in at the open door. Rose-Red cried out and sprang back, the lamb bleated, the dove fluttered her wings, and Snow-White hid herself behind her mother’s bed. The bear began speaking, and said, “Do not be afraid; I will not do you any harm; I am half-frozen and would like to warm myself a little at your fire.”
“Poor bear!” the mother replied; “come in and lie by the fire; only be careful that your hair is not burnt.” Then she called Snow-White and Rose-Red, telling them that the bear was kind, and would not harm them. They came, as she bade them, and presently the lamb and the dove drew near also without fear.
“Children,” begged the bear; “knock some of the snow off my coat.” So they brought the broom and brushed the bear’s coat quite clean.
After that he stretched himself out in front of the fire, and pleased himself by growling a little, only to show that he was happy and comfortable. Before long they were all quite good friends, and the children began to play with their unlooked-for visitor, pulling his thick fur, or placing their feet on his back, or rolling him over and over. Then they took a slender hazel-twig, using it upon his thick coat, and they laughed when he growled. The bear permitted them to amuse themselves in this way, only occasionally calling out, when it went a little too far, “Children, spare me an inch of life.”
When it was night, and all were making ready to go to bed, the widow told the bear, “You may stay here and lie by the hearth, if you like, so that you will be sheltered from the cold and from the bad weather.”
The offer was accepted, but when morning came, as the day broke in the east, the two children let him out, and over the snow he went back into the wood.
After this, every evening at the same time the bear came, lay by the fire, and allowed the children to play with him; so they became quite fond of their curious playmate, and the door was not ever bolted in the evening until he had appeared.
When spring-time came, and all around began to look green and bright, one morning the bear said to Snow-White, “Now I must leave you, and all the summer long I shall not be able to come back.”
“Where, then, are you going, dear Bear?” asked Snow-White.
“I have to go to the woods to protect my treasure from the bad dwarfs. In winter-time, when the earth is frozen hard, they must remain underground, and cannot make their way through: but now that the sunshine has thawed the earth they can come to the surface, and whatever gets into their hands, or is brought to their caves, seldom, if ever, again sees daylight.”
Snow-White was very sad when she said good-bye to the good-natured beast, and unfastened the door, that he might go; but in going out he was caught by a hook in the lintel, and a scrap of his fur being torn, Snow-White thought there was something shining like gold through the rent: but he went out so quickly that she could not feel certain what it was, and soon he was hidden among the trees.
One day the mother sent her children into the wood to pick up sticks. They found a big tree lying on the ground. It had been felled, and towards the roots they noticed something skipping and springing, which they could not make out, as it was sometimes hidden in the grasses. As they came nearer they could see it was a dwarf, with a shrivelled-up face and a snow-white beard an ell long. The beard was fixed in a gash in the tree trunk, and the tiny fellow was hopping to and fro, like a dog at the end of a string, but he could not manage to free himself. He stared at the children with his red, fiery eyes, and called out, “Why are you standing there? Can’t you come and try to help me?”
“What were you doing, little fellow?” inquired Rose-Red.
“Stupid, inquisitive goose!” replied the dwarf; “I meant to split the trunk, so that I could chop it up for kitchen sticks; big logs would burn up the small quantity of food we cook, for people like us do not consume great heaps of food, as you heavy, greedy folk do. The bill-hook I had driven in, and soon I should have done what I required; but the tool suddenly sprang from the cleft, which so quickly shut up again that it caught my handsome white beard; and here I must stop, for I cannot set myself free. You stupid pale-faced creatures! You laugh, do you?”
In spite of the dwarf’s bad temper, the girls took all possible pains to release the little man, but without avail, the beard could not be moved, it was wedged too tightly.
“I will run and get someone else,” said Rose-Red.
“Idiot!” cried the dwarf. “Who would go and get more people? Already there are two too many. Can’t you think of something better?”
“Don’t be so impatient,” said Snow-White. “I will try to think.” She clapped her hands as if she had discovered a remedy, took out her scissors, and in a moment set the dwarf free by cutting off the end of his beard.
Immediately the dwarf felt that he was free he seized a sack full of gold that was hidden amongst the tree’s roots, and, lifting it up, grumbled out, “Clumsy creatures, to cut off a bit of my beautiful beard, of which I am so proud! I leave the cuckoos to pay you for what you did.” Saying this, he swung the sack across his shoulder, and went off, without even casting a glance at the children.
Not long afterwards the two sisters went to angle in the brook, meaning to catch fish for dinner. As they were drawing near the water they perceived something, looking like a large grasshopper, springing towards the stream, as if it were going in. They hurried up to see what it might be, and found that it was the dwarf. “Where are you going?” said Rose-Red. “Surely you will not jump into the water?”
“I’m not such a simpleton as that!” yelled the little man. “Don’t you see that a wretch of a fish is pulling me in?”
The dwarf had been sitting angling from the side of the stream when, by ill-luck, the wind had entangled his beard in his line, and just afterwards a big fish taking the bait, the unamiable little fellow had not sufficient strength to pull it out; so the fish had the advantage, and was dragging the dwarf after it. Certainly, he caught at every stalk and spray near him, but that did not assist him greatly; he was forced to follow all the twistings of the fish, and was perpetually in danger of being drawn into the brook.
The girls arrived just in time. They caught hold of him firmly and endeavored to untwist his beard from the line, but in vain; they were too tightly entangled. There was nothing left but again to make use of the scissors; so they were taken out, and the tangled portion was cut off.
When the dwarf noticed what they were about, he exclaimed in a great rage, “Is this how you damage my beard? Not content with making it shorter before, you are now making it still smaller, and completely spoiling it. I shall not ever dare show my face to my friends. I wish you had missed your way before you took this road.” Then he fetched a sack of pearls that lay among the rushes, and, not saying another word, hobbled off and disappeared behind a large stone.
Soon after this it chanced that the poor widow sent her children to the town to purchase cotton, needles, ribbon, and tape. The way to the town ran over a common, on which in every direction large masses of rocks were scattered about. The children’s attention was soon attracted to a big bird that hovered in the air. They remarked that, after circling slowly for a time, and gradually getting nearer to the ground, it all of a sudden pounced down amongst a mass of rock. Instantly a heartrending cry reached their ears, and, running quickly to the place, they saw, with horror, that the eagle had seized their former acquaintance, the dwarf, and was just about to carry him off. The kind children did not hesitate for an instant. They took a firm hold of the little man, and strove so stoutly with the eagle for possession of his contemplated prey, that, after much rough treatment on both sides, the dwarf was left in the hands of his brave little friends, and the eagle took to flight.
As soon as the little man had in some measure recovered from his alarm, his small squeaky, cracked voice was heard saying, “Couldn’t you have held me more gently? See my little coat; you have rent and damaged it in a fine manner, you clumsy, officious things!” Then he picked up a sack of jewels, and slipped out of sight behind a piece of rock.
The maidens by this time were quite used to his ungrateful, ungracious ways; so they took no notice of it, but went on their way, made their purchases, and then were ready to return to their happy home.
On their way back, suddenly, once more they ran across their dwarf friend. Upon a clear space he had turned out his sack of jewels, so that he could count and admire them, for he had not imagined that anybody would at so late an hour be coming across the common.
The setting sun was shining upon the brilliant stones, and their changing hues and sparkling rays caused the children to pause to admire them also.
“What are you gazing at?” cried the dwarf, at the same time becoming red with rage; “and what are you standing there for, making ugly faces?” It is probable that he might have proceeded in the same complimentary manner, but suddenly a great growl was heard near by them, and a big black bear joined the party. Up jumped the dwarf in extremest terror, but could not get to his hiding-place, the bear was too close to him; so he cried out in very evident anguish–
“Dear Mr. Bear, forgive me, I pray! I will render to you all my treasure. Just see those precious stones lying there! Grant me my life! What would you do with such an insignificant little fellow? You would not notice me between your teeth. See, though, those two children, they would be delicate morsels, and are as plump as partridges; I beg of you to take them, good Mr. Bear, and let me go!”
But the bear would not be moved by his speeches. He gave the ill-disposed creature a blow with his paw, and he lay lifeless on the ground.
Meanwhile the maidens were running away, making off for home as well as they could; but all of a sudden they were stopped by a well-known voice that called out, “Snow-White, Rose-Red, stay! Do not fear. I will accompany you.”
The bear quickly came towards them, but, as he reached their side, suddenly the bear-skin slipped to the ground, and there before them was standing a handsome man, completely garmented in gold, who said–
“I am a king’s son, who was enchanted by the wicked dwarf lying over there. He stole my treasure, and compelled me to roam the woods transformed into a big bear until his death should set me free. Therefore he has only received a well-deserved punishment.”
Some time afterwards Snow-White married the Prince, and Rose-Red his brother.
They shared between them the enormous treasure which the dwarf had collected in his cave.
The old mother spent many happy years with her children.
THE THREE LITTLE MEN IN THE WOOD
Once upon a time there lived a man, whose wife had died; and a woman, also, who had lost her husband: and this man and this woman had each a daughter. These two maidens were friendly with each other, and used to walk together, and one day they came by the widow’s house. Then the widow said to the man’s daughter, “Do you hear, tell your father I wish to marry him, and you shall every morning wash in milk and drink wine, but my daughter shall wash in water and drink water.” So the girl went home and told her father what the woman had said, and he replied, “What shall I do? Marriage is a comfort, but it is also a torment.” At last, as he could come to no conclusion, he drew off his boot and said: “Take this boot, which has a hole in the sole, and go with it out of doors and hang it on the great nail and then pour water into it. If it holds the water, I will again take a wife; but if it runs through, I will not have her.” The girl did as he bid her, but the water drew the hole together and the boot became full to overflowing. So she told her father how it had happened, and he, getting up, saw it was quite true; and going to the widow he settled the matter, and the wedding was celebrated.
The next morning, when the two girls arose, milk to wash in and wine to drink were set for the man’s daughter, but only water, both for washing and drinking, for the woman’s daughter. The second morning, water for washing and drinking stood before both the man’s daughter and the woman’s; and on the third morning, water to wash in and water to drink were set before the man’s daughter, and milk to wash in and wine to drink before the woman’s daughter, and so it continued.
Soon the woman conceived a deadly hatred for her step-daughter, and knew not how to behave badly enough to her from day to day. She was envious, too, because her step-daughter was beautiful and lovely, and her own daughter was ugly and hateful.
Once, in the winter-time, when the river was frozen as hard as a stone, and hill and valley were covered with snow, the woman made a cloak of paper, and called the maiden to her and said, “Put on this cloak, and go away into the wood to fetch me a little basketful of strawberries, for I have a wish for some.”
“Mercy on us!” said the maiden, “in winter there are no strawberries growing; the ground is frozen, and the snow, too, has covered everything. And why must I go in that paper cloak? It is so cold out of doors that it freezes one’s breath even, and if the wind does not blow off this cloak, the thorns will tear it from my body.”
“Will you dare to contradict me?” said the step-mother. “Make haste off, and let me not see you again until you have found me a basket of strawberries.” Then she gave her a small piece of dry bread, saying, “On that you must subsist the whole day.” But she thought–out of doors she will be frozen and starved, so that my eyes will never see her again!
So the girl did as she was told, and put on the paper cloak, and went away with the basket. Far and near there was nothing but snow, and not a green blade was to be seen. When she came to the forest she discovered a little cottage, out of which three little Dwarfs were peeping. The girl wished them good morning, and knocked gently at the door. They called her in, and entering the room, she sat down on a bench by the fire to warm herself, and eat her breakfast. The Dwarfs called out, “Give us some of it!” “Willingly,” she replied, and, dividing her bread in two, she gave them half. They asked, “What do you here in the forest, in the winter-time, in this thin cloak?”
“Ah!” she answered, “I must, seek a basketful of strawberries, and I dare not return home until I can take them with me.” When she had eaten her bread, they gave her a broom, saying, “Sweep away the snow with this from the back door.” But when she was gone out of doors the three Dwarfs said one to another, “What shall we give her, because she is so gentle and good, and has shared her bread with us?” Then said the first, “I grant to her that she shall become more beautiful every day.” The second said, “I grant that a piece of gold shall fall out of her mouth for every word she speaks.” The third said, “I grant that a King shall come and make her his bride.”
Meanwhile, the girl had done as the Dwarf had bidden her, and had swept away the snow from behind the house. And what do you think she found there? Actually, ripe strawberries! which came quite red and sweet up under the snow. So filling her basket in great glee, she thanked the little men and gave them each her hand, and then ran home to take her step-mother what she wished for. As she went in and said “Good evening,” a piece of gold fell from her mouth. Thereupon she related what had happened to her in the forest; but at every word she spoke a piece of gold fell, so that the whole floor was covered.
“Just see her arrogance,” said the step-sister, “to throw away money in that way!” but in her heart she was jealous, and wished to go into the forest, too, to seek strawberries. Her mother said, “No, my dear daughter; it is too cold, you will be frozen!” but as her girl let her have no peace, she at last consented, and made her a beautiful fur cloak to put on; she also gave her buttered bread and cooked meat to eat on her way.
The girl went into the forest and came straight to the little cottage. The three Dwarfs were peeping out again, but she did not greet them; and, stumbling on without looking at them, or speaking, she entered the room, and, seating herself by the fire, began to eat the bread and butter and meat. “Give us some of that,” exclaimed the Dwarfs; but she answered, “I have not got enough for myself, so how can I give any away?” When she had finished they said, “You have a broom there, go and sweep the back door clean.” “Oh, sweep it yourself,” she replied; “I am not your servant.” When she saw that they would not give her anything she went out at the door, and the three Dwarfs said to each other, “What shall we give her? She is so ill-behaved, and has such a bad and envious disposition, that nobody can wish well to her.” The first said, “I grant that she becomes more ugly every day.” The second said, “I grant that at every word she speaks a toad shall spring out of her mouth.” The third said, “I grant that she shall die a miserable death.” Meanwhile the girl had been looking for strawberries out of doors, but as she could find none she went home very peevish. When she opened her mouth to tell her mother what had happened to her in the forest, a toad jumped out of her mouth at each word, so that every one fled away from her in horror.
The step-mother was now still more vexed, and was always thinking how she could do the most harm to her husband’s daughter, who every day became more beautiful. At last she took a kettle, set it on the fire, and boiled a net therein. When it was sodden she hung it on the shoulder of the poor girl, and gave her an axe, that she might go upon the frozen pond and cut a hole in the ice to drag the net. She obeyed, and went away and cut an ice-hole; and while she was cutting, an elegant carriage came by, in which the King sat. The carriage stopped, and the King asked, “My child, who are you? and what do you here?” “I am a poor girl, and am dragging a net,” said she. Then the King pitied her, and saw how beautiful she was, and said, “Will you go with me?” “Yes, indeed, with all my heart,” she replied, for she was glad to get out of the sight of her mother and sister.
So she was handed into the carriage, and driven away with the King; and as soon as they arrived at his castle the wedding was celebrated with great splendor, as the Dwarfs had granted to the maiden. After a year the young Queen bore a son; and when the step-mother heard of her great good fortune, she came to the castle with her daughter, and behaved as if she had come on a visit. But one day when the King had gone out, and no one was present, this bad woman seized the Queen by the head, and her daughter caught hold of her feet, and raising her out of bed, they threw her out of the window into the river which ran past. Then, laying her ugly daughter in the bed, the old woman covered her up, even over her head; and when the King came back he wished to speak to his wife, but the old woman exclaimed, “Softly! softly! do not go near her; she is lying in a beautiful sleep, and must be kept quiet to-day.” The King, not thinking of an evil design, came again the next morning the first thing; and when he spoke to his wife, and she answered, a toad sprang out of her mouth at every word, as a piece of gold had done before. So he asked what had happened, and the old woman said, “That is produced by her weakness, she will soon lose it again.”
But in the night the kitchen-boy saw a Duck swimming through the brook, and the Duck asked:
“King, King, what are you doing?
Are you sleeping, or are you waking?”
And as he gave no answer, the Duck said:
“What are my guests a-doing?”
Then the boy answered:
“They all sleep sound.”
And she asked him:
“How fares my child?”
And he replied:
“In his cradle he sleeps.”
Then she came up in the form of the Queen to the cradle, and gave the child drink, shook up his bed, and covered him up, and then swam away again as a duck through the brook. The second night she came again; and on the third she said to the kitchen-boy, “Go and tell the King to take his sword, and swing it thrice over me, on the threshold.” Then the boy ran and told the King, who came with his sword, and swung it thrice over the Duck; and at the third time his bride stood before him, bright, living, and healthful, as she had been before.
Now the King was in great happiness, but he hid the Queen in a chamber until the Sunday when the child was to be christened; and when all was finished he asked, “What ought to be done to one who takes another out of a bed and throws her into the river?” “Nothing could be more proper,” said the old woman, “than to put such a one into a cask, stuck round with nails, and to roll it down the hill into the water.” Then the King said, “You have spoken your own sentence”; and ordering a cask to be fetched, he caused the old woman and her daughter to be put into it, and the bottom nailed up. Then the cask was rolled down the hill until it fell into the water.
RUMPELSTILTSKIN
There was once a poor Miller who had a beautiful daughter, and one day, having to go to speak with the King, he said, in order to make himself appear of consequence, that he had a daughter who could spin straw into gold. The King was very fond of gold, and thought to himself, “That is an art which would please me very well”; and so he said to the Miller, “If your daughter is so very clever, bring her to the castle in the morning, and I will put her to the proof.”
As soon as she arrived the King led her into a chamber which was full of straw; and, giving her a wheel and a reel, he said, “Now set yourself to work, and if you have not spun this straw into gold by an early hour to-morrow, you must die.” With these words he shut the room door, and left the maiden alone.
There she sat for a long time, thinking how to save her life; for she understood nothing of the art whereby straw might be spun into gold; and her perplexity increased more and more, till at last she began to weep. All at once the door opened, and in stepped a little Man, who said, “Good evening, fair maiden; why do you weep so sore?” “Ah,” she replied, “I must spin this straw into gold, and I am sure I do not know how.”
The little Man asked, “What will you give me if I spin it for you?”
“My necklace,” said the maiden.
The Dwarf took it, placed himself in front of the wheel, and whirr, whirr, whirr, three times round, and the bobbin was full. Then he set up another, and whir, whir, whir, thrice round again, and a second bobbin was full; and so he went all night long, until all the straw was spun, and the bobbins were full of gold. At sunrise the King came, very much astonished to see the gold; the sight of which gladdened him, but did not make his heart less covetous. He caused the maiden to be led into another room, still larger, full of straw; and then he bade her spin it into gold during the night if she valued her life. The maiden was again quite at a loss what to do; but while she cried the door opened suddenly, as before, and the Dwarf appeared and asked her what she would give him in return for his assistance. “The ring off my finger,” she replied. The little Man took the ring and began to spin at once, and by morning all the straw was changed to glistening gold. The King was rejoiced above measure at the sight of this, but still he was not satisfied, but, leading the maiden into another still larger room, full of straw as the others, he said, “This you must spin during the night; but if you accomplish it you shall be my bride.” “For,” thought he to himself, “a richer wife thou canst not have in all the world.”
When the maiden was left alone, the Dwarf again appeared and asked, for the third time, “What will you give me to do this for you?”
“I have nothing left that I can give you,” replied the maiden.
“Then promise me your first-born child if you become Queen,” said he.
The Miller’s daughter thought, “Who can tell if that will ever happen?” and, ignorant how else to help herself out of her trouble, she promised the Dwarf what he desired; and he immediately set about and finished the spinning. When morning came, and the King found all he had wished for done, he celebrated his wedding, and the Miller’s fair daughter became Queen.
The gay times she had at the King’s Court caused her to forget that she had made a very foolish promise.
About a year after the marriage, when she had ceased to think about the little Dwarf, she brought a fine child into the world; and, suddenly, soon after its birth, the very man appeared and demanded what she had promised. The frightened Queen offered him all the riches of the kingdom if he would leave her her child; but the Dwarf answered, “No; something human is dearer to me than all the wealth of the world.”
The Queen began to weep and groan so much that the Dwarf pitied her, and said, “I will leave you three days to consider; if you in that time discover my name you shall keep your child.”
All night long the Queen racked her brains for all the names she could think of, and sent a messenger through the country to collect far and wide any new names. The following morning came the Dwarf, and she began with “Caspar,” “Melchior,” “Balthassar,” and all the odd names she knew; but at each the little Man exclaimed, “That is not my name.” The second day the Queen inquired of all her people for uncommon and curious names, and called the Dwarf “Ribs-of-Beef,” “Sheep-shank,” “Whalebone,” but at each he said, “This is not my name.” The third day the messenger came back and said, “I have not found a single name; but as I came to a high mountain near the edge of a forest, where foxes and hares say good night to each other, I saw there a little house, and before the door a fire was burning, and round this fire a very curious little Man was dancing on one leg, and shouting:
“‘To-day I stew, and then I’ll bake, To-morrow I shall the Queen’s child take; Ah! how famous it is that nobody knows
That my name is Rumpelstiltskin.'”
When the Queen heard this she was very glad, for now she knew the name; and soon after came the Dwarf, and asked, “Now, my lady Queen, what is my name?”
First she said, “Are you called Conrade?” “No.”
“Are you called Hal?” “No.”
“Are you called Rumpelstiltskin?”
“A witch has told you! a witch has told you!” shrieked the little Man, and stamped his right foot so hard in the ground with rage that he could not draw it out again. Then he took hold of his left leg with both his hands, and pulled away so hard that his right came off in the struggle, and he hopped away howling terribly. And from that day to this the Queen has heard no more of her troublesome visitor.
LITTLE ONE-EYE, TWO-EYES AND THREE-EYES
Once upon a time there was a Woman, who had three daughters, the eldest of whom was named One-Eye, because she had but a single eye, and that placed in the middle of her forehead; the second was called Two-Eyes, because she was like other mortals; and the third, Three-Eyes, because she had three eyes, and one of them in the centre of her forehead, like her eldest sister. But, because her second sister had nothing out of the common in her appearance, she was looked down upon by her sisters, and despised by her mother. “You are no better than common folk,” they would say to her; “you do not belong to us”; and then they would push her about, give her coarse clothing, and nothing to eat but their leavings, besides numerous other insults as occasion offered.
Once it happened that Two-Eyes had to go into the forest to tend the goat; and she went very hungry, because her sisters had given her very little to eat that morning. She sat down upon a hillock, and cried so much that her tears flowed almost like rivers out of her eyes! By and by she looked up and saw a Woman standing by, who asked, “Why are you weeping, Two-Eyes?” “Because I have two eyes like ordinary people,” replied the maiden, “and therefore my mother and sisters dislike me, push me into corners, throw me their old clothes, and give me nothing to eat but what they leave. To-day they have given me so little that I am still hungry.” “Dry your eyes, then, now,” said the wise Woman; “I will tell you something which shall prevent you from being hungry again. You must say to your goat:
“‘Little kid, milk
Table, appear!’
“and immediately a nicely filled table will stand before you, with delicate food upon it, of which you can eat as much as you please. And when you are satisfied, and have done with the table, you must say:
‘Little kid, milk
Table, depart!’
“and it will disappear directly.”
With these words the wise Woman went away, and little Two-Eyes thought to herself she would try at once if what the Woman said were true, for she felt very hungry indeed.
“Little kid, milk
Table, appear!”
said the maiden, and immediately a table covered with a white cloth stood before her, with a knife and fork, and silver spoon; and the most delicate dishes were ranged in order upon it, and everything as warm as if they had been just taken away from the fire. Two-Eyes said a short grace, and then began to eat; and when she had finished she pronounced the words which the wise Woman had told her:
“Little kid, milk
Table, depart!”
and directly the table and all that was on it quickly disappeared. “This is capital housekeeping,” said the maiden, in high glee; and at evening she went home with her goat, and found an earthen dish which her sisters had left her filled with their leavings. She did not touch it; and the next morning she went off again without taking the meagre breakfast which was left out for her. The first and second time she did this the sisters thought nothing of it; but when she did the same the third morning their attention was roused, and they said, “All is not right with Two-Eyes, for she has left her meals twice, and has touched nothing of what was left for her; she must have found some other way of living.” So they determined that One-Eye should go with the maiden when she drove the goat to the meadow and pay attention to what passed, and observe whether any one brought her to eat or to drink.
When Two-Eyes, therefore, was about to set off, One-Eye told her she was going with her to see whether she took proper care of the goat and fed her sufficiently. Two-Eyes, however, divined her sister’s object, and drove the goat where the grass was finest, and then said, “Come, One-Eye, let us sit down, and I will sing to you.” So One-Eye sat down, for she was quite tired with her unusual walk and the heat of the sun.
“Are you awake or asleep, One-Eye?
Are you awake or asleep?”
sang Two-Eyes, until her sister really went to sleep. As soon as she was quite sound, the maiden had her table out, and ate and drank all she needed; and by the time One-Eye woke again the table had disappeared, and the maiden said to her sister, “Come, we will go home now; while you have been sleeping the goat might have run about all over the world.” So they went home, and after Two-Eyes had left her meal untouched, the mother inquired of One-Eye what she had seen, and she was obliged to confess that she had been asleep.
The following morning the mother told Three-Eyes that she must go out and watch Two-Eyes, and see who brought her food, for it was certain that some one must. So Three-Eyes told her sister that she was going to accompany her that morning to see if she took care of the goat and fed her well; but Two-Eyes saw through her design, and drove the goat again to the best feeding-place. Then she asked her sister to sit down and she would sing to her, and Three-Eyes did so, for she was very tired with her long walk in the heat of the sun. Then Two-Eyes began to sing as before:
“Are you awake, Three-Eyes?”
but, instead of continuing as she should have done,
“Are you asleep, Three-Eyes?”
she said by mistake,
“Are you asleep, Two-Eyes?”
and so went on singing:
“Are you awake, Three-Eyes?”
“Are you asleep, Two-Eyes?”
By and by Three-Eyes closed two of her eyes, and went to sleep with them; but the third eye, which was not spoken to, kept open. Three-Eyes, however, cunningly shut it too, and feigned to be asleep, while she was really watching; and soon Two-Eyes, thinking all safe, repeated the words:
“Little kid, milk
Table, appear!”
and as soon as she was satisfied she said the old words:
“Little kid, milk
Table, depart!”
Three-Eyes watched all these proceedings; and presently Two-Eyes came and awoke her, saying, “Ah, sister! you are a good watcher, but come, let us go home now.” When they reached home Two-Eyes again ate nothing; and her sister told her mother she knew now why the haughty hussy would not eat their victuals. “When she is out in the meadow,” said her sister, “she says:
“‘Little kid, milk
Table, appear!’
“and, directly, a table comes up laid out with meat and wine, and everything of the best, much better than we have; and as soon as she has had enough she says:
“‘Little kid, milk
Table, depart!’
“and all goes away directly, as I clearly saw. Certainly she did put to sleep two of my eyes, but the one in the middle of my forehead luckily kept awake!”
“Will you have better things than we?” cried the envious mother; “then you shall lose the chance”; and so saying, she took a carving-knife and killed the goat dead.
As soon as Two-Eyes saw this she went out, very sorrowful, to the old spot and sat down where she had sat before to weep bitterly. All at once the wise Woman stood in front of her again, and asked why she was crying. “Must I not cry,” replied she, “when the goat which used to furnish me every day with a dinner, according to your promise, has been killed by my mother, and I am again suffering hunger and thirst?” “Two-Eyes,” said the wise Woman, “I will give you a piece of advice. Beg your sisters to give you the entrails of the goat, and bury them in the earth before the house door, and your fortune will be made.” So saying, she disappeared, and Two-Eyes went home, and said to her sisters, “Dear sisters, do give me some part of the slain kid; I desire nothing else–let me have the entrails.” The sisters laughed and readily gave them to her; and she buried them secretly before the threshold of the door, as the wise Woman had bidden her.
The following morning they found in front of the house a wonderfully beautiful tree, with leaves of silver and fruits of gold hanging from the boughs, than which nothing more splendid could be seen in the world. The two elder sisters were quite ignorant how the tree came where it stood; but Two-Eyes perceived that it was produced by the goat’s entrails, for it stood on the exact spot where she had buried them. As soon as the mother saw it she told One-Eye to break off some of the fruit. One-Eye went up to the tree, and pulled a bough toward her, to pluck off the fruit; but the bough flew back again directly out of her hands; and so it did every time she took hold of it, till she was forced to give up, for she could not obtain a single golden apple in spite of all her endeavors. Then the mother said to Three-Eyes, “Do you climb up, for you can see better with your three eyes than your sister with her one.” Three-Eyes, however, was not more fortunate than her sister, for the golden apples flew back as soon as she touched them. At last the mother got so impatient that she climbed the tree herself; but she met with no more success than either of her daughters, and grasped the air only when she thought she had the fruit. Two-Eyes now thought she would try, and said to her sisters, “Let me get up, perhaps I may be successful.” “Oh, you are very likely indeed,” said they, “with your two eyes: you will see well, no doubt!” So Two-Eyes climbed the tree, and directly she touched the boughs the golden apples fell into her hands, so that she plucked them as fast as she could, and filled her apron before she went down. Her mother took them of her, but returned her no thanks; and the two sisters, instead of treating Two-Eyes better than they had done, were only the more envious of her, because she alone could gather the fruit–in fact, they treated her worse.
One morning, not long after the springing up of the apple-tree, the three sisters were all standing together beneath it, when in the distance a young Knight was seen riding toward them. “Make haste, Two-Eyes!” exclaimed the two elder sisters; “make haste, and creep out of our way, that we may not be ashamed of you”; and so saying, they put over her in great haste an empty cask which stood near, and which covered the golden apples as well, which she had just been plucking. Soon the Knight came up to the tree, and the sisters saw he was a very handsome man, for he stopped to admire the fine silver leaves and golden fruit, and presently asked to whom the tree belonged, for he should like to have a branch off it. One-Eye and Three-Eyes replied that the tree belonged to them; and they tried to pluck a branch off for the Knight. They had their trouble for nothing, however, for the boughs and fruit flew back as soon as they touched them. “This is very wonderful.” cried the Knight, “that this tree should belong to you, and yet you cannot pluck the fruit!” The sisters, however, maintained that it was theirs; but while they spoke Two-Eyes rolled a golden apple from underneath the cask, so that it travelled to the feet of the Knight, for she was angry, because her sisters had not spoken the truth. When he saw the apple he was astonished, and asked where it came from; and One-Eye and Three-Eyes said they had another sister, but they dared not let her be seen, because she had only two eyes, like common folk! The Knight, however, would see her, and called, “Two-Eyes, come here!” and soon she made her appearance from under the cask. The Knight was bewildered at her great beauty, and said, “You, Two-Eyes, can surely break off a bough of this tree for me?” “Yes,” she replied, “that I will, for it is my property”; and climbing up, she easily broke off a branch with silver leaves and golden fruit, which she handed to the Knight. “What can I give you in return, Two-Eyes?” asked the Knight. “Alas! if you will take me with you I shall be happy, for now I suffer hunger and thirst, and am in trouble and grief from early morning to late evening; take me, and save me!” Thereupon the Knight raised Two-Eyes upon his saddle, and took her home to his father’s castle. There he gave her beautiful clothes, and all she wished for to eat or to drink; and afterward, because his love for her had become so great, he married her, and a very happy wedding they had.
Her two sisters, meanwhile, were very jealous when Two-Eyes was carried off by the Knight; but they consoled themselves by saying, “The wonderful tree remains still for us; and even if we cannot get at the fruit, everybody that passes will stop to look at it, and then come and praise it to us. Who knows where our wheat may bloom?” The morning after this speech, however, the tree disappeared, and with it all their hopes; but when Two-Eyes that same day looked out of her chamber window, behold, the tree stood before it, and there remained!
For a long time after this occurrence Two-Eyes lived in the enjoyment of the greatest happiness; and one morning two poor women came to the palace and begged an alms. Two-Eyes, after looking narrowly at their faces, recognized her two sisters, One-Eye and Three-Eyes, who had come to such great poverty that they were forced to wander about, begging their bread from day to day. Two-Eyes, however, bade them welcome, invited them in, and took care of them, till they both repented of their evil which they had done to their sister in the days of their childhood.