Rapunzel

 12. Rapunzel (Rapunzel)

Once upon a time there lived a man and his wife who were very unhappy because they had no children, but the wife soon began to hope that God was about to grant her desire. These good people had a little window at the back of their house, which looked into the most lovely garden, full of all manner of beautiful flowers and vegetables; but the garden was surrounded by a high wall, and no one dared to enter it, for it belonged to a witch of great power, who was feared by the whole world. One day the woman stood at the window overlooking the garden, and saw there a bed full of the finest rapunzel lettuce: the leaves looked so fresh and green that she longed to eat them. The desire grew day by day, and just because she knew she couldn’t possibly get any, she pined away and became quite pale and wretched. Then her husband grew alarmed and said:

‘What ails you, dear wife?’

‘Oh,’ she answered, ‘if I don’t get some rapunzel to eat out of the garden behind the house, I know I shall die.’

The man, who loved her dearly, thought to himself, ‘Come! rather than let your wife die you shall fetch her some rapunzel, no matter the cost.’ So at dusk he climbed over the wall into the witch’s garden, and, hastily gathering a handful of rapunzel leaves, he returned with them to his wife. She made them into a salad, which tasted so good that her longing for the forbidden food was greater than ever. If she were to know any peace of mind, there was nothing for it but that her husband should climb over the garden wall again, and fetch her some more. So at dusk over he got, but when he reached the other side he drew back in terror, for there, standing before him, was the old witch.

‘How dare you,’ she said, with a wrathful glance, ‘climb into my garden and steal my rapunzel like a common thief? You shall suffer for your foolhardiness.’

‘Oh!’ he implored, ‘pardon my presumption; necessity alone drove me to the deed. My wife saw your rapunzel from her window, and conceived such a desire for it that she would certainly have died if her wish had not been gratified.’ Then the Witch’s anger was a little appeased, and she said:

‘If it’s as you say, you may take as much rapunzel away with you as you like, but on one condition only—that you give me the child your wife will shortly bring into the world. All shall go well with it, and I will look after it like a mother.’

The man in his terror agreed to everything she asked, and as soon as the child was born the Witch appeared, and having given it the name of Rapunzel, she carried it off with her.

Rapunzel was the most beautiful child under the sun. When she was twelve years old the Witch shut her up in a tower, in the middle of a great forest, and the tower had neither stairs nor doors, only high up at the very top a small window. When the old Witch wanted to get in she stood underneath and called out:

‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your golden hair,’

for Rapunzel had wonderful long hair, and it was as fine as spun gold. Whenever she heard the Witch’s voice she unloosed her plaits, and let her hair fall down out of the window about twenty yards below, and the old Witch climbed up by it.

After they had lived like this for a few years, it happened one day that a Prince was riding through the wood and passed by the tower. As he drew near it he heard someone singing so sweetly that he stood still spell-bound, and listened. It was Rapunzel in her loneliness trying to while away the time by letting her sweet voice ring out into the wood. The Prince longed to see the owner of the voice, but he sought in vain for a door in the tower. He rode home, but he was so haunted by the song he had heard that he returned every day to the wood and listened. One day, when he was standing thus behind a tree, he saw the old Witch approach and heard her call out:

‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your golden hair.’

Then Rapunzel let down her plaits, and the Witch climbed up by them.

‘So that’s the staircase, is it?’ said the Prince. ‘Then I too will climb it and try my luck.’

So on the following day, at dusk, he went to the foot of the tower and cried:

‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your golden hair,’

and as soon as she had let it down the Prince climbed up.

At first Rapunzel was terribly frightened when a man came in, for she had never seen one before; but the Prince spoke to her so kindly, and told her at once that his heart had been so touched by her singing, that he felt he should know no peace of mind till he had seen her. Very soon Rapunzel forgot her fear, and when he asked her to marry him she consented at once. ‘For,’ she thought, ‘he is young and handsome, and I’ll certainly be happier with him than with Dame Gothel.’ So she put her hand in his and said:

‘Yes, I will gladly go with you, only how am I to get down out of the tower? Every time you come to see me you must bring a skein of silk with you, and I will make a ladder of them, and when it is finished I will climb down by it, and you will take me away on your horse.’

They arranged that till the ladder was ready, he was to come to her every evening, because the old woman was with her during the day. The old Witch, of course, knew nothing of what was going on, till one day Rapunzel, not thinking of what she was about, turned to the Witch and said:

‘How is it, Dame Gothel, that you are so much harder to pull up than the young Prince? He is always with me in a moment.’

‘Oh! you wicked child,’ cried the Witch. ‘What is this I hear? I thought I had hidden you safely from the whole world, and in spite of it you have managed to deceive me.’

In her wrath she seized Rapunzel’s beautiful hair, wound it round and round her left hand, and then grasping a pair of scissors in her right, snip snap, off it came, and the beautiful plaits lay on the ground. And, worse than this, she was so hard-hearted that she took Rapunzel to a lonely desert place, and there left her to live in loneliness and misery.

But on the evening of the day in which she had driven poor Rapunzel away, the Witch fastened the plaits on to a hook in the window, and when the Prince came and called out:

‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your golden hair,’

she let them down, and the Prince climbed up as usual, but instead of his beloved Rapunzel he found the old Witch, who fixed her evil, glittering eyes on him, and cried mockingly:

‘Ah, ah! you thought to find your lady love, but the pretty bird has flown and its song is mute; the cat caught it, and will scratch out your eyes too. Rapunzel is lost to you for ever—you will never see her more.’

The Prince was beside himself with grief, and in his despair he jumped right down from the tower, and, though he escaped with his life, the thorns among which he fell pierced his eyes out. Then he wandered, blind and miserable, through the wood, eating nothing but roots and berries, and weeping and lamenting the loss of his lovely bride. So he wandered about for some years, as wretched and unhappy as he could well be, and at last he came to the desert place where Rapunzel was living with the twins she had given birth to, a boy and a girl. He heard a voice which seemed strangely familiar to him. He walked eagerly in the direction of the sound, and when he was quite close, Rapunzel recognized him and fell on his neck and wept. But two of her tears touched his eyes, and in a moment they became quite clear again, and he saw as well as he had ever done. Then he led her to his kingdom, where they were received and welcomed with great joy, and they lived happily ever after.

My Notes

• This is the translation of May Sellar from Andrew Lang's "The Red Fairy Book," with minor corrections.
• This is tale type 310 (The Maiden in the Tower).
• This story was present in all seven editions of Grimms' collection, and was always placed as the twelfth tale. However, the story was greatly expanded upon as various edits were made, most notably changing the fairy to a witch, and toning down the subject of Rapunzel's pregnancy.

1812 version

Once upon a time there was a man and his wife who had wanted a child for a long time, and never got one. But finally the woman became pregnant. These people had a small window in back of their house, from which they could see a fairy's garden, which was full of flowers and herbs of all kinds, but no one dared to enter the garden.

One day the woman was standing at this window and looking down and she saw a beautiful bed of rapunzel lettuce and began to greatly crave for it, knowing that she could not get any of it, so that she became ill and miserable. Her husband finally got frightened and asked why. She answered, "Oh, if I don't get any of the rapunzel from the garden behind our house to eat, I'll die."

The man, who loved her very much, thought, no matter what the cost, he would get her some, and he climbed over the high wall one evening and in a hurry cut up a handful of rapunzel, which he took to his wife. The woman immediately made a salad out of it and ate it with ravenous hunger. But they had tasted so good to her, so good, that she craved it three times as much the next day.

The man saw that there was no rest, so he went back into the garden, but he was terribly frightened when the fairy stood there and scolded him violently for daring to come into her garden and steal from it. He apologized and mentioned his wife's pregnancy, about how dangerous it would be to refuse her, and finally the fairy said, "I will be satisfied and allow you to take as much rapunzel with you as you want, provided that you will give me the child which your wife is now pregnant with.”

In his fear, the man agreed to everything, and when the woman gave birth a few weeks later, the fairy appeared at once, named the little girl Rapunzel, and took her away with her .

Rapunzel became the most beautiful child under the sun, but when she was twelve years old, the fairy locked her in a high tower, which had neither door nor stairs, only a small window at the top. When the fairy wanted to go in, she stood below and cried:

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel!

Let down your golden hair!"

Rapunzel had magnificent hair, as fine as spun gold, and when the fairy called out, she untied it, wrapped it around the window hook at the top, and then the hair fell twenty cubits down and the fairy climbed up it.

One day a young king's son came through the forest where the tower stood, saw the beautiful Rapunzel standing at the window, and heard her singing in such a sweet voice that he fell completely in love with her. But since there was no door in the tower and no ladder could reach so high, he became desperate, but he went into the forest every day until one day he saw the fairy coming and saying:

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel!

Let down your golden hair!"

Then he saw well on which ladder one could get into the tower. He had well noted the words that had to be spoken, and the next day when it was dark he went to the tower and said up towards the window:

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel!

Let down your golden hair!"

Then she let down her hair, and he fastened himself to it and was pulled up.

Rapunzel was frightened at first, but soon she liked the young prince so much that she arranged with him that he should come every day and be pulled up. So they lived very happily for a long time, and the fairy didn't know of it until one day Rapunzel slipped and said to her, "Tell me, Dame Gothel, why my clothes are getting so tight and don't fit anymore."

"Oh, you godless child," said the fairy. "What am I hearing from you?" She realized at once how she had been deceived and was very upset. She took Rapunzel's beautiful hair, wrapped it around her left hand a few times, grabbed a pair of scissors with her right hand and snip, snip, it was cut off. She then sent Rapunzel to a desert where she fared very poorly, and after a while she gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl.

But on the same day that she had cast out Rapunzel, the fairy tied the hair that she had cut off to the hook at the top, and when the king's son came and said:

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel!

Let down your golden hair!"

she let the hair down, but how shocked the prince was when he found the fairy above instead of his beloved Rapunzel. "You know what?" said the angry fairy. "Rapunzel is lost to you forever, you villain!"

Then the king's son became very depressed and immediately threw himself down from the tower. He survived, but both his eyes went out. He wandered sadly about in the forest, eating nothing but grass and roots and doing nothing but cry.

A few years later he ended up in the desert where Rapunzel lived miserably with her children, and her voice sounded so familiar to him. At the same moment she recognized him and threw her arms around his neck. Two of her tears fell into his eyes, and they become clear again, allowing him to be able to see as well as he had before.

Little Brother and Little Sister

 11. Little Brother and Little Sister (Bruederchen und Schwesterchen)

Little brother took his little sister by the hand and said: ‘Look here; we haven’t had one single happy hour since our mother died. That stepmother of ours beats us regularly every day, and if we dare go near her she kicks us away. We never get anything but hard dry crusts to eat—why, the dog under the table is better off than we are. She does throw him a good morsel or two now and then. Oh dear! if our own dear mother only knew all about it! Come along, and let us go forth into the wide world together.’

So off they started through fields and meadows, over hedges and ditches, and walked the whole day long, and when it rained sister said:

‘God and our hearts are weeping together.’

Towards evening they came to a large forest, and were so tired out with hunger and their long walk, as well as all their trouble, that they crept into a hollow tree and soon fell fast asleep.

Next morning, when they woke up, the sun was already high in the heavens and was shining down bright and warm into the tree. Then said brother:

‘I’m so thirsty, sister; if I did but know where to find a little stream, I’d go and have a drink. I do believe I hear one.’ He jumped up, took sister by the hand, and they set off to hunt for the brook.

Now their cruel stepmother was in reality a witch, and she knew perfectly well that the two children had run away. She had crept secretly after them, and had cast her spells over all the streams in the forest.

Presently the children found a little brook dancing and glittering over the stones, and brother was eager to drink of it, but as it rushed past sister heard it murmuring:

‘Who drinks of me will be a tiger! who drinks of me will be a tiger!’

So she cried out, ‘Oh! dear brother, pray don’t drink, or you’ll be turned into a wild beast and tear me to pieces.’

Brother was dreadfully thirsty, but he did not drink.

‘Very well,’ said he, ‘I’ll wait till we come to the next spring.’

When they came to the second brook, sister heard it repeating too:

‘Who drinks of me will be a wolf! who drinks of me will be a wolf!’

And she cried, ‘Oh! brother, pray don’t drink here either, or you’ll be turned into a wolf and eat me up.’

Again brother did not drink, but he said:

‘Well, I’ll wait a little longer till we reach the next stream, but then, whatever you may say, I really must drink, for I can bear this thirst no longer.’

And when they got to the third brook, sister heard it say as it rushed past:

‘Who drinks of me will be a roe! who drinks of me will be a roe!’

And she begged, ‘Ah! brother, don’t drink yet, or you’ll become a roe and run away from me.’

But her brother was already kneeling by the brook and bending over it to drink, and, sure enough, no sooner had his lips touched the water than he fell on the grass transformed into a little Roebuck.

Sister cried bitterly over her poor bewitched brother, and the little Roe wept too, and sat sadly by her side. At last the girl said:

‘Never mind, dear little fawn, I will never forsake you,’ and she took off her golden garter and tied it round the Roe’s neck.

Then she plucked rushes and plaited a soft cord of them, which she fastened to the collar. When she had done this she led the Roe farther and farther, right into the depths of the forest.

After they had gone a long, long way they came to a little house, and when the girl looked into it she found it was quite empty, and she thought ‘perhaps we might stay and live here.’

So she hunted up leaves and moss to make a soft bed for the little Roe, and every morning and evening she went out and gathered roots, nuts, and berries for herself, and tender young grass for the fawn. And he fed from her hand, and played round her and seemed quite happy. In the evening, when sister was tired, she said her prayers and then laid her head on the fawn’s back and fell sound asleep with it as a pillow. And if brother had but kept his natural form, really it would have been a most delightful kind of life.

They had been living for some time in the forest in this way, when it came to pass that the King of that country had a great hunt through the woods. Then the whole forest rang with such a blowing of horns, baying of dogs, and joyful cries of huntsmen, that the little Roe heard it and longed to join in too.

‘Ah!’ said he to sister, ‘do let me go off to the hunt! I can’t keep still any longer.’

And he begged and prayed till at last she consented.

‘But,’ said she, ‘mind you come back in the evening. I shall lock my door fast for fear of those wild huntsmen; so, to make sure of my knowing you, knock at the door and say, “My sister dear, open; I’m here.” If you don’t speak I shan’t open the door.’

So off sprang the little Roe, and he felt quite well and happy in the free open air.

The King and his huntsmen soon saw the beautiful creature and started in pursuit, but they could not come up with it, and whenever they thought they were sure to catch it, it bounded off to one side into the bushes and disappeared. When night came on it ran home, and knocking at the door of the little house cried:

‘My sister dear, open; I’m here.’ The door opened, and he ran in and rested all night on his soft mossy bed.

Next morning the hunt began again, and as soon as the little Roe heard the horns and the ‘Ho! ho!’ of the huntsmen, he could not rest another moment, and said:

‘Sister, open the door, I must get out.’

So sister opened the door and said, ‘Now mind and get back by nightfall, and say your little rhyme.’

As soon as the King and his huntsmen saw the Roe with the golden collar they all rode off after it, but it was far too quick and nimble for them. This went on all day, but as evening came on the huntsmen had gradually encircled the Roe, and one of them wounded it slightly in the foot, so that it limped and ran off slowly.

Then the huntsman stole after it as far as the little house, and heard it call out, ‘My sister dear, open; I’m here,’ and he saw the door open and close immediately the fawn had run in.

The huntsman remembered all this carefully, and went off straight to the King and told him all he had seen and heard.

‘To-morrow we will hunt again,’ said the King.

Poor sister was terribly frightened when she saw how her little Fawn had been wounded. She washed off the blood, bound up the injured foot with herbs, and said: ‘Now, dear, go and lie down and rest, so that your wound may heal.’

The wound was really so slight that it was quite well next day, and the little Roe did not feel it at all. No sooner did it hear the sounds of hunting in the forest than it cried:

‘I can’t stand this, I must be there too; I’ll take care they shan’t catch me.’

Sister began to cry, and said, ‘They are certain to kill you, and then I shall be left all alone in the forest and forsaken by everyone. I can’t and won’t let you out.’

‘Then I shall die of grief,’ replied the Roe, ‘for when I hear that horn I feel as if I must jump right out of my skin.’

So at last, when sister found there was nothing else to be done, she opened the door with a heavy heart, and the Roe darted forth full of glee and health into the forest.

As soon as the King saw the Roe, he said to his huntsman, ‘Now then, give chase to it all day till evening, but mind and be careful not to hurt it.’

When the sun had set the King said to his huntsman, ‘Now come and show me the little house in the wood.’

And when he got to the house he knocked at the door and said, ‘My sister dear, open; I’m here.’ Then the door opened and the King walked in, and there stood the loveliest maiden he had ever seen.

The girl was much startled when instead of the little Roe she expected she saw a man with a gold crown on his head walk in. But the King looked kindly at her, held out his hand, and said, ‘Will you come with me to my castle and be my dear wife?’

‘Oh yes!’ replied the maiden, ‘but you must let my Roe come too. I could not possibly forsake it.’

‘It shall stay with you as long as you live, and shall want for nothing,’ the King promised.

In the meantime the Roe came bounding in, and sister tied the rush cord once more to its collar, took the end in her hand, and so they left the little house in the forest together.

The King lifted the lonely maiden on to his horse, and led her to his castle, where the wedding was celebrated with the greatest splendour. The Roe was petted and caressed, and ran about at will in the palace gardens.

Now all this time the wicked stepmother, who had been the cause of these poor children’s misfortunes and trying adventures, was feeling fully persuaded that sister had been torn to pieces by wild beasts, and brother shot to death in the shape of a Roe. When she heard how happy and prosperous they were, her heart was filled with envy and hatred, and she could think of nothing but how to bring some fresh misfortune on them. Her own daughter, who was as hideous as night and had only one eye, reproached her by saying, ‘It is I who ought to have had this good luck and been Queen.’

‘Be quiet, will you,’ said the old woman; ‘when the time comes I shall be at hand.’

Now after some time it happened one day when the King was out hunting that the Queen gave birth to a beautiful little boy. The old witch thought here was a good chance for her; so she took the form of the lady in waiting, and, hurrying into the room where the Queen lay in her bed, called out, ‘The bath is quite ready; it will help to make you strong again. Come, let us be quick, for fear the water should get cold.’ Her daughter was at hand, too, and between them they carried the Queen, who was still very weak, into the bath-room and laid her in the bath; then they locked the door and ran away.

They took care beforehand to make a blazing hot fire under the bath, so that the lovely young Queen might be suffocated.

As soon as they were sure this was the case, the old witch tied a cap on her daughter’s head and laid her in the Queen’s bed. She managed, too, to make her figure and general appearance look like the Queen’s, but even her power could not restore the eye she had lost; so she made her lie on the side of the missing eye, in order to prevent the King’s noticing anything.

In the evening, when the King came home and heard the news of his son’s birth, he was full of delight, and insisted on going at once to his dear wife’s bedside to see how she was getting on. But the old witch cried out, ‘Take care and keep the curtains drawn; don’t let the light get into the Queen’s eyes; she must be kept perfectly quiet.’ So the King went away and never knew that it was a false Queen who lay in the bed.

When midnight came and everyone in the palace was sound asleep, the nurse who alone watched by the baby’s cradle in the nursery saw the door open gently, and who should come in but the real Queen. She lifted the child from its cradle, laid it on her arm, and nursed it for some time. Then she carefully shook up the pillows of the little bed, laid the baby down and tucked the coverlet in all round him. She did not forget the little Roe either, but went to the corner where it lay, and gently stroked its back. Then she silently left the room, and next morning when the nurse asked the sentries if they had seen any one go into the castle that night, they all said, ‘No, we saw no one at all.’

For many nights the Queen came in the same way, but she never spoke a word, and the nurse was too frightened to say anything about her visits.

After some little time had elapsed the Queen spoke one night, and said:

‘Is my child well? Is my Roe well?
I’ll come back twice and then farewell.’

The nurse made no answer, but as soon as the Queen had disappeared she went to the King and told him all. The King exclaimed, ‘Good heavens! what do you say? I will watch myself to-night by the child’s bed.’

When the evening came he went to the nursery, and at midnight the Queen appeared and said:

‘Is my child well? Is my Roe well?
I’ll come back once and then farewell.’

And she nursed and petted the child as usual before she disappeared. The King dared not trust himself to speak to her, but the following night he kept watch again.

That night when the Queen came she said:

‘Is my child well? Is my Roe well?
I’ve come this once, and now farewell.’

Then the King could restrain himself no longer, but sprang to her side and cried, ‘You can be no one but my dear wife!’

‘Yes,’ said she, ‘I am your dear wife!’ and in the same moment, by the grace of God, she was restored to life, and was as fresh and well and rosy as ever. Then she told the King all the cruel things the wicked witch and her daughter had done. The King had them both arrested at once and brought to trial, and they were condemned to death. The daughter was led into the forest, where the wild beasts tore her to pieces, and the old witch was burnt at the stake.

As soon as she reduced to ashes the spell was taken off the little Roe, and he was restored to his natural shape once more, and so brother and sister lived happily ever after.

My Notes

• This is the translation of May Sellar from Andrew Lang's "The Red Fairy Book," with minor corrections.
• This is tale type 450. It is sometimes confused with Grimms' tale "Hansel and Gretel," which contains this same title in the 1810 manuscripts of the Grimms' collection.
• This story was present in all seven editions of Grimms' collection, and was always placed as the eleventh tale. However, the story was greatly expanded upon as various edits were made.

1812 version

Little brother took his little sister by the hand and said, "Since mother died we haven't had a good hour. Stepmother beats us every day and when we come to her she kicks us away. She gives us nothing to eat but hard crusts of bread. The little dog under the table is doing better, as she sometimes throws him something nice, God have mercy, if our mother only knew! Come, let's go away together.”

They went away together and came to a large forest, where they were so sad and so tired that they sat in a hollow tree and wanted to starve to death. They fell asleep together, and when they awoke in the morning the sun had long risen and was shining hot into the hollow tree.

"Little sister," said the little brother after a while, "I'm so thirsty. If I knew there was a little fountain nearby, I'd go and have a drink, I think I heard one rippling."

"What's the use?" answered Sister. "Why do you want to drink  when we want to die of starvation?”

But the little brother was silent and climbed out, and because he always held the sister's hand firmly, she had to climb out with him. But the wicked stepmother was a witch, and when she saw the two children leaving, she had followed them and made a clear little fountain spring out of the rock near the tree, which was supposed to cause the children to be tempted to drink, and whoever drank it would be turned into a fawn.

Little brother soon came to the little fountain with his little sister, and when he saw it trickling so glitteringly over the stones, his desire grew more and more, and he wanted to drink from it. But the little sister was afraid, she thought the little fountain was talking in a rushing noise and saying, “Whoever drinks me becomes a little fawn; whoever drinks me becomes a little fawn!”

The little sister begged him not to drink from the water. "I hear nothing," said the little brother, "but the water is rippling so sweetly, just let me drink!" With that he lay down, bent down and drank, and as soon as the first drop had fallen on his lips, there lay a little fawn at the fountain.

The little sister cried and cried, but the witch was angry that she couldn't get her to drink too. After weeping for three days, the sister got up and gathered the rushes in the forest and braided them into a soft rope. Then she tied the fawn to it and led him away. She also found a cave, carried moss and leaves into it, and made him a soft bed. In the morning she went out with him to where there was tender grass and gathered the most beautiful blades, which he ate out of her hand, and the fawn was then merry and played on the hills. But in the evening, when little sister was tired, she laid her head on the fawn's back,  which she used as a pillow, and fell asleep. If the little brother had only had his human form, that would have been a glorious life.

So they lived in the forest for many years. One day the king was hunting and got lost in it. Then he found the girl with the little animal in the forest and was amazed at her beauty. He lifted her onto his horse and took her with him, and the fawn ran alongside on the rope. All honor was done for her at the royal court. Beautiful maidens had to wait on her, but she was herself more beautiful than all the others The fawn she never let go, and did everything good for him. The queen died soon after, and the little sister was married to the king and lived happily.

But the stepmother had heard of the good fortune that befell the poor little sister; she thought that the children had long since been eaten by the wild beasts in the forest, but they had done nothing to them, and now the sister was queen in the kingdom. The witch was so angry that all she could think of was how to spoil her happiness. When the queen had given birth to a handsome prince, and the king was out hunting, the witch entered the room in the guise of the maid-in-waiting, where the queen lay recovering.

"The bath has been prepared for you," she said. "It will do you good and strengthen you, so come before it gets cold."

Then she led her into the bathing room; When the queen entered, the witch locked the door behind her. A terrible fire had been lit inside, and the beautiful queen was left to suffocate. The witch had her real daughter, to whom she gave the outward appearance of the queen, lay in the bed in place of the queen.

The king came home in the evening and did not know that he had the wrong wife. But in the middle of the night the nursemaid saw the real queen come into the room, go to the cradle, take out her child, lift him to her breast, and give him a drink. Then she fluffed his bed for him, put him back in, and covered him with the blankets, and she went to the corner where the fawn was sleeping and stroked his back. So she came and went every night without saying a word.

But one night she came in again and said,

"Is my child well? Is my Fawn well?

I’ll come back twice and then farewell."

and did everything as she had on the other nights. But the nurse woke the king and told him secretly. The king kept watch the next night, and he also saw the queen coming and heard her words clearly:

"Is my child well? Is my Fawn well?

I’ll come back once and then farewell."

But he didn't dare speak to her. The next night he kept watch again, and the queen said:

"Is my child well? Is my Fawn well?

I’ve come this once, and now farewell."

The king could not contain himself any longer, and jumped up and embraced her, and when he touched her, she came to life again, healthy and rosy. The false queen was led into the forest, where the wild beasts devoured her, but the wicked stepmother was burned, and as the fire consumed her, the fawn was transformed, and the little brother and sister were together again and lived happily ever after.

The Vagabonds

 10. The Vagabonds (Das Lumpengesindel)

The rooster said to the hen,

"It is the time when nuts are ripe, so let us go together to the mountains and have a good feast for once, before the squirrels come and carry all away."

"Yes," answered the hen, "come along; we will have a jolly time together."

Then they set off together to the mountains, and as it was a fine day they stayed there till the evening. Now whether it was that they had eaten so much, or because of their pride and haughtiness, I do not know, but they would not go home on foot; so the rooster set to work to make a little carriage out of nutshells. When it was ready, the hen seated herself in it, and said to the rooster,

"Now you can harness yourself to it."

"That's all very fine," said the rooster, "I would sooner go home on foot than do such a thing: and I never agreed to it. I don't mind being coachman, and sitting on the box; but as to drawing it myself, it's quite out of the question."

As they were wrangling, a duck came quacking,

"You thieving vagabonds, who told you you might go to my mountain? Look out, or it will be the worse for you!" and flew at the rooster with bill wide open. But the rooster was not backward, and he gave the duck a good dig in the body, and hacked at her with his spurs so valiantly that she begged for mercy, and willingly allowed herself to be harnessed to the carriage. Then the rooster seated himself on the box and was coachman; so off they went at a great pace, the rooster crying out "Run, duck, as fast as you can!"

When they had gone a part of the way they met two foot-passengers, a pin and a needle. They cried "Stop! stop!" and said that it would soon be blindman's holiday; that they could not go a step farther; that the ways were very muddy; might they just get in for a little? They had been standing at the door of the tailors' house of call and had been delayed because of beer.

The rooster, seeing they were slender folks that would not take up a great deal of room, let them both step in, only they must promise not to tread on his toes nor on the hen's.

Late in the evening they came to an inn, and there they found that they could not go any farther that night, as the duck's paces were not good, she waddled so much from side to side; so they turned in. The landlord at first made some difficulty; his house was full already, and he thought they had no very distinguished appearance; at last, however, when they had made many fine speeches, and had promised him the egg that the hen had laid on the way, and that he should keep the duck, who laid one every day, he agreed to let them stay the night; and so they had a very good time.

Early in the morning, when it was beginning to grow light, and everybody was still asleep, the rooster woke up the hen, fetched the egg, and made a hole in it, and they ate it up between them, and put the eggshell on the hearth. Then they went up to the needle, who was still sleeping, picked him up by his head, and stuck him in the landlord's chair-cushion, and having also placed the pin in his towel, off they flew over the hills and far away. The duck, who had chosen to sleep in the open air, and had remained in the yard, heard the rustling of their wings, and, waking up, looked about till she found a brook, down which she swam a good deal faster than she had drawn the carriage.

A few hours later the landlord woke, and, leaving his feather-bed, began washing himself; but when he took the towel to dry himself he drew the pin all across his face, and made a red streak from ear to ear. Then he went into the kitchen to light his pipe, but when he stooped towards the hearth to take up a coal the eggshell flew in his eyes.

"Everything goes wrong this morning," said he, and let himself drop, full of vexation, into his grandfather's chair; but up he jumped in a moment, crying, "Oh dear!" for the needle had gone into him, and not in the head.

Now he became angry, and had his suspicions of the guests who had arrived so late the evening before; and when he looked round for them they were nowhere to be seen.

Then he swore that he would never more harbour such vagabonds, that consumed so much, paid nothing, and played such nasty tricks into the bargain.

My Notes

• This is the translation of Lucy Crane, with minor corrections.
• This is tale type 210 (The Traveling Animals and the Wicked Man). The Grimms included another tale of this type in their collection, Mr. Korbes.
• This story was present in all seven editions of Grimms' collection, and was always placed as the tenth tale. However, the story was expanded upon as various edits were made.

1812 version

The rooster said to the hen, "The nuts are ripe, so we should go up the mountain together and eat our fill before the squirrel takes them all away." "Yes," the hen answered, "come on, let's go together."

They went away together, and as it was a bright day they stayed till evening. Now I don't know whether they ate themselves so fat or whether they had become so high-spirited that they didn't want to walk home, but the rooster had to build a little wagon out of nut shells. When he was finished, the hen sat down and said to the rooster, "You can harness yourself to it."

"No, said the rooster, "That wouldn't be fine with me! I'd rather walk home than let myself be harnessed, as that wasn't the agreement. I want to be a coachman and sit on the box, but I won't pull it myself."

As they were arguing, a duck cackled along, "You thieves! Who told you to go to my nut hill? You shall have it bad!" And she attacked the rooster with her beak.

But the rooster was not lazy either, and attacked the duck vigorously, finally hacking away with his spur so violently that she begged for mercy and was willing to be harnessed to the wagon as punishment. The rooster sat on the box and was the coachman, and now it went on at a gallop.

"Duck, run as fast as you can!" said the rooster.

When they had driven part of the way, they met two pedestrians, a pin and a sewing needle. They shouted at them to stop and said that it was going to be pitch dark in a moment, and they couldn't go any further as it was so dirty on the street and asked if they could ride for a bit. They had been to the tailors' inn in front of the gate, and had too much beer. The rooster, since they were thin people who didn't take up much space, let them both get in, but they had to promise not to step on his toes.

Late in the evening they came to an inn, and because they didn't want to drive any further that night, and the duck wasn't very good on her feet either, and fell from one side to the other, they stopped in. At first the innkeeper made many objections, as his house was already full, and he also thought that they might not be distinguished passengers. But finally, when they said sweetly that he should have the egg that the hen had laid on the way, and also keep the duck that lays one every day, he gave in. Now they let themselves be applied freshly and lived in the lap of luxury.

Early in the morning, when it was just getting light and everyone was still asleep, the rooster woke the hen, took the egg, picked it up, and they ate it together, but they threw the shells on the hearth. Then they went to the sewing needle, which was still sleeping, grabbed it by the head, and stuck it in the innkeeper's armchair cushion, and they put the pin in his towel, and then they flew away over the heath.

The duck, who had wanted to sleep under the open sky and had stayed in the yard, heard them fly away, and she woke up and found a stream, which she swam down faster than she had pulled the wagon.

A few hours later the innkeeper got out of bed, washed himself and wanted to dry himself with the towel when he tore his face with the pin, then he went into the kitchen and wanted to light a pipe, but, when he got to the hearth, the eggshells jumped into his eyes. "Everything's hitting my head this morning," he said, and sat down angrily in his grandfather's chair... ouch! He was stabbed even worse by the sewing needle, and not in the head. Then he got very angry and had suspicions about the guests who had come so late last night, and when he went and looked around for them they were gone. So he swore an oath not to take into his house any more rascals who eat a lot, pay nothing, and on top of that play tricks as a thank you.

The Twelve Brothers

 9. The Twelve Brothers (Die zwoelf Brueder)

There were once on a time a king and a queen who lived happily together and had twelve children, but they were all boys. Then said the King to his wife, “If the thirteenth child which thou art about to bring into the world, is a girl, the twelve boys shall die, in order that her possessions may be great, and that the kingdom may fall to her alone.” He caused likewise twelve coffins to be made, which were already filled with shavings, and in each lay the little pillow for the dead, and he had them taken into a locked-up room, and then he gave the Queen the key of it, and bade her not to speak of this to any one.

The mother, however, now sat and lamented all day long, until the youngest son, who was always with her, and whom she had named Benjamin, from the Bible, said to her, “Dear mother, why art thou so sad?”

“Dearest child,” she answered, “I may not tell thee.” But he let her have no rest until she went and unlocked the room, and showed him the twelve coffins ready filled with shavings. Then she said, “my dearest Benjamin, thy father has had these coffins made for thee and for thy eleven brothers, for if I bring a little girl into the world, you are all to be killed and buried in them.” And as she wept while she was saying this, the son comforted her and said, “Weep not, dear mother, we will save ourselves, and go hence.” But she said, “Go forth into the forest with thy eleven brothers, and let one sit constantly on the highest tree which can be found, and keep watch, looking towards the tower here in the castle. If I give birth to a little son, I will put up a white flag, and then you may venture to come back, but if I bear a daughter, I will hoist a red flag, and then fly hence as quickly as you are able, and may the good God protect you. And every night I will rise up and pray for you—in winter that you may be able to warm yourself at a fire, and in summer that you may not faint away in the heat.”

After she had blessed her sons therefore, they went forth into the forest. They each kept watch in turn, and sat on the highest oak and looked towards the tower. When eleven days had passed and the turn came to Benjamin, he saw that a flag was being raised. It was, however, not the white, but the blood-red flag which announced that they were all to die. When the brothers heard that, they were very angry and said, “Are we all to suffer death for the sake of a girl? We swear that we will avenge ourselves!—wheresoever we find a girl, her red blood shall flow.”

Thereupon they went deeper into the forest, and in the midst of it, where it was the darkest, they found a little bewitched hut, which was standing empty. Then said they, “Here we will dwell, and thou Benjamin, who art the youngest and weakest, thou shalt stay at home and keep house, we others will go out and get food.” Then they went into the forest and shot hares, wild deer, birds and pigeons, and whatsoever there was to eat; this they took to Benjamin, who had to dress it for them in order that they might appease their hunger. They lived together ten years in the little hut, and the time did not appear long to them.

The little daughter which their mother the Queen had given birth to, was now grown up; she was good of heart, and fair of face, and had a golden star on her forehead. Once, when it was the great washing, she saw twelve men’s shirts among the things, and asked her mother, “To whom do these twelve shirts belong, for they are far too small for father?” Then the Queen answered with a heavy heart, “Dear child, these belong to thy twelve brothers.” Said the maiden, “Where are my twelve brothers, I have never yet heard of them?” She replied, “God knows where they are, they are wandering about the world.” Then she took the maiden and opened the chamber for her, and showed her the twelve coffins with the shavings, and pillows for the head. “These coffins,” said she, “were destined for thy brothers, but they went away secretly before thou wert born,” and she related to her how everything had happened; then said the maiden, “Dear mother, weep not, I will go and seek my brothers.”

So she took the twelve shirts and went forth, and straight into the great forest. She walked the whole day, and in the evening she came to the bewitched hut. Then she entered it and found a young boy, who asked, “From whence comest thou, and whither art thou bound?” and was astonished that she was so beautiful, and wore royal garments, and had a star on her forehead. And she answered, “I am a king’s daughter, and am seeking my twelve brothers, and I will walk as far as the sky is blue until I find them.” She likewise showed him the twelve shirts which belonged to them. Then Benjamin saw that she was his sister, and said, “I am Benjamin, thy youngest brother.” And she began to weep for joy, and Benjamin wept also, and they kissed and embraced each other with the greatest love. But after this he said, “Dear sister, there is still one difficulty. We have agreed that every maiden whom we meet shall die, because we have been obliged to leave our kingdom on account of a girl.” Then said she, “I will willingly die, if by so doing I can deliver my twelve brothers.”

“No,” answered he, “thou shalt not die, seat thyself beneath this tub until our eleven brothers come, and then I will soon come to an agreement with them.”

She did so, and when it was night the others came from hunting, and their dinner was ready. And as they were sitting at table, and eating, they asked, “What news is there?” Said Benjamin, “Don’t you know anything?” “No,” they answered. He continued, “You have been in the forest and I have stayed at home, and yet I know more than you do.” “Tell us then,” they cried. He answered, “But promise me that the first maiden who meets us shall not be killed.” “Yes,” they all cried, “she shall have mercy, only do tell us.”

Then said he, “Our sister is here,” and he lifted up the tub, and the King’s daughter came forth in her royal garments with the golden star on her forehead, and she was beautiful, delicate and fair. Then they were all rejoiced, and fell on her neck, and kissed and loved her with all their hearts.

Now she stayed at home with Benjamin and helped him with the work. The eleven went into the forest and caught game, and deer, and birds, and wood-pigeons that they might have food, and the little sister and Benjamin took care to make it ready for them. She sought for the wood for cooking and herbs for vegetables, and put the pans on the fire so that the dinner was always ready when the eleven came. She likewise kept order in the little house, and put beautifully white clean coverings on the little beds, and the brothers were always contented and lived in great harmony with her.

Once on a time the two at home had prepared a beautiful entertainment, and when they were all together, they sat down and ate and drank and were full of gladness. There was, however, a little garden belonging to the bewitched house wherein stood twelve lily flowers, which are likewise called students. She wished to give her brothers pleasure, and plucked the twelve flowers, and thought she would present each brother with one while at dinner. But at the self-same moment that she plucked the flowers the twelve brothers were changed into twelve ravens, and flew away over the forest, and the house and garden vanished likewise. And now the poor maiden was alone in the wild forest, and when she looked around, an old woman was standing near her who said, “My child, what hast thou done? Why didst thou not leave the twelve white flowers growing? They were thy brothers, who are now for evermore changed into ravens.” The maiden said, weeping, “Is there no way of delivering them?”

“No,” said the woman, “there is but one in the whole world, and that is so hard that thou wilt not deliver them by it, for thou must be dumb for seven years, and mayst not speak or laugh, and if thou speakest one single word, and only an hour of the seven years is wanting, all is in vain, and thy brothers will be killed by the one word.”

Then said the maiden in her heart, “I know with certainty that I shall set my brothers free,” and went and sought a high tree and seated herself in it and span, and neither spoke nor laughed. Now it so happened that a king was hunting in the forest, who had a great greyhound which ran to the tree on which the maiden was sitting, and sprang about it, whining, and barking at her. Then the King came by and saw the beautiful King’s daughter with the golden star on her brow, and was so charmed with her beauty that he called to ask her if she would be his wife. She made no answer, but nodded a little with her head. So he climbed up the tree himself, carried her down, placed her on his horse, and bore her home. Then the wedding was solemnized with great magnificence and rejoicing, but the bride neither spoke nor smiled. When they had lived happily together for a few years, the King’s mother, who was a wicked woman, began to slander the young Queen, and said to the King, “This is a common beggar girl whom thou hast brought back with thee. Who knows what impious tricks she practises secretly! Even if she be dumb, and not able to speak, she still might laugh for once; but those who do not laugh have bad consciences.” At first the King would not believe it, but the old woman urged this so long, and accused her of so many evil things, that at last the King let himself be persuaded and sentenced her to death.

And now a great fire was lighted in the courtyard in which she was to be burnt, and the King stood above at the window and looked on with tearful eyes, because he still loved her so much. And when she was bound fast to the stake, and the fire was licking at her clothes with its red tongue, the last instant of the seven years expired. Then a whirring sound was heard in the air, and twelve ravens came flying towards the place, and sank downwards, and when they touched the earth they were her twelve brothers, whom she had delivered. They tore the fire asunder, extinguished the flames, set their dear sister free, and kissed and embraced her. And now as she dared to open her mouth and speak, she told the King why she had been dumb, and had never laughed. The King rejoiced when he heard that she was innocent, and they all lived in great unity until their death. The wicked step-mother was taken before the judge, and put into a barrel filled with boiling oil and venomous snakes, and died an evil death.

My Notes

• This is the translation of Margaret Hunt.
• This is tale type 451 (The Brothers Who Were Turned Into Birds). The Brothers Grimm actually included other stories of this type in their collection, The Seven Ravens and The Six Swans, the latter of which is very similar to Andersen's The Wild Swans, another type 451 tale.
• This story was present in all seven editions of Grimms' collection, and was always placed as the ninth tale. However, the story was expanded upon as various edits were made.

1812 version

Once upon a time there was a king who had twelve children who were all boys. He didn't want a girl, so he said to the queen, "If the thirteenth child you bring into the world is a girl, I'll have the other twelve killed, but if it is a boy, then they should all live together.” The queen tried to talk him out of it, but the king wouldn't listen. "If it's as I said, then they must die, I'd rather cut off their heads than have a girl among them."

Then the queen was sad, for she loved her sons with all her heart and did not know how to save them. Finally she went to the youngest, whom she loved above all, revealed to him what the king had decided and said, "Dearest child, go out into the forest with your eleven brothers, stay there and don't come home. One of you must always sit in a tree and keep watch of this tower. If I give birth to a son, I will hang a white flag on top, but if it is a daughter I will hang a red flag, and when you see that, then save yourselves, flee in the wide world, and may God protect you. I will get up every night and pray for you; when it's cold in winter that you don't freeze and a warm fire burns in front of you, and when it's hot in summer that you rest and sleep in a cool forest."

So she blessed the children and they went away into the forest. They often looked at the tower, and one of them had to sit on a tall oak tree and keep watch. Soon, too, a flag was put up, but it was not the white flag but the red blood flag that threatened them with destruction. When the boys saw this, they all got angry and cried, "Shall we lose our life for the sake of a girl?" So they swore together to stay in the middle of the forest and to be careful, and if a girl ever showed up, they would kill her without mercy.

Then they looked for a cave where the forest was darkest, and there they lived. Every morning eleven of them went out hunting, but one had to stay at home, cook, and take care of the household. And every girl who met the eleven was killed without mercy, and this went on for many years.

But the little sister at home grew up and remained the only child. Once she had a lot of laundry, including twelve men's shirts. "Who are these shirts for?" asked the princess. "They're much too small for my father." The laundress told her that she had twelve brothers who had gone away secretly, no one knew where, because the king had wanted to have them killed, and these twelve shirts belonged to these twelve brothers. The little sister was surprised that she never heard anything about her twelve brothers, and, when they were sitting in the meadow in the afternoon and the laundry was drying, the words of the washerwoman came back to her, and she became thoughtful, and, getting up, she took the twelve shirts and went into the forest where her brothers lived.

The little sister came to the cave where they had their dwelling. The eleven were out hunting and there was only one at home who had to cook. As soon as he saw the girl, he grabbed her and drew his sword, saying, "Kneel down, for your red blood must flow at this moment!"

But the girl begged him: "Dear sir, let me live, I want to stay with you and serve you honestly, I want to cook and run the household.” She was, in fact, speaking to the youngest brother, who took pity on the girl's beauty and let her live. When the eleven came home and were amazed to find a girl alive in the cave, he said to them, "Dear brothers, this girl has come into the cave, and when I was about to cut her down, she begged so much to live. She wants to serve us faithfully and run the household. So I let her live." The others thought that this would be to their advantage, and that all twelve of them could now go hunting, and they were content. Then she showed them the twelve little shirts and said that she was their sister. At this news, they all rejoiced, and were glad that they had not killed her.

The little sister now took over the household, and when the brothers were out hunting, she gathered wood and herbs, helped by the fire, made the beds pretty white and clean, and did everything diligently. One day, when she had finished all her work, she went for a walk in the woods and came to a place where twelve beautiful, tall, white lilies stood, and because she liked them so much, she picked all of them. But no sooner had that happened than an old woman stood in front of her, saying, “Oh, my daughter, why didn't you leave the twelve flowers there? These are your twelve brothers, who have now all been turned into ravens and are lost forever."

The little sister began to cry. "Oh!" she said, "isn't there any way of freeing them?"

"No, there is no way in the world except one, but it's so difficult that you won't free them with it, because you'll have to be silent for twelve years. You won't be allowed to speak, and you won't allowed to laugh, and if you speak a single word and there's only an hour left in the twelve years, everything will in vain, and your brothers will be killed by the word."

The little sister sat down in a high tree in the forest and spun, sitting in silence for twelve years to free her brothers. But it happened that the king was riding through the forest on a hunt, and when he passed the tree, his dog stood still and barked. The king now stopped, looked up, and was amazed at the beauty of the princess. He called out to her if she wanted to be his wife. But she was silent and only nodded her head a little. Then the king himself climbed up and lifted her down, put her on his horse in front of him, and brought her home to his castle, where the wedding was held splendidly. But the princess never spoke a word, and the king thought she was mute. But they would have lived happily together if it had not been for the king's mother, who began to slander the queen to her son, saying "She is a common beggar girl, that you brought with you from abroad, who does the most shameful things behind your back."

Because the queen could not defend herself, the king allowed himself to be deceived and finally believed his mother and sentenced the girl to death. A great fire was kindled in the courtyard, in which she was to be burned. She was already in the flames and they were burning the ends of her dress, when the last minute of the twelve years finally passed. There was a noise in the air, and twelve ravens came flying over and settled down. As they touched the ground, the twelve fair princes tore the fire apart and brought out their sister. Then she spoke her first word again and told the king everything that had happened and how she had to free the twelve brothers, and they were all happy that things had turned out so well.

Now came the question of what they should do with the wicked stepmother. So she was put in a barrel full of boiling oil and filled with poisonous snakes, and died a horrible death.

The Wonderful Musician

8. The Wonderful Musician (Der wunderliche Spielmann)

There was once a wonderful musician, who went quite alone through a forest and thought of all manner of things, and when nothing was left for him to think about, he said to himself, “Time is beginning to pass heavily with me here in the forest, I will fetch hither a good companion for myself.” Then he took his fiddle from his back, and played so that it echoed through the trees. It was not long before a wolf came trotting through the thicket towards him. “Ah, here is a wolf coming! I have no desire for him!” said the musician; but the wolf came nearer and said to him, “Ah, dear musician, how beautifully thou dost play. I should like to learn that, too.” “It is soon learnt,” the musician replied, “thou hast only to do all that I bid thee.” “Oh, musician,” said the wolf, “I will obey thee as a scholar obeys his master.” The musician bade him follow, and when they had gone part of the way together, they came to an old oak-tree which was hollow inside, and cleft in the middle. “Look,” said the musician, “if thou wilt learn to fiddle, put thy fore paws into this crevice.” The wolf obeyed, but the musician quickly picked up a stone and with one blow wedged his two paws so fast that he was forced to stay there like a prisoner. “Stay there until I come back again,” said the musician, and went his way.

After a while he again said to himself, “Time is beginning to pass heavily with me here in the forest, I will fetch hither another companion,” and took his fiddle and again played in the forest. It was not long before a fox came creeping through the trees towards him. “Ah, there’s a fox coming!” said the musician. “I have no desire for him.” The fox came up to him and said, “Oh, dear musician, how beautifully thou dost play! I should like to learn that too.” “That is soon learnt,” said the musician. “Thou hast only to do everything that I bid thee.” “Oh, musician,” then said the fox, “I will obey thee as a scholar obeys his master.” “Follow me,” said the musician; and when they had walked a part of the way, they came to a footpath, with high bushes on both sides of it. There the musician stood still, and from one side bent a young hazel-bush down to the ground, and put his foot on the top of it, then he bent down a young tree from the other side as well, and said, “Now little fox, if thou wilt learn something, give me thy left front paw.” The fox obeyed, and the musician fastened his paw to the left bough. “Little fox,” said he, “now reach me thy right paw” and he tied it to the right bough. When he had examined whether they were firm enough, he let go, and the bushes sprang up again, and jerked up the little fox, so that it hung struggling in the air. “Wait there till I come back again,” said the musician, and went his way.

Again he said to himself, “Time is beginning to pass heavily with me here in the forest, I will fetch hither another companion,” so he took his fiddle, and the sound echoed through the forest. Then a little hare came springing towards him. “Why, a hare is coming,” said the musician, “I do not want him.” “Ah, dear musician,” said the hare, “how beautifully thou dost fiddle; I too, should like to learn that.” “That is soon learnt,” said the musician, “thou hast only to do everything that I bid thee.”

“Oh, musician,” replied the little hare, “I will obey thee as a scholar obeys his master.” They went a part of the way together until they came to an open space in the forest, where stood an aspen tree. The musician tied a long string round the little hare’s neck, the other end of which he fastened to the tree. “Now briskly, little hare, run twenty times round the tree!” cried the musician, and the little hare obeyed, and when it had run round twenty times, it had twisted the string twenty times round the trunk of the tree, and the little hare was caught, and let it pull and tug as it liked, it only made the string cut into its tender neck. “Wait there till I come back,” said the musician, and went onwards.

The wolf, in the meantime, had pushed and pulled and bitten at the stone, and had worked so long that he had set his feet at liberty and had drawn them once more out of the cleft. Full of anger and rage he hurried after the musician and wanted to tear him to pieces. When the fox saw him running, he began to lament, and cried with all his might, “Brother wolf, come to my help, the musician has betrayed me!” The wolf drew down the little tree, bit the cord in two, and freed the fox, who went with him to take revenge on the musician. They found the tied-up hare, whom likewise they delivered, and then they all sought the enemy together.

The musician had once more played his fiddle as he went on his way, and this time he had been more fortunate. The sound reached the ears of a poor wood-cutter, who instantly, whether he would or no, gave up his work and came with his hatchet under his arm to listen to the music. “At last comes the right companion,” said the musician, “for I was seeking a human being, and no wild beast.” And he began and played so beautifully and delightfully that the poor man stood there as if bewitched, and his heart leaped with gladness. And as he thus stood, the wolf, the fox, and the hare came up, and he saw well that they had some evil design. So he raised his glittering axe and placed himself before the musician, as if to say, “Whoso wishes to touch him let him beware, for he will have to do with me!” Then the beasts were terrified and ran back into the forest. The musician, however, played once more to the man out of gratitude, and then went onwards.

My Notes

• This is the translation of Margaret Hunt
• This is tale type 151 (Music Lessons for Wild Animals).
• This story was added to the second edition of the Grimms' collection in 1819.

The Hand With the Knife

 8. The Hand With the Knife (Die Hand mit dem Messer)

There was once a little girl who had three brothers who were everything to her mother, but she was always ignored, beaten, and sent out early every morning to dig peat on the dry heathland, which she needed for cooking and burning. In addition, she was given an old and blunt tool with which to do the hard work.

But the little girl had an admirer who was an elf that lived near her mother's house in a hill, and whenever she passed the hill he would put out his hand out of the rock, and hold out a very sharp knife, which was of special power and cut through everything. With this knife she quickly cut out the peat and went home happily with the necessary load, and when she passed the rock she knocked twice on it, and the hand reached out and took the knife.

But when the mother noticed how quickly and easily she always brought the peat home, she told the brothers that someone else would have to help her, otherwise it wouldn't be possible. So the brothers crept after her and saw how she was getting the magic knife, then caught up with her and forced it away from her. Then they returned to the rock and knocked on it as she usually did, and when the good elf put out his hand, they cut it off with his own knife. The bleeding arm withdrew, and, as the elf believed his beloved had done it out of treachery, he has never been seen since.

My Notes

• This story only appeared in the original 1812 edition of the Grimms' collection and was removed from later editions.

The Good Bargain

 7. The Good Bargain (Der gute Handel)

There was once a peasant who had driven his cow to the fair, and sold her for seven thalers. On the way home he had to pass a pond, and already from afar he heard the frogs crying, “Aik, aik, aik, aik.” “Well,” said he to himself, “they are talking without rhyme or reason, it is seven that I have received, not eight.” When he got to the water, he cried to them, “Stupid animals that you are! Don’t you know better than that? It is seven thalers and not eight.” The frogs, however, stood to their, “aik aik, aik, aik.” “Come, then, if you won’t believe it, I can count it out to you.” And he took his money out of his pocket and counted out the seven thalers, always reckoning four and twenty groschen to a thaler. The frogs, however, paid no attention to his reckoning, but still cried, “aik, aik, aik, aik.” “What,” cried the peasant, quite angry, “since you are determined to know better than I, count it yourselves,” and threw all the money into the water to them. He stood still and wanted to wait until they were done and had brought him his own again, but the frogs maintained their opinion and cried continually, “aik, aik, aik, aik,” and besides that, did not throw the money out again. He still waited a long while until evening came on and he was forced to go home. Then he abused the frogs and cried, “You water-splashers, you thick-heads, you goggle-eyes, you have great mouths and can screech till you hurt one’s ears, but you cannot count seven thalers! Do you think I’m going to stand here till you get done?” And with that he went away, but the frogs still cried, “aik, aik, aik, aik,” after him till he went home quite angry.

After a while he bought another cow, which he killed, and he made the calculation that if he sold the meat well he might gain as much as the two cows were worth, and have the skin into the bargain. When therefore he got to the town with the meat, a great troop of dogs were gathered together in front of the gate, with a large greyhound at the head of them, which jumped at the meat, snuffed at it, and barked, “Wow, wow, wow.” As there was no stopping him, the peasant said to him, “Yes, yes, I know quite well that thou art saying, ‘wow, wow, wow,’ because thou wantest some of the meat; but I should fare badly if I were to give it to thee.” The dog, however, answered nothing but “wow, wow.” “Wilt thou promise not to devour it all then, and wilt thou go bail for thy companions?” “Wow, wow, wow,” said the dog. “Well, if thou insistest on it, I will leave it for thee; I know thee well, and know who is thy master; but this I tell thee, I must have my money in three days or else it will go ill with thee; thou must just bring it out to me.” Thereupon he unloaded the meat and turned back again, the dogs fell upon it and loudly barked, “wow, wow.”

The countryman, who heard them from afar, said to himself, “Hark, now they all want some, but the big one is responsible to me for it.”

When three days had passed, the countryman thought, “To-night my money will be in my pocket,” and was quite delighted. But no one would come and pay it. “There is no trusting any one now,” said he; and at last he lost patience, and went into the town to the butcher and demanded his money. The butcher thought it was a joke, but the peasant said, “Jesting apart, I will have my money! Did not the great dog bring you the whole of the slaughtered cow three days ago?” Then the butcher grew angry, snatched a broomstick and drove him out. “Wait a while,” said the peasant, “there is still some justice in the world!” and went to the royal palace and begged for an audience. He was led before the King, who sat there with his daughter, and asked him what injury he had suffered. “Alas!” said he, “the frogs and the dogs have taken from me what is mine, and the butcher has paid me for it with the stick,” and he related at full length all that had happened. Thereupon the King’s daughter began to laugh heartily, and the King said to him, “I cannot give you justice in this, but you shall have my daughter to wife for it,—in her whole life she has never yet laughed as she has just done at thee, and I have promised her to him who could make her laugh. Thou mayst thank God for thy good fortune!”

“Oh,” answered the peasant, “I will not have her, I have a wife already, and she is one too many for me; when I go home, it is just as bad as if I had a wife standing in every corner.” Then the King grew angry, and said, “Thou art a boor.” “Ah, Lord King,” replied the peasant, “what can you expect from an ox, but beef?” “Stop,” answered the King, “thou shalt have another reward. Be off now, but come back in three days, and then thou shalt have five hundred counted out in full.”

When the peasant went out by the gate, the sentry said, “Thou hast made the King’s daughter laugh, so thou wilt certainly receive something good.” “Yes, that is what I think,” answered the peasant; “five hundred are to be counted out to me.” “Hark thee,” said the soldier, “give me some of it. What canst thou do with all that money?” “As it is thou,” said the peasant, “thou shalt have two hundred; present thyself in three days’ time before the King, and let it be paid to thee.” A Jew, who was standing by and had heard the conversation, ran after the peasant, held him by the coat, and said, “Oh, wonder! what a luck-child thou art! I will change it for thee, I will change it for thee into small coins, what dost thou want with the great thalers?” “Jew,” said the countryman, “three hundred canst thou still have; give it to me at once in coin, in three days from this, thou wilt be paid for it by the King.” The Jew was delighted with the profit, and brought the sum in bad groschen, three of which were worth two good ones. After three days had passed, according to the King’s command, the peasant went before the King. “Pull his coat off,” said the latter, “and he shall have his five hundred.” “Ah!” said the peasant, “they no longer belong to me; I presented two hundred of them to the sentinel, and three hundred the Jew has changed for me, so by right nothing at all belongs to me.” In the meantime the soldier and the Jew entered and claimed what they had gained from the peasant, and they received the blows strictly counted out. The soldier bore it patiently and knew already how it tasted, but the Jew said sorrowfully, “Alas, alas, are these the heavy thalers?” The King could not help laughing at the peasant, and as all his anger was gone, he said, “As thou hast already lost thy reward before it fell to thy lot, I will give thee something in the place of it. Go into my treasure chamber and get some money for thyself, as much as thou wilt.” The peasant did not need to be told twice, and stuffed into his big pockets whatsoever would go in. Afterwards he went to an inn and counted out his money. The Jew had crept after him and heard how he muttered to himself, “That rogue of a King has cheated me after all, why could he not have given me the money himself, and then I should have known what I had? How can I tell now if what I have had the luck to put in my pockets is right or not?” “Good heavens!” said the Jew to himself, “that man is speaking disrespectfully of our lord the King, I will run and inform, and then I shall get a reward, and he will be punished as well.”

When the King heard of the peasant’s words he fell into a passion, and commanded the Jew to go and bring the offender to him. The Jew ran to the peasant, “You are to go at once to the lord King in the very clothes you have on.” “I know what’s right better than that,” answered the peasant, “I shall have a new coat made first. Dost thou think that a man with so much money in his pocket is to go there in his ragged old coat?” The Jew, as he saw that the peasant would not stir without another coat, and as he feared that if the King’s anger cooled, he himself would lose his reward, and the peasant his punishment, said, “I will out of pure friendship lend thee a coat for the short time. What will people not do for love!” The peasant was contented with this, put the Jew’s coat on, and went off with him.

The King reproached the countryman because of the evil speaking of which the Jew had informed him. “Ah,” said the peasant, “what a Jew says is always false—no true word ever comes out of his mouth! That rascal there is capable of maintaining that I have his coat on.”

“What is that?” shrieked the Jew. “Is the coat not mine? Have I not lent it to thee out of pure friendship, in order that thou might appear before the lord King?” When the King heard that, he said, “The Jew has assuredly deceived one or the other of us, either myself or the peasant,” and again he ordered something to be counted out to him in hard thalers. The peasant, however, went home in the good coat, with the good money in his pocket, and said to himself, “This time I have hit it!”

My Notes

• This is the translation of Margaret Hunt.
• This is tale type 1642.
• This story was added to the Grimms' collection for the second edition of 1819.

The Stolen Pennies

 7/154. The Stolen Pennies (Der gestohlene Heller)

A father was one day sitting at dinner with his wife and his children, and a good friend who had come on a visit was with them. And as they thus sat, and it was striking twelve o’clock, the stranger saw the door open, and a very pale child dressed in snow-white clothes came in. It did not look around, and it did not speak; but went straight into the next room. Soon afterwards it came back, and went out at the door again in the same quiet manner. On the second and on the third day, it came also exactly in the same way. At last the stranger asked the father to whom the beautiful child that went into the next room every day at noon belonged? “I have never seen it,” said he, neither did he know to whom it could belong. The next day when it again came, the stranger pointed it out to the father, who however did not see it, and the mother and the children also all saw nothing. On this the stranger got up, went to the room door, opened it a little, and peeped in. Then he saw the child sitting on the ground, and digging and seeking about industriously amongst the crevices between the boards of the floor, but when it saw the stranger, it disappeared. He now told what he had seen and described the child exactly, and the mother recognized it, and said, “Ah, it is my dear child who died a month ago.” They took up the boards and found two pennies which the child had once received from its mother that it might give them to a poor man; it, however, had thought, “Thou canst buy thyself a biscuit for that,” and had kept the pennies, and hidden them in the openings between the boards; and therefore it had had no rest in its grave, and had come every day at noon to seek for these pennies. The parents gave the money at once to a poor man, and after that the child was never seen again.

My Notes

• This is the translation of Margaret Hunt with minor edits.
• This is tale type 769 (A Child Returns From the Dead)
• The title in German literally translates to "The Stolen Penny." I have changed it to the plural for consistency.
• This story was present in all seven editions of Grimms' collection, but was placed as the seventh tale in the original 1812 edition. It was changed to the 154th tale for the 1819 second edition.

1812 version

A father was sitting at the table at noon with his wife and children, and a good friend who was visiting him. As they were sitting like that the clock struck twelve, and the stranger saw the door open and a pale little child dressed in snow-white clothes come in. It didn't look around, and didn't speak, but went quietly into the room next door. Soon afterwards it came back, and just as quietly went away again. On the second and third day the same child came back, and the stranger asked the father who the beautiful child that went into the room every day at noon belonged to. The father replied that he didn't know anything about it and had never seen it. The next day, when twelve o'clock struck and it came in again, the stranger showed it to the father, but he saw nothing, and neither did the mother or the children. The stranger got up, went to the door, opened it a little and looked in. Then he saw the pale little child sitting on the ground and busily digging and digging in the floorboard cracks with its fingers, but when it noticed the stranger it disappeared. Then the stranger related what he had seen and described the child in detail, and the mother recognized it and said, "Oh! That is my dear child who died four weeks ago." So they broke open the floorboards and found two pennies, which the child was once supposed to give to a poor man, but had thought, "You can get some biscuits for that," and had kept the pennies and hidden them in the cracks in the floorboards, and then there was no rest for the child and it had to come every midday and look for the pennies. So they gave the money to a poor man, and after that the little child was never seen again.