Witch, who lay in wait for children, and who had built the little bread
house in order to entice them there. When a child fell into her power,
she killed it, cooked, and ate it; and that was a feast-day with her.
Witches have red eyes, and cannot see far, but they have a keen
scent like the beasts’, and are aware when human beings draw near.
When Haensel and Grethel came into her neighborhood, she laughed
maliciously, and said mockingly, “I have them, they shall not escape me
again!”
Early in the morning before the children were awake, she was up. And
when she saw both of them sleeping and looking so pretty, with their
plump red cheeks, she muttered to herself, “That will be a dainty
mouthful!”
Then she seized Haensel with her shrivelled hand, carried him into a
little stable, and shut him in with a grated door. He might scream as
he liked, that was of no use!
Then she went to Grethel, shook her till she awoke, and cried, “Get up,
lazy thing, fetch some water, and cook something good for your brother.
He is in the stable outside, and is to be made fat. When he is fat, I
will eat him.”
Grethel began to weep bitterly. But it was all in vain, she was forced
to do what the wicked Witch ordered her.
And now the best food was cooked for poor Haensel, while Grethel got
nothing but crab-shells. Every morning the woman crept to the little
stable, and cried, “Haensel, stretch out your finger that I may feel if
you will soon be fat.”
When four weeks had gone by she was seized with impatience and would
not wait any longer. “Ho, there! Grethel,” she cried to the girl, “be
active, and bring some water. Let Haensel be fat or lean, to-morrow I
will kill him, and cook him.”
Ah! how the poor little sister did lament when she had to fetch the
water, and how her tears did flow down over her cheeks! “Dear God, do
help us,” she cried. “If the wild beasts in the forest had but devoured
us, we should at any rate have died together!”
“Just keep your noise to yourself,” said the Old Woman, “all that won’t
help you at all.”
Early in the morning, Grethel had to go out and hang up the cauldron,
full of water, and light the fire.
“We will bake first,” said the Old Woman, “I have already heated the
oven, and kneaded the dough.” She pushed poor Grethel out to the oven,
from which flames of fire were darting.
“Creep in,” said the Witch, “and see if it is properly heated, so
that we can shut the bread in.” And when once Grethel was inside, she
intended to shut the oven and let her bake in it, and then eat her, too.
But Grethel saw what she had in her mind, and would not creep in.
“Silly Goose,” said the Old Woman; “the door is big enough. Just look,
I can get in myself!” and she crept up and thrust her head in. Then she
fell over into the oven and was miserably burnt to death.
Grethel, however, ran as quick as lightning to Haensel, opened his
little stable, and cried, “Haensel, we are saved! The old Witch is
dead!”
Then Haensel sprang out like a bird from its cage, when the door is
opened for it. How they did rejoice and embrace each other, and dance
about and kiss each other! And as they had no longer any need to fear
her, they went into the Witch’s house, and in every corner there stood
chests full of pearls and jewels.
“These are far better than pebbles!” said Haensel, and thrust into his
pockets whatever could be got in.
And Grethel said, “I, too, will take something home with me,” and
filled her pinafore full.
“But now we will go away,” said Haensel, “that we may get out of the
Witch’s forest.”
When they had walked for two hours, they came to a great piece of
water. “We cannot get over,” said Haensel, “I see no foot-plank, and no
bridge.”
“And no boat crosses either,” answered Grethel, “but a white duck is
swimming there. If I ask her, she will help us over.” Then she cried:
“_Little Duck, little Duck, dost thou see,
Haensel and Grethel are waiting for thee?
There’s never a plank, nor a bridge in sight,
Take us across on thy back so white._”
The duck came to them, and Haensel seated himself on her back, and
told his sister to sit by him. “No,” replied Grethel, “that will be
too heavy for the little duck. She shall take us across, one after the
other.”
The good little duck did so, and when they were once safely across and
had walked for a short time, the forest seemed to be more and more
familiar to them. At length, they saw from afar their father’s house.
Then they began to run, rushed into the parlor, and threw themselves
into their father’s arms. The man had not known one happy hour since he
had left the children in the forest. The woman, however, was dead.
Grethel emptied her pinafore until pearls and precious stones ran about
the room, and Haensel threw one handful after another out of his pocket
to add to them. Then all trouble was at an end, and they lived together
in perfect happiness.
My tale is done, there runs a mouse, whosoever catches it, may make
himself a big, big fur cap out of it!
[Illustration]
THE SEVEN RAVENS
There was once a man who had seven sons, but never a daughter no matter
how much he wished for one.
At length, his wife had a child, and it was a daughter. The joy was
great. But the child was sickly and small, and so weak that it had to
be baptized at once.
The father sent one of the boys in a hurry to the spring, to fetch
water for the baptism. The other six boys ran along with him. And as
each strove to be the first to fill the jug, it fell into the spring.
There they stood, and did not know what to do. None of them dared to go
home.
When they did not come back, the father grew impatient, and said, “They
have forgotten all about it in a game of play, the wicked boys!”
Soon he grew afraid lest the child should die without being baptized,
and he cried out in anger, “I wish the boys were all turned into
Ravens!”
Hardly was the word spoken, before he heard a whirring of wings in
the air above his head. He looked up, and saw seven coal-black Ravens
flying high and away.
The parents could not recall the curse. And though they grieved over
the loss of their seven sons, yet they comforted themselves somewhat
with their dear little daughter, who soon grew strong and every day
more beautiful.
For a long time, she did not know that she had had brothers. Her
parents were careful not to mention them before her. But one day,
she chanced to overhear some people talking about her, and saying,
“that the maiden is certainly beautiful, but really to blame for the
misfortune of her seven brothers.”
Then she was much troubled, and went to her father and mother, and
asked if it was true that she had had brothers, and what was become of
them.
The parents did not dare to keep the secret longer, and said that her
birth was only the innocent cause of what had happened to her brothers.
But the maiden laid it daily to heart, and thought that she must
deliver her brothers.
She had no peace and rest until she set out secretly, and went forth
into the wide world to seek them out, and set them free, let it cost
what it might. She took nothing with her but a little ring belonging
to her parents as a keepsake, a loaf of bread against hunger, a little
pitcher of water against thirst, and a little chair as a provision
against weariness.
And now, she went continually onward, far, far, to the very end of the
world. Then she came to the Sun, but it was too hot and terrible, and
devoured little children. Hastily she ran away, and ran to the Moon,
but it was far too cold, and also awful and malicious. And when it saw
the child, it said:
“_I smell, I smell
The flesh of men!_”
[Illustration: EACH STAR SAT ON ITS OWN LITTLE CHAIR]
On this she ran swiftly away, and came to the Stars, which were kind
and good to her, and each of them sat on its own little chair. But the
Morning Star arose, and gave her the drumstick of a chicken, and said,
“If you have not that drumstick you cannot open the Glass Mountain, and
in the Glass Mountain are your brothers.”
The maiden took the drumstick, wrapped it carefully in a cloth, and
went onward again until she came to the Glass Mountain. The door was
shut, and she thought she would take out the drumstick. But when
she undid the cloth, it was empty, and she had lost the good Star’s
present. What was she now to do? She wished to rescue her brothers, and
had no key to the Glass Mountain. The good little sister took a knife,
cut off one of her little fingers, put it in the door, and succeeded in
opening it.
When she had got inside, a little Dwarf came to meet her, who said, “My
Child, what are you looking for?”
“I am looking for my brothers, the Seven Ravens,” she replied.
The Dwarf said, “The Lord Ravens are not at home, but if you wish to
wait here until they come, step in.”
Thereupon the little Dwarf carried the Ravens’ dinner in, on seven
little plates, and in seven little glasses. The little sister ate a
morsel from each plate, and from each little glass she took a sip. But
in the last little glass she dropped the ring which she had brought
away with her.
Suddenly, she heard a whirring of wings and a rushing through the air,
and then the little Dwarf said, “Now the Lord Ravens are flying home.”
Then they came, and wanted to eat and drink, and looked for their
little plates and glasses. Then said one after the other, “Who has
eaten something from my plate? Who has drunk out of my little glass? It
was a human mouth.”
And when the seventh came to the bottom of the glass, the ring rolled
against his mouth. Then he looked at it, and saw that it was a ring
belonging to his father and mother, and said, “God grant that our
little sister may be here, and then we shall be free.”
When the maiden, who was standing behind the door watching, heard that
wish, she came forth, and on this all the Ravens were restored to their
human form again. And they embraced and kissed each other, and went
joyfully home.
[Illustration]
ASH-MAIDEN
The wife of a rich man fell sick, and as she felt that her end was
drawing near, she called her only daughter to her bedside and said,
“Dear Child, be good and pious, and then the dear God will always
protect you, and I will look down on you from Heaven and be near you.”
Thereupon she closed her eyes and departed.
Every day, the maiden went out to her mother’s grave and wept, and she
remained pious and good. When winter came the snow spread a white sheet
over the grave, and when the spring-sun had drawn it off again, the man
had taken another wife.
The woman had brought two daughters into the house with her, who were
beautiful and fair of face, but vile and black of heart. Now began a
bad time for the poor child. “Is the stupid goose to sit in the parlor
with us?” said they. “He who wants to eat bread, must earn it. Out with
the kitchen-wench!”
They took her pretty clothes away from her, put an old gray bedgown
on her and gave her wooden shoes. “Just look at the proud Princess,
how decked out she is!” they cried, and laughed, and led her into the
kitchen.
There she had to do hard work from morning till night, get up before
daybreak, carry water, light fires, cook and wash. Besides this, the
sisters did her every imaginable injury--they mocked her and emptied
her peas and lentils into the ashes, so that she was forced to sit and
pick them out again.
In the evening, when she had worked till she was weary, she had no bed
to go to, but had to sleep by the fireside in the ashes. And as on that
account she always looked dusty and dirty, they called her Ash-Maiden.
It happened once that the father was going to the Fair, and he asked
the two daughters what he should bring back for them.
“Beautiful dresses,” said one. “Pearls and jewels,” said the second.
“And you, Ash-Maiden,” said he, “what will you have?”
“Father, break off for me the first branch which knocks against your
hat on your way home.”
So he bought beautiful dresses, pearls and jewels for the two
daughters, and on his way home, as he was riding through a green
thicket, a hazel twig brushed against him and knocked off his hat. Then
he broke off the branch and took it with him.
When he reached home he gave the two daughters the things which
they had wished for, and to Ash-Maiden he gave the branch from the
hazel-bush. Ash-Maiden thanked him, went to her mother’s grave and
planted the branch on it, and wept so much that the tears fell down on
it and watered it.
It grew, however, and became a handsome tree. Thrice a day Ash-Maiden
went and sat beneath it, and wept and prayed, and a little White Bird
always came on the tree. And if Ash-Maiden expressed a wish, the bird
threw down to her what she had wished for.
It happened that the King gave a feast, which was to last three days.
To it all the beautiful young girls in the country were invited,
in order that his son might choose himself a Bride. When the two
sisters heard that they too were to appear among the number, they were
delighted.
They called Ash-Maiden and said, “Comb our hair, brush our shoes, and
fasten our buckles, for we are going to the feast at the King’s palace.”
Ash-Maiden obeyed, but wept, because she too would have liked to go
with them to the dance, and she begged her mother to allow her to do so.
“You go, Ash-Maiden!” said she; “you are dusty and dirty, and would go
to the feast? You have no clothes and shoes, and yet would dance!”
As, however, Ash-Maiden went on asking, the mother at last said, “I
have emptied a dish of lentils into the ashes for you. If you have
picked them out again in two hours, you shall go with us.”
The maiden went through the back-door into the garden, and called, “You
tame Pigeons, you Turtledoves, and all you birds beneath the sky, come
and help me to pick
“_The good into the pot,
The bad into the crop!_”
Then two white pigeons came in by the kitchen-window, and afterward
the turtledoves. And at last all the birds beneath the sky came
whirring and crowding in, and alighted amongst the ashes. And the
pigeons nodded with their heads and began _pick, pick, pick, pick,_
and the rest began also _pick, pick, pick, pick,_ and gathered all the
good grains into the dish. Hardly had one hour passed before they had
finished, and all flew out again.
Then the girl took the dish to the mother, and was glad, and believed
that now she would be allowed to go with them to the feast.
But the mother said, “No, Ash-Maiden, you have no clothes and you
cannot dance. You would only be laughed at.”
And as Ash-Maiden wept at this, the mother said, “If you can pick two
dishes of lentils out of the ashes for me in one hour, you shall go
with us.” And she thought to herself, “That she most certainly cannot
do.”
When the mother had emptied the two dishes of lentils amongst the
ashes, the maiden went through the back-door into the garden and cried,
“You tame Pigeons, you Turtledoves, and all you birds under heaven,
come and help me to pick
“_The good into the pot,
The bad into the crop!_”
Then two white pigeons came in by the kitchen-window, and afterward the
turtledoves. And at last all the birds beneath the sky came whirring
and crowding in, and alighted amongst the ashes. And the doves nodded
with their heads and began _pick, pick, pick, pick,_ and the others
began also _pick, pick, pick, pick,_ and gathered all the good seeds
into the dishes. And before half an hour was over they had already
finished, and all flew out again.
Then the maiden carried the dishes to the mother and was delighted, and
believed that she might now go with them to the feast.
But the mother said, “All this will not help you. You go not with us,
for you have no clothes and cannot dance. We should be ashamed of you!”
Then she turned her back on Ash-Maiden, and hurried away with her two
proud daughters.
As no one was now at home, Ash-Maiden went to her mother’s grave
beneath the hazel-tree, and cried:
“_Shiver and quiver, Little Tree,
Silver and gold throw over me!_”
Then the bird threw a gold and silver dress down to her, and slippers
embroidered with silk and silver. She put on the dress with all speed,
and went to the feast.
Her sisters and the mother, however, did not know her, and thought she
must be a foreign Princess, for she looked so beautiful in the golden
dress. They never once thought of Ash-Maiden, and believed that she was
sitting at home in the dirt, picking lentils out of the ashes.
The Prince went to meet her, took her by the hand, and he danced with
her. He would dance with no other maiden, and never let go of her hand.
And if any one else came to invite her, he said, “This is my partner.”
She danced till it was evening, and then she wanted to go home. But the
King’s Son said, “I will go with you and bear you company,” for he
wished to see to whom the beautiful maiden belonged.
She escaped from him, however, and sprang into the pigeon-house. The
King’s Son waited until her father came, and then he told him that the
stranger maiden had leapt into the pigeon-house. The old man thought,
“Can it be Ash-Maiden?” and they had to bring him an axe and a pickaxe
that he might hew the pigeon-house to pieces, but no one was inside it.
And when they got home, Ash-Maiden lay in her dirty clothes among the
ashes, and a dim little oil-lamp was burning on the mantelpiece. For
Ash-Maiden had jumped quickly down from the back of the pigeon-house,
and had run to the little hazel-tree. There she had taken off her
beautiful clothes and laid them on the grave, and the bird had taken
them away again. Then she had placed herself in the kitchen amongst the
ashes, in her gray gown.
Next day, when the feast began afresh, and her parents and the sisters
had gone once more, Ash-Maiden went to the hazel-tree, and said:
“_Shiver and quiver, Little Tree,
Silver and gold throw over me!_”
Then the bird threw down a much more beautiful dress than on the
preceding day. And when Ash-Maiden appeared at the feast in this dress,
every one was astonished at her beauty.
The King’s Son had waited until she came, and instantly took her by the
hand and danced with no one but her. When others came and invited her,
he said, “She is my partner.”
When evening arrived, she wished to leave, and the King’s Son followed
her, and wanted to see into which house she went. But she sprang
away from him, and into the garden behind the house. Therein stood
a beautiful tall tree on which hung the most magnificent pears. She
clambered, like a squirrel, so nimbly between the branches, that the
King’s Son did not know where she was gone.
He waited until her father came, and said to him, “The stranger-maiden
has escaped from me, and I believe she has climbed up the pear-tree.”
The father thought, “Can it be Ash-Maiden?” and had an axe brought and
cut the tree down, but no one was on it.
And when they got into the kitchen, Ash-Maiden lay there amongst the
ashes, as usual, for she had jumped down on the other side of the tree,
had taken the beautiful dress to the bird on the little hazel-tree, and
had put on her gray gown.
On the third day, when the parents and sisters had gone away,
Ash-Maiden went once more to her mother’s grave, and said to the little
tree:
“_Shiver and quiver, Little Tree,
Silver and gold throw over me!_”
And now the bird threw down to her a dress which was more splendid and
magnificent than any she had yet had, and the slippers were golden.
And when she went to the feast in the dress, no one knew how to speak
for astonishment. The King’s Son danced with her only, and if any one
invited her to dance, he said, “She is my partner.”
When evening came, Ash-Maiden wished to leave, and the King’s Son was
anxious to go with her; but she escaped from him so quickly that he
could not follow her. The King’s Son, however, had caused the whole
staircase to be smeared with pitch, and there, when she ran down, had
the maiden’s left slipper remained sticking. The King’s Son picked it
up, and it was small and dainty, and all golden.
Next morning, he went with it to the father, and said to him, “No one
shall be my wife, but she whose foot this golden slipper fits.”
Then were the two sisters glad, for they had pretty feet. The eldest
went with the shoe into her room and wanted to try it on, and her
mother stood by. But she could not get her big toe into it, for the
shoe was too small for her.
Then her mother gave her a knife, and said, “Cut the toe off. When you
are Queen you will have no more need to go on foot.”
The maiden cut the toe off, forced the foot into the shoe, swallowed
the pain, and went out to the King’s Son. Then he took her on his horse
as his Bride, and rode away with her. They were, however, obliged to
pass the grave, and there, on the hazel-tree, sat the two pigeons and
cried:
“_Turn and peep, turn and peep,
There’s blood within the shoe!
The shoe it is too small for her,
The true Bride waits for you!_”
Then he looked at her foot, and saw how the blood was streaming from
it. He turned his horse round and took the false Bride home again, and
said she was not the true one, and that the other sister was to put the
shoe on.
Then this one went into her chamber and got her toes safely into the
shoe, but her heel was too large.
So her mother gave her a knife, and said, “Cut a bit off your heel.
When you are Queen you will have no more need to go on foot.”
The maiden cut a bit off her heel, forced her foot into the shoe,
swallowed the pain, and went out to the King’s Son. He took her on his
horse as his Bride, and rode away with her. But when they passed by the
hazel-tree, two little pigeons sat on it, and cried:
“_Turn and peep, turn and peep,
There’s blood within the shoe!
The shoe it is too small for her,
The true Bride waits for you!_”
He looked down at her foot, and saw how the blood was running out of
her shoe, and how it had stained her white stocking. Then he turned his
horse and took the false Bride home again. “This also is not the right
one,” said he. “Have you no other daughter?”
“No,” said the man; “there is only a little stunted kitchen-girl which
my late wife left behind her, but she cannot possibly be the Bride.”
The King’s Son said he was to send her up to him; but the mother
answered, “Oh, no, she is much too dirty, she cannot show herself!”
He insisted on it, and Ash-Maiden had to be called. She first washed
her hands and face clean, and then went and bowed down before the
King’s Son, who gave her the golden shoe.
Then she seated herself on a stool, drew her foot out of the heavy
wooden shoe, and put it into the slipper, which fitted like a glove.
And when she rose up and the King’s Son looked at her face he
recognized the beautiful maiden who had danced with him, and cried,
“That is the true Bride!”
The mother and the two sisters were terrified and became pale with
rage. He, however, took Ash-Maiden on his horse and rode away with her.
As they passed by the hazel-tree, the two white doves cried:
“_Turn and peep, turn and peep,
No blood is in the shoe!
The shoe is not too small for her,
The true Bride rides with you!_”
and when they had cried that, the two came flying down and placed
themselves on Ash-Maiden’s shoulders, one on the right, the other on
the left, and remained sitting there.
When the wedding with the King’s Son had to be celebrated, the two
false sisters came and wanted to get into favor with Ash-Maiden and
share her good fortune. When the betrothed couple went to church,
the elder was at the right side and the younger at the left, and the
pigeons pecked out one eye of each of them. Afterward as they came
back, the elder was at the left, and the younger at the right, and
then the pigeons pecked out the other eye of each. And thus, for their
wickedness and falsehood, they were punished with blindness as long as
they lived.
[Illustration]
THE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER
A shoemaker, by no fault of his own, had become so poor that at last he
had nothing left but leather for one pair of shoes. So in the evening,
he cut out the shoes which he wished to make the next morning. And as
he had a good conscience, he lay down quietly in his bed, commended
himself to God, and fell asleep.
In the morning, after he had said his prayers, and was just going to
sit down to work, lo! both shoes stood all finished on his table. He
was astounded, and did not know what to say. He took the shoes in
his hands to examine them closer, and they were so neatly made that
there was not one bad stitch in them, just as if they were meant for a
masterpiece.
Soon after, a buyer came in, and as the shoes pleased him well, he paid
more for them than was customary. And, with the money, the shoemaker
was able to purchase leather for two pairs of shoes.
He cut them out at night, and next morning was about to set to work
with fresh courage; but he had no need to do so, for, when he got up,
they were already made. And buyers also were not wanting, who gave him
money enough to buy leather for four pairs of shoes.