married again and took for his wife a widow, who also had a daughter.
The widow's daughter was ugly, lazy, obstinate and spiteful; yet as
she was her mother's own child, the latter was delighted with her and
pushed every thing upon her husband's daughter. But the old man's
child was beautiful, industrious, obedient and good. God had gifted
her with every virtuous and lovable quality, yet she was persecuted by
her spiteful sister, as well as by her step-mother; it was fortunate
that she possessed endurance and patience, or she would have fared
badly. Whenever there was any hard work to be done, it was put upon
the old man's daughter--she was obliged to get dry wood from the
forest, drag the heavy sacks of grain to the mill; in short, every
task always fell to her lot. The whole livelong day she had no rest,
but was kept continually going up stairs and down. Still the old woman
and her treasure of a daughter were constantly dissatisfied, and
always had something to find fault with. The step-daughter was a
heavy cross to the second wife, but her own daughter was like the
basil plant, which is placed before the images of the saints.
When the step-sisters went to the village in the evening to spin, the
old man's daughter did not allow herself to be interrupted in her
work, but finished a whole sieve full of spools, while the old woman's
daughter with difficulty completed a single one. When they came home
late at night, the old woman's daughter jumped nimbly over the fence
and asked to hold the sieve till the other had leaped over it too.
Meantime the spiteful girl hurried into the house to her parents, and
said she had spun all the spools. The step-sister vainly declared that
they were the work of her own hands; mother and daughter jeered at her
words, and of course gained their cause. When Sunday or Friday came
the old woman's daughter was brushed and bedizened as though the
calves had licked her. There was no dance, no feather-plucking in the
village to which the old woman's daughter did not go, but the
step-daughter was sternly denied every pleasure of the kind. Yet when
the husband came home, his wife's tongue ran like a mill-wheel--her
step-daughter was disobedient, bold, bad-tempered, this, that, and the
other; he must send her away from home, put her out at service,
whichever he chose; it was impossible to keep her in the house because
she might ruin her daughter too.
The old man was a jackanapes, or, as the saying goes, under petticoat
government. Every thing his wife said was sacred. Had he obeyed the
voice of his heart the poor old man might perhaps have said something,
but now the hen had begun to crow in the house, and the rooster was of
no consequence; yet, if he had thought of opposing them, his wife and
her daughter would have soon made him repent it. One day, when he was
unusually angry about what his wife had told him, he called the young
girl, and said:--
"My dear child, your mother is always saying that you are disobedient
to her, have a spiteful tongue, and are wicked, so that it is not
possible for you to stay any longer in my house; therefore go wherever
the Lord may guide you, that there may no longer be so much quarreling
here on your account. But I advise you as a father, wherever you may
go, to be obedient, humble, and industrious, for here with me all your
faults have been overlooked, parental affection has aided, but among
strangers nobody knows what sort of people you may meet, and they will
not indulge you as we have done."
When the poor girl saw that her step-mother and her daughter wanted to
drive her out of the house at any cost, she kissed her father's hand
with tears in her eyes, and went out into the wide world without any
hope of ever returning home. She walked along the road till she
chanced to meet a little sick dog, so thin that one could count its
ribs.
When the dog saw her, it said: "You beautiful, industrious girl, have
pity on me and take care of me, I will reward you some day."
The girl did pity the poor animal, and, taking it in her arms, washed
and cleaned it thoroughly. Then she left it and went on, glad that she
had been able to do a good action. She had not walked far when she
came to a fine pear-tree in full bloom, but it was completely covered
with caterpillars.
When the pear-tree saw the girl, it said: "You beautiful, industrious
girl, take care of me and rid me of these caterpillars, I will repay
you for it some day."
The girl, with her usual diligence, cleared the pear-tree from its dry
branches and most carefully removed the caterpillars; then she walked
quietly on to seek some place where she might enter into service.
On her way she came to a ruined, neglected fountain, which said to
her: "You beautiful, industrious girl, take care of me, I will reward
you some day."
The little maid cleared the fountain, cleaned it thoroughly, and then
went on again. As she walked she came to a dilapidated oven, which had
become almost entirely useless.
As soon as the oven saw her, it said: "You beautiful, industrious
girl, line me with stones and clean me, I will repay you some day!"
The young girl knew that work harms no one, so she rolled up her
sleeves, moistened some clay, stopped the holes in the stove, greased
it and cleaned it till it was a pleasure to see it. Then she washed
her hands and continued her journey. As she walked on, day and night,
it happened, I don't know how--that she missed her way; yet she did
not lose her trust in God, but walked on and on until early one
morning, after passing through a dark forest, she reached a beautiful
meadow. In the meadow she saw a little house, completely overgrown
with vines, and when she approached it an old woman came out kindly to
meet her, and said: "What are you seeking here, child, and who are
you?"
"Who should I be, good dame! A poor girl, motherless, and I may say
fatherless, too, for God alone knows what I have suffered since my own
mother's hands were folded on her breast. I am seeking service, and as
I know nobody and am wandering from place to place I have lost my way.
But the Lord guided me, so that I have reached your house and I beg
you to give me a shelter."
"Poor child!" replied the old dame. "Surely God himself has led you to
me and saved you from danger. I am the goddess of Sunday. Serve me
to-day, and I promise that you shall not leave my house empty-handed
to-morrow."
"Very well, but I don't know what I have to do."
"You must wash and feed my little children, who are now asleep, and
then cook my dinner; when I come home from church I want to find it
neither hot nor cold, but just right to eat."
When she had said this, the old woman set off for church. The young
girl rolled up her sleeves and went to work. First of all she prepared
the water for the bath, then went out-doors and began to call:
"Children, children, children, come to mother and let her wash you."
When she looked up, what did she behold? The court-yard was filled
and the woods were swarming with a host of dragons and all sorts of
wild beasts of every size. But, firm in her faith and trust in God,
the young girl did not quail, but taking one animal after another
washed and cleaned it in the best possible way. Then she set about
cooking the dinner, and when Sunday came out of church and saw her
children so nicely washed and every thing so well done she was greatly
delighted. After she had sat down to the table, she told the young
girl that she might go up into the attic, choose whichever chest she
wanted, and take it away with her for her wages; but she must not open
it until she reached her father's house.
The maiden went to the garret, where there were a number of chests,
some old and ugly, others new and beautiful. But as she was not a bit
covetous, she took the oldest and ugliest of them all. When she came
down with it, the goddess of Sunday frowned slightly, but there was no
help for it, so she blessed the girl, who took her trunk on her back
and joyfully returned to her father's house.
On the way, lo and behold! there was the oven full of beautifully
risen, nicely browned cakes. The girl ate and ate, as many as she
could, then took some with her for her journey and went on. Soon she
came to the fountain she had cleaned, and which was now filled to the
brim with water as clear as tears and as sweet and cold as ice. On the
edge stood two silver goblets, from which she drank the water until
she was entirely refreshed. Then, taking one goblet with her, she
walked on. As she went, lo and behold! there stood the pear-tree she
had cleaned, full of pears as yellow as wax, perfectly ripe, and as
sweet as honey. When the pear-tree saw the girl, it bent its branches
down to her, and she ate some of the fruit and took more pears to eat
on the way, just as many of them as she wanted. From there she
journeyed on again, and lo and behold! she next met the little dog,
which was now well and handsome; around its neck it wore a collar of
ducats which it gave the old man's daughter as a reward for taking
care of it in its sickness.
So the young girl at last reached her father's house. When the old man
saw her his eyes filled with tears and his heart throbbed with joy.
The girl took out the dog's collar and the silver goblet and gave them
to her father; when they opened the chest together, out came countless
numbers of horses, cattle, and sheep, till the sight of so much wealth
instantly made the old man young again. But his wife stood as if she
were dazed, and did not know what to do in her rage. Her daughter,
however, plucked up courage and said:--
"Never mind, mother, the world isn't emptied yet; I'll go and fetch
you still greater treasures."
After saying this she angrily set off at once. She walked and walked
along the same path her step-sister had followed. She, too, met the
sick, feeble dog, passed the pear-tree covered with caterpillars, the
dry, neglected fountain, and the dilapidated oven which had become
almost useless; but when dog, tree, fountain and oven begged her to
take care of them, she answered rudely and scornfully: "Do you
suppose I'll soil my delicate hands! Have you often been tended by
people like me?"
As they all knew that it is easier to get milk from a dry cow than to
make a spoiled, lazy girl obliging, they let her go her way in peace,
and no longer asked her for help. As she walked on and on, she too at
last reached the Goddess Sunday. But here also she behaved sullenly,
saucily, and awkwardly. Instead of cooking the dinner nicely and
washing Sunday's children as thoroughly as her step-sister had done,
she burned them all till they screamed and ran off as though crazed by
the burns and the pain. The food she scorched, charred, and let curdle
so that no one could eat it, and when Sunday came home from church she
covered her eyes and ears in horror at what she found in her house.
Even the gentle, indulgent goddess could not get along with such an
obstinate, lazy girl as this one, so she told her to go up into the
garret, choose any chest she wanted, and then in God's name continue
her journey.
The girl went, took the newest and handsomest trunk, for she liked to
get as much as possible of the best and finest things, but was not
willing to do faithful service. When she came down she did not go to
the Goddess Sunday to receive her blessing, but hurried off as if she
were quitting an evil house. She nearly ran herself off her feet, in
the fear that her mistress might change her mind and follow her to get
her trunk back. When she reached the oven there were some nice cakes
in it, but when she approached to satisfy her hunger the fire burned
her and she could take none. The silver goblets were again at the
fountain and the fountain was full of water to the brim, but when the
girl tried to seize the cup to drink, the goblets instantly vanished,
the water dried up, and the girl almost died of thirst. When she came
to the pear tree it stood full of pears, but do you suppose the
traveler could taste even one of them? No! The tree had made itself a
thousand times as tall as before, so that its boughs touched the
clouds! So the old woman's daughter might pick her teeth, she obtained
nothing else. Going further on she met the dog, which again had a
collar of ducats round its neck; but when the girl tried to take it
off the dog bit her so that he tore off her fingers and would not let
her touch him. The girl, in rage and shame, sucked her delicate little
hands, but it did no good.
At last, after great difficulty, she reached her mother's house, but
even here she did not find herself rolling in money, for when the old
man's wife opened the chest, out came a host of dragons, which
swallowed her and her daughter as if they had never been in the world.
Then dragons, trunk, and all vanished.
The old man could now live in peace, and possessed countless riches;
his daughter he married to a worthy, capable man. The cocks now crowed
on the gate-posts, the threshold, and everywhere, but the hens no
longer crowed as an evil omen in the house of the old man, who had not
many days of life remaining. He was bald and bent, because his wife
had quarreled with him too often and looked to see if he didn't need a
drubbing.
The Poor Boy.
Once upon a time something happened. If it hadn't happened, it
wouldn't be told.
There was once a poor widow, so poor that even the flies would not
stay in her house, and this widow had two children, a boy and a girl.
The boy was such a brave fellow that he would have torn the snakes'
tongues out of their mouths, and the girl was so beautiful that the
emperor's sons and handsome princes of every land were waiting
impatiently for her to grow up, that they might go and court her. But
when the girl had reached her sixteenth year, the same thing befell
her that happens to all beautiful maidens--a dragon came, stole her,
and carried her far away to the shore of another country. From that
day the widow loved her son hundreds and thousands of times better
than before, because he was now her only child and the sole joy she
had in the world. She watched him like the apple of her eye and would
not let him go a single step away from her. But much as she loved him
she was cheerless and sad, for, dear me! a boy is only a boy, but a
girl is a girl, especially when she is beautiful.
The boy, seeing his mother so melancholy, tried to grow stronger and
stronger, and counted the days before he should be large enough to go
out into the world and seek his sister, little Rosy Cheeks, along
untrodden paths filled with thorns. When he had reached his eighteenth
year he made himself a pair of calf-skin sandals with steel soles,
went to his mother, and said:--
"Mother, I have neither rest nor peace here so long as I see you so
sick and sorrowful from constantly thinking of my sister; I have
determined to go out into the wide world and not return till I can
bring news of her. I don't know whether I shall find her, but at least
I hope so, and that hope I leave with you for your consolation."
When the widow heard these words she was forced to struggle with her
feelings ere she answered: "Well, my son, my child! Do what you can
not help doing; when you return I shall see you again, and if you
don't come back I shall not weep for you, because the journey you have
in view is a long one; therefore if you are absent a long time there
will always be the hope of your return."
After saying this she mixed three loaves for him with her own milk,
one of meal, the second of bran, and the third of ashes from the
hearth. The lad put the loaves into his knapsack, bade his mother
farewell, and went out into the world like a poor boy to whom all
roads are equally long, all bridges equally wide, and who does not
know what direction to take. At the gate he stood still, cast one
glance to the east, one to the west, one to the north, and one to the
south, then took a handful of dust from under the threshold of the
door, scattered it on the wind, and turned his steps in the direction
that it was carried by the breeze.
The Poor Boy walked and walked, further and further, through many a
rich country, till he came to a moor on which no grass grew and no
water flowed. Here he stopped and pulled out his three loaves. He
began with the one made of meal, because it was the handsomest, and as
he ate it his strength increased and his thirst was quenched. Again
the Poor Boy walked on, journeying across the wide moor a whole long
summer day until nightfall, when he reached a vast forest as extensive
as the heath he had passed, but which was dense, gloomy, and forsaken
even by the winds. When he entered the wood, he saw by the trunk of a
tree an old woman with a bent figure and a wrinkled face. The Poor
Boy, who for so long a time had seen no human countenance and heard no
human speech, was greatly delighted and said merrily:--
"Good luck, mother! But how do you happen to come here, and what are
you doing in this wilderness of a forest?"
"Your words are kind!" replied the old woman sighing. "Alas, age has
brought me down to this; I wanted to walk a little distance and can go
no further because my feet will no longer carry me."
When the Poor Boy heard this he pitied the old woman, went up to her,
and asked whence she came, where she was going, and on what business
she was bent. The luckless fellow did not know that this person was no
other than the Wood Witch, who waits on the edge of forests and meets
those who wander in these desolate regions, in order to delude them
with fair words and then lead them to destruction. When he saw her so
feeble, the boy remembered his three loaves, and, as if he were going
home the very next day, thought he would share his provisions with her
that she might get a little strength.
"I thank you," replied the Wood Witch, who had other designs upon him
in her mind; "but see, I have no teeth to chew your dry bread. If you
want to do any thing to help me, take me on your back and carry me, I
live close by."
"But just taste it," said the boy, who in his kindness of heart wanted
to do her some good. "It is only hunger that has made you so weak, and
if this doesn't help you I'll carry you as you wish."
When the Wood Witch saw the loaf made of meal she gazed at it with
delight; there was something about it--I don't know what--that made
even the Wood Witch long for a morsel. And as she bit into it her
heart grew softer. After she had eaten three mouthfuls she felt as if
she were a human being, like the rest of us, with her heart in the
right place and a gentle temper.
"Learn, my son," she said to him, "that I am the Wood Witch, and know
very well who you are, whence you come, and where you are going. It is
a great task you have before you, for your sister is in the other
world, which inhabitants of this earth can reach only in one way."
"And what is that?" asked the Poor Boy impatiently.
The Wood Witch looked doubtfully at him.
"I don't advise you to take it," she said, "it would be a pity to lose
your young life. But who knows, perhaps you'll have good luck; I see
that you have a tender heart, and whoever has that can bring many
things to pass; besides, I know you--you will have no rest till you
have found her. So learn--far away from here, after you have crossed
six moors and six forests, you will meet on the edge of the seventh
forest, which extends to the frontiers of the next world, an old
witch; this witch has a drove of horses, and among them is an
enchanted horse which can carry you to the other shore. But this steed
can be obtained only by the person who knows how to choose it from the
whole drove, after he has served the old witch for a year."
This was what the Poor Boy had wanted to know. He lost no more time,
thanked the Wood Witch for her explanations, and set off, keeping
straight through the dense forest, because his road was long and he
was in a hurry. The Poor Boy walked like one who goes on a good
errand, and hurried like a person who wants to get home early. How far
he walked and how much he hurried any one can imagine, who remembers
how long a time he himself required to cross a single moor and a
single forest. But, when his strength failed, he bit off a piece of
his loaf and instantly revived again.
As he came out of the sixth forest and passed near the clear waves of
a brook, he saw a wasp struggling in the water and pitied the insect.
So he took a dry branch and held out one end of it to the wasp, that
it might crawl up on it and then use its wings. But this wasp happened
to be the queen of all the wasps in the woods, and when she found
herself saved by the boy's kindness she flew upon his shoulder and
said:
"Wherever you go, may good-luck be your companion. Please pull out a
hair from under my right wing and take good care of it, for who knows
whether it will not prove useful to you some day. If you need me,
shake this hair and I'll come to you, in whatever part of the world
you may be."
The Poor Boy pulled out the hair, put it carefully away, and journeyed
on. Who knows how far he walked before he came to a great lake, on
whose shore he saw a fish flapping on the dry land. He pitied the poor
creature, which had scarcely a breath of life left, so he picked it up
and tossed it into the water. But this fish was king of all the
fishes, and had jeweled scales and golden fins. It swam once around
the lake, breathed two or three times to recover its strength, and
then came back to the boy and said:
"Wherever you go, may good-luck be your companion. Please pull off a
scale from under my right fin and keep it carefully, who knows whether
it may not be useful to you some day. If you ever need me, rub this
scale and I'll come to you wherever you may be, as far as the water
extends around the earth."
The Poor Boy took the scale, put it carefully away, and journeyed on.
Who knows how far he walked ere he reached the seventh moor, where no
grass grew and no water flowed. There he found in his path a mole
which had been surprised above ground by the daylight, and was now
groping piteously about in its blindness, unable to find its burrow
where its children were starving, though it was only one jump away.
The youth pitied the mole, too, took it and carried it to its hill.
"Wherever you go," said the mole, "may good-luck be your companion.
Please take a claw from my right paw and keep it carefully; who knows
whether it may not be useful to you some day. But if you need me,
scratch on the ground with this claw and I will come to you in
whatever part of the earth you may be."
The Poor Boy took the claw, put it carefully away, and went on again
over the endless moor toward the invisible forest that lay on the
frontiers of the other world. How many days and nights he journeyed
over this moor heaven only knows; but one morning, when he woke, he
saw in the distance, as far off as if it were in the other world, a
streak of light like the fire shepherds build at the entrance of the
fold. This was the home of the witch who had the enchanted horse.
The Poor Boy was greatly delighted when he found himself so near the
end of the world, and his joy increased till, on the evening of the
third day, he reached the enchantress's house. Oh, dear! there he
was, in the midst of the moor, just at the edge of the forest, which
stretched far beyond his sight in the dusk of twilight, upon a wide
plain covered with green grass, through which flowed streams of clear
water, but in the middle of this plain rose a number of tall poles, on
each of which was a human skull. The witch's hut stood in the midst of
these poles, with a tall poplar in front of it, and on the right and
left a willow tree. This proved that the Wood Witch was right--life
here was by no means merry. The Poor Boy plucked up his courage and
approached to enter the hut, which stood as if deserted in the middle
of the moor.
The old witch sat on a high three-legged chair in the entry, but
before her stood a huge kettle on a big tripod, over a fire that
burned without smoke. In one hand she held the shin-bone of a giant,
which she used to stir the herbs stewing in the caldron. When the Poor
Boy bade her good evening, she eyed him from top to toe.
"Welcome, my hero! I've expected you a long time, for this caldron has
long been rattling and telling me continually that you were on the
way."
The lad was much pleased with this kind reception, for the old woman
did not seem to him at all peevish, as she looked kindly at him and
spoke in a gentle voice. She, too, was glad, because she had again
laid hands on a man, for the poles bearing human skulls protected her
from the malicious elves, who could not pass through them; and there
was still one piece of ground large enough for three heads, where
poles had not yet been put.