Fairy Tales from the Brothers Grimm: A New English Version (35 page)

Hans was flabbergasted, but he collected his wits and said, ‘You can take me up to the top of this ruddy hole, that’s what you can do.’

‘Immediately, master!’

Each of the air-spirits seized one of the hairs on his head, and then they began to fly upwards. It seemed to him as if he was floating up all by himself. After only about ten seconds he was standing on the forest floor looking all around. There was no sign of Rock Smasher or Pine Twister, or of the maiden either.

‘Where have those scoundrels gone?’ he said.

The air-spirits all shot into the sky, and after a minute or so they all came diving back down, to hover in front of him like a cloud of friendly midges.

‘They’ve taken ship, master,’ said the chief spirit.

‘Already? And is the maiden with them?’

‘Yes, master, she is, and they’ve got her tied up in case she throws herself overboard.’

‘Oh, that poor girl! What she’s gone through! Well, I’ll soon deal with those wretches. Which way is the sea?’

‘Over there, master.’

Hans set off, running as fast as he could, and before long he reached the seashore. Standing on tiptoe on the top of a sand-dune and shading his eyes against the setting sun, Hans could just make out the dark shape of a little ship.

‘Is that them?’

‘That’s right, master.’

‘Grrr! I’ll teach them to betray their friend!’

And full of righteous indignation, Hans charged at the water, meaning to swim out and overtake the ship. He might have managed it, too, but his hundred-pound staff weighed him down. In fact it dragged him right to the bottom of the sea, causing a great stir among the starfishes and the octopuses.

‘
Bubbllbubblldebub!
’ yelled Hans, but nothing happened till he remembered the ring. He twiddled it with his other hand, and at once a shower of bubbles shot down to find him as the air-spirits obeyed his call. They hoisted him to the surface and then pulled him through the water so quickly that he sent sheets of spray flying out to left and right.

Only a few seconds later he was standing on the deck of the ship, and Rock Smasher and Pine Twister were scrambling to get away. Pine Twister shot up the mainmast like a squirrel, and Rock Smasher tried to hide among the cargo in the hold; but Hans hauled him out and whacked him senseless with the staff, and then shook the mainmast till Pine Twister fell down and landed on a sharp corner of the wheelhouse. Hans threw them overboard, and that was the end of them.

Then he set the beautiful maiden free.

‘Which way’s your father’s kingdom?’ he said.

‘South-west,’ she told him, and Hans told the air-spirits to blow on the sails. With the fine fair wind they provided, the ship soon reached the harbour, where Hans restored the princess to her father and mother.

She explained all about Hans’s bravery, and of course there was nothing else to be done but for him to marry her. The king and queen were delighted with their son-in-law, and they all lived happily ever after.

***

Tale type:
ATU 301, ‘The Three Stolen Princesses’

Source:
a story told to the Grimm brothers by Wilhelm Wackernagel

Similar stories:
Katharine M. Briggs: ‘The Little Red Hairy Man’, ‘Tom and the Giant Blunderbuss’, ‘Tom Hickathrift’ (
Folk Tales of Britain
); Italo Calvino: ‘The Golden Ball’ (
Italian Folktales
); Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm: ‘The Gnome’ (
Children’s and Household Tales
)

This is a story made up of bits and pieces, not very tidily strung together. The robbers in their cave exist only to be escaped from; Pine Twister and Rock Smasher, the gifted companions, never have a chance to use their particular gifts; and as for the savage nobleman who kidnapped the princess, he appears in this tale only as the agent who puts the princess in the cave, and is never heard of again. Did he forget about her? Was he killed while on some other savage business? Couldn’t he reappear, so that Hans could win a tremendous fight and become even more of a hero?

Alternatively, why doesn’t the story make the evil little man her captor instead of just her guard? That would have been the simplest way to clear up the matter.

And then there is the ring that summons the air-spirits. Finding something like that in a cave from which there’s no means of escape sounds remarkably like ‘Aladdin’. And why doesn’t the evil little man use it to help defeat Hans?

And so on. Once you start ‘improving’ a tale like this, it can easily come apart in your hands.

FORTY-EIGHT

THE MOON

A very long time ago there was a country where the night was always dark. After sunset the sky covered the world like a black cloth, because the moon never rose, and not one star twinkled in the darkness. A long time before, when the world was created, everything used to glow gently and give enough light to see by, but later that faded.

One day four young men from that country set out on a journey and came to another kingdom just as the sun was setting behind the mountains. When the sun had gone completely, they stood still in amazement, because a gleaming ball appeared at the top of an oak tree and cast a soft light all around. It wasn’t as bright as the sun, but it gave enough light to see by and to tell one thing from another. The four travellers had never seen anything like it, so they stopped a farmer who happened to be driving past in his wagon, and asked him what it was.

‘Oh, that’s the moon, that is,’ he told them. ‘Our mayor bought it. He paid three talers for it. He’s got to pour oil into it every day and keep it clean so it always shines nice and bright, and we pay him a taler a week for his trouble.’

When the farmer had driven away one of the young men said, ‘You know what, we could use this moon thing at home. My dad’s got an oak tree about as big as this in his front garden. I bet he’d let us hang it there. Wouldn’t it be good not to have to blunder about in the dark any more?’

‘That’s a good idea,’ said the second. ‘Let’s get hold of a wagon and a horse and carry this moon away. They can always buy another.’

‘I’m a good climber,’ said the third. ‘I’ll go up and get it.’

The fourth one fetched a wagon and horses, and the third one climbed the tree, drilled a hole in the moon, passed a rope through it and hauled it down. When they had the glowing ball safely in the wagon, they covered it with a tarpaulin so no one could see what they’d done, and then they set off homewards.

Back in their own country they hung the moon on a tall oak tree. Everyone was delighted when this new lamp cast its light over all the fields and shone through every window. Even the dwarfs came out of their mountain caves to have a look at it, and the little elves in their red jackets came out to the meadows and danced in the moonlight.

The four friends looked after the moon; they kept it clean, they trimmed the wick and made sure it was always full of oil. They were paid a taler a week by public subscription.

And so it went on till they grew old. One day one of them felt his death was near, so he sent for the lawyer and changed his will, saying that as a quarter of the moon was his, it should go into the grave with him. Accordingly, when he died, the mayor of the town climbed the tree and cut off a quarter of the moon with his secateurs, and it was placed in the coffin. The light from the rest of the moon was a little bit dimmer, but people could still see their way around.

When the second one died, another quarter of the moon was buried with him, and the light grew dimmer still. The same thing happened with the third, and after the fourth died and was buried, there was no light at all, and when people went out without a lantern they bumped into things just as they’d done in the old days.

When the four parts of the moon were together in the underworld, where it had always been dark, the dead became restless and woke up from their sleep. They were astonished at being able to see again; the moonlight was quite bright enough for them, because their eyes had been closed for so long that the sun would have been too bright. They cheered up no end, got out of their graves, and began to have a high old time. They played cards, they danced, they went to the taverns and got drunk, they quarrelled and fought and raised their sticks and walloped one another, and the row they made got louder and louder until it reached all the way to heaven.

St Peter, who guards the gate up there, thought a revolution was breaking out, and he called all the heavenly host together to repel the Devil and his infernal crew. However, when the devils didn’t turn up, he got on his holy horse and rode down to the underworld to see what was going on.

‘Lie down, you brutes!’ he roared. ‘Back in your graves, every one of you! You’re dead, and don’t you forget it.’

Then he saw what the problem was: the moon had reassembled itself, and no one could sleep. So he unhooked it, took it up to heaven, and hung it up where no one could reach. Since then it shines over every country no matter where it is, and St Peter takes a bit away at a time till there’s hardly any left and puts them back again over the course of a month to remind people who’s boss.

He doesn’t take the cut-off bits down to the underworld, though. He’s got a special cupboard to put them in. It’s just as dark down among the dead as it ever was.

***

Tale type:
unclassified

Source:
a story in Heinrich Pröhle’s
Märchen für die Jugend
(
Tales for the Young
; 1854)

Wilhelm Grimm included this in the seventh and last edition of
Die Kinder- und Hausmärchen
(
Children’s and Household Tales
), of 1857, and it is a little different in kind from most of the other tales, being a kind of creation-myth that soon turns into a tale of the ridiculous. It has an irresistible zest, though it ends rather abruptly, with St Peter just hanging the moon up in the sky. I thought that could do with a little elaboration.

FORTY-NINE

THE GOOSE GIRL AT THE SPRING

Once upon a time there was a very old woman who lived with her flock of geese in a lonely place among the mountains, where her little house lay surrounded by a deep forest. Every morning she took her crutch and hobbled off into the woods, where she kept herself busy gathering grass for her geese and picking any wild fruit she could reach. She put it all on her back and carried it home. If she met anyone on the path, she would always greet them in a friendly way, saying, ‘Good day, neighbour! Nice weather! Yes, it’s grass I’ve got here, as much as I can carry; we poor people all have to bear our burdens.’

But for some reason people didn’t like meeting her. When they saw her coming, they’d often take a different path, and if a father and his little boy came across her, the father would whisper, ‘Beware of that old woman. She’s a crafty one. It wouldn’t surprise me if she was a witch.’

One morning a good-looking young man happened to be walking through the forest. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, a fresh breeze stirred the leaves, and he was feeling happy and cheerful. He hadn’t seen anyone else that morning, but suddenly he came across the old witch kneeling on the ground cutting grass with a sickle. There was already a big load of grass neatly cut, and beside it two baskets filled with wild apples and pears.

‘Good grief, my dear old woman,’ he said, ‘you can’t be intending to carry all that!’

‘Oh, yes, I must, sir,’ she said. ‘Rich people don’t have to do that sort of thing, but we poor folk have a saying: “Don’t look back, you’ll only see how bent you are.” Would you be able to help me, I wonder, sir? You’ve got a fine straight back and a strong pair of legs. I’m sure you could manage it easily. It’s not far to go, my little house, just out of sight over that way.’

The young man felt sorry for her, and said, ‘Well, I’m one of those rich people, I have to confess – my father’s a nobleman – but I’m happy to show you that farmers aren’t the only people who can carry things. Yes, I’ll take the bundle to your house for you.’

‘That’s very good of you, sir,’ she said. ‘It might take an hour’s walking, but I’m sure you won’t mind that. You could carry the apples and pears for me too.’

The young count began to have second thoughts when she mentioned an hour’s walk, but she was so quick to take up his offer that he couldn’t back out of it. She wrapped the grass up in a cloth and tied it on to his back and then put the baskets into his hands.

‘You see,’ she said, ‘not much really.’

‘But it’s actually quite heavy,’ said the young man. ‘This grass – is it grass? It feels like bricks! And the fruit might as well be blocks of stone. I can hardly breathe!’

He would have liked to put it all down, but he didn’t want to face the old woman’s mockery. She was already teasing him cruelly.

‘Look at the fine young gentleman,’ she said, ‘making such a fuss about what a poor old woman has to carry every day! You’re good with words, aren’t you? “Farmers aren’t the only people who can carry things!” But when it comes to deeds, you fall at the first hurdle. Come on! What are you standing around for? Get a move on! Nobody’s going to do it for you.’

While he walked on level ground he could just about bear the weight, but as soon as the path began to slope upwards his feet rolled on the stones, which slipped out as if they were alive, and he could barely move. Beads of sweat appeared on his face and trickled hot and cold down his back.

‘I can’t go any further,’ he gasped. ‘I’ve got to stop and rest.’

‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ said the old woman. ‘You can stop and rest when we’ve got there, but till then you keep walking. You never know – it might bring you luck.’

‘Oh, this is too much,’ said the count. ‘This is outrageous!’

He tried to throw off the bundle, but he just couldn’t dislodge it. It clung to his back as if it were growing there. He squirmed and twisted this way and that, and the old woman laughed at him and jumped up and down with her crutch.

‘No point in losing your temper, young sir,’ she said. ‘You’re as red in the face as a turkey cock. Carry your burden patiently, and when we get home, I might give you a tip.’

What could he do? He had to stumble on after the old woman as well as he could. The odd thing was that while his load seemed to be getting heavier and heavier, she seemed to getting more and more nimble.

Then all of a sudden she gave a skip and landed right on top of the pack on his back and stayed there. She was as thin as a stick, but she weighed more than the stoutest peasant girl. The young man’s legs wobbled, all his muscles trembled with effort and blazed with pain, and whenever he tried to stop for a moment, the old woman lashed him with a bunch of stinging nettles. He groaned, he sobbed, he struggled on, and when he was sure he was going to collapse, they turned a corner in the path and there was the old woman’s house.

When the geese saw her, they stretched out their necks and their wings and ran towards her, cackling. After them came another old woman, carrying a stick. This one wasn’t as old as the first one, but she was big and strong with a heavy, dull, ugly face.

‘Where’ve you been, mother?’ she said to the old woman. ‘You’ve been gone so long I thought something must have happened to you.’

‘Oh, no, my pretty one,’ said the old woman. ‘I met this kind gentleman and he offered to carry my bundle for me. And look, he even offered to take me on his back when I got tired. We had such a nice conversation that the journey passed in no time.’

Finally the old woman slid off the young count’s back and took the bundle and the baskets.

‘There we are, sir,’ she said, ‘you sit yourself down and have a breather. You’ve earned your little reward, and you shall have it. As for you, my beautiful treasure,’ she said to the other woman, ‘you better go inside. It wouldn’t be proper for you to stay alone with a lusty young fellow like this. I know what young men are like. He might fall in love with you.’

The count didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry; even if she were thirty years younger, he thought, this treasure would never prompt a flicker in his heart.

The old woman fussed over her geese as if they were children before going inside after her daughter. The young man stretched himself out on a bench under an apple tree. It was a beautiful morning; the sun shone warmly, the air was mild, and all around him stretched a green meadow covered with cowslips and wild thyme and a thousand other flowers. A clear stream twinkled in the sunlight as it ran through the middle of the meadow, and the white geese waddled here and there or paddled in the stream.

‘What a lovely place,’ the young man thought. ‘But I’m so tired I can’t keep my eyes open. I think I’ll take a nap for a few minutes. I just hope the wind doesn’t blow my legs away; they’re as weak as tinder.’

The next thing he knew, the old woman was shaking his arm.

‘Wakey wakey,’ she said, ‘you can’t stay here. I admit I gave you a hard time, but you’re still alive, and here’s your reward. I said I’d give you something, didn’t I? You don’t need money or land, so here’s something else. Look after it well and it’ll bring you luck.’

What she gave him was a little box carved out of a single emerald. The count jumped up, feeling refreshed by his sleep, and thanked her for the gift. Then he set out on his way without once looking back for the beautiful treasure. For a long way down the path he could still hear the happy noise of the geese.

He wandered in the forest for at least three days before he found his way out. Eventually he came to a large city, where the custom was that every stranger had to be brought before the king and queen; so he was taken to the palace, where the king and queen were sitting on their thrones.

The young count knelt politely, and since he had nothing else to offer, he took the emerald box from his pocket, opened it and set it down before the queen. She beckoned to him to bring the box closer so that she could look inside it, but no sooner had she seen what was there than she fell into a dead faint. The bodyguards seized the young man at once and were about to drag him off to prison when the queen opened her eyes.

‘Release him!’ she cried. ‘Everyone must leave the throne room. I want to speak to this young man in private.’

When they were alone, the queen began to cry bitterly.

‘What use is all the splendour of this palace?’ she said. ‘Every morning when I wake up, sorrow rushes in on me like a flood. I once had three daughters, and the third was so beautiful that everyone thought she was a miracle. She was as white as snow and as pink as apple blossoms, and her hair shone like the beams of the sun. When she wept, it wasn’t tears that flowed down her cheeks but pearls and precious stones.

‘On her fifteenth birthday, the king called all three daughters to his throne. You can’t imagine how everyone blinked when the third daughter came in – it was just as if the sun had come out.

‘The king said, “My daughters, since I don’t know when my last day will arrive, I’m going to decide today what each of you shall receive after my death. You all love me, but whoever loves me most shall have the largest part of the kingdom.”

‘Each of the girls said she loved him most of all, but he wanted more than that.

‘“Tell me exactly how much you love me,” he said. “Then I’ll know just what you mean.”

‘The oldest daughter said, “I love you as much as the sweetest sugar.” The second daughter said, “I love you as much as I love my prettiest dress.”

‘But the third daughter didn’t say a word. So her father said, “And you, darling, how much do you love me?”

‘And she said, “I don’t know. I can’t compare my love with anything.”

‘But he kept on and on demanding an answer until she found something to compare her love to, and she said, “No matter how good the food, it won’t taste of anything without salt. So I love my father as much as I love salt.”

‘When the king heard this, he became furious and said, “If that’s how you love me, then that’s how your love will be rewarded.”

‘And he divided his kingdom between the two eldest daughters, and he ordered the youngest to have a sack of salt bound to her back, and then two servants were to lead her out into the depths of the forest. We all begged and pleaded for mercy, but he wouldn’t change his mind. Oh, how she wept when she was forced to leave! The path she’d trodden was covered with pearls. Not long afterwards, the king regretted what he’d done, and had the forest searched from end to end; but she was never found.

‘When I think that wild animals may have eaten her, I can hardly bear the pain. Sometimes I comfort myself by thinking that she’s found shelter in a cave, or she’s being looked after by kind people, but . . .

‘So you can imagine the shock when I opened the emerald box and saw a pearl just like the ones my daughter wept. And you can imagine how my heart was stirred. And now you must tell me: where did you get this? How does it come to be in your possession?’

The young count told her how it had been given to him by the old woman in the forest, who he believed must be a witch, because everything about her had made him feel uneasy. However, he said, this was the first he had heard about the queen’s daughter. Accordingly, the king and queen decided to set out at once to find the old woman, in the hope that she might be able to give them some news about their child.

That evening the old woman was sitting in her little house, spinning with her spinning wheel. Night was falling, and the only light came from a pine log burning on the hearth. Suddenly there were loud cries from outside, as the geese came home from their pasture, and a moment later the daughter entered the house, but the old woman merely nodded and didn’t say a word.

Her daughter sat down beside her and took up her own spinning, twisting the thread as deftly as any young girl. The two of them sat together for two hours without exchanging a word.

Finally there came a rustling from the window, and they looked up to see two fiery red eyes glaring in at them. It was an old owl, who cried out, ‘
Tu-whoo, tu-whoo,
’ three times.

The old woman said, ‘Well, my little daughter, it’s time for you to go outside and do your work.’

The daughter stood up. Where did she go? Out across the meadow, and down towards the valley, until she came to three old oak trees next to a spring. The moon was full, and had just risen over the mountain; it was so bright that you could have found a pin on the ground.

The daughter unfastened the skin at her neck, and pulled her face right over her head before kneeling down at the spring and washing herself. When she’d done that, she dipped the skin of her false face in the water, wrung it out, and laid it to dry and bleach on the grass. But what a change had come over her! You wouldn’t believe it! After the dull heavy face and the grey wig had come off, her hair flowed down like liquid sunlight. Her eyes sparkled like stars, and her cheeks were as pink as the freshest apple blossom.

But this girl, so beautiful, was sad. She sat down by the spring and cried bitterly. Tear after tear rolled down her long hair and fell into the grass. There she sat, and she would have stayed there for a long time if she hadn’t heard a rustling among the branches of a tree nearby. Like a deer startled by the sound of a hunter’s rifle, she jumped up at once. At the same time a dark cloud passed over the face of the moon, and in the sudden darkness the maiden slipped into the old skin and vanished like a candle flame blown out by the wind.

Shivering like an aspen leaf, she ran back to the little house, where the old woman was standing by the door.

‘Oh, mother, I—’

‘Hush, dear,’ said the old woman gently, ‘I know, I know.’

She led the girl into the room and put another log on the fire. But she didn’t go back to the spinning wheel; she took a broom and began to sweep the floor.

‘We must make everything neat and clean,’ she said.

‘But, mother, what are you doing it now for? It’s late! What’s happening?’

‘Don’t you know what time it is?’

‘It’s not past midnight,’ said the girl, ‘but it must be past eleven.’

‘And don’t you remember that it was three years ago today when you came to me? Time’s up, my dear. We can’t stay together any longer.’