Chapter VII: Foreword (7)

“If that be all,” said the duck, “we can help you. The crown fell into the water, and lies at the bottom. We will soon bring it up again for you. In the meantime just spread out your handkerchief on the bank.”

She dived down with her twelve young ones. And in five minutes she was up again with the crown resting on her wings. The twelve young ones were swimming round about and had put their beaks under it, and were helping to carry it. They all swam to the shore and put the crown on the handkerchief.

No one can imagine how magnificent the crown was. When the sun shone on it, it gleamed like a hundred thousand carbuncles. The tailor tied his handkerchief together by the four corners, and carried it to the King, who was full of joy, and put a gold chain round the tailor’s neck.

When the shoemaker saw that one stroke had failed, he contrived a second, and went to the King and said, “Lord King, the tailor has become insolent again. He boasts that he will copy in wax the whole of the royal palace, with everything that pertains to it, loose or fast, inside and out.”

The King sent for the tailor and ordered him to copy in wax the whole of the royal palace, with everything that pertained to it, movable or immovable, within and without. And if he did not succeed in doing this, or if so much as one nail on the wall were wanting, he should be imprisoned for his whole life underground.

The tailor thought, “It gets worse and worse! No one can endure that!” and threw his bundle on his back, and went forth.

When he came to the hollow tree, he sat down and hung his head. The bees came flying out, and the Queen-Bee asked him if he had a stiff neck, since he held his head so awry.

“Alas, no,” answered the tailor, “something quite different weighs me down,” and he told her what the King had demanded of him.

The bees began to buzz and hum amongst themselves, and the Queen-Bee said, “Just go home again. But come back to-morrow at this time, and bring a large sheet with you, and then all will be well.”

So he turned back again, but the bees flew to the royal palace and straight into it through the open windows, crept round about into every corner, and inspected everything most carefully.

Then they hurried back and modeled the palace in wax with such rapidity that any one looking on would have thought it was growing before his eyes. By the evening all was ready.

And when the tailor came next morning, the whole of the splendid building was there, and not one nail in the wall or tile of the roof was wanting, and it was delicate withal and white as snow, and smelt sweet as honey.

The tailor wrapped it carefully in his cloth and took it to the King, who could not admire it enough, placed it in his largest hall, and in return for it presented the tailor with a large stone house.

The shoemaker, however, did not give up, but went for the third time to the King and said, “Lord King, it has come to the tailor’s ears that no water will spring up in the courtyard of the castle. He has boasted that it shall rise up in the midst of the courtyard to a man’s height and be clear as crystal.”

Then the King ordered the tailor to be brought before him and said, “If a stream of water does not rise in my courtyard by to-morrow as you have promised, the executioner shall in that very place make you shorter by the head.”

The poor tailor did not take long to think about it, but hurried out to the gate, and because this time it was a matter of life and death to him, tears rolled down his face.

Whilst he was thus going forth full of sorrow, the foal to which he had formerly given its liberty, and which had now become a beautiful chestnut horse, came leaping toward him.

“The time has come,” it said to the tailor, “when I can repay you for your good deed. I know already what is needful to you, but you shall soon have help. Get on me, my back can carry two such as you.”

The tailor’s courage came back to him. He jumped up in one bound; and the horse went full speed into the town, and right up to the courtyard of the castle. It galloped as quick as lightning thrice round it, and at the third time it fell violently down. At the same instant there was a terrific clap of thunder, a fragment of earth in the middle of the courtyard sprang like a cannon ball into the air, and over the castle. Directly after it, a jet of water rose as high as a man on horseback, and the water was as pure as crystal, and the sunbeams began to dance on it.

When the King saw that he arose in amazement, and went and embraced the tailor in the sight of all men.

But good fortune did not last long. The King had daughters in plenty, each one prettier than the other, but he had no son.

So the malicious shoemaker betook himself for the fourth time to the King, and said, “Lord King, the tailor has not given up his arrogance. He has now boasted that if he liked, he could cause a son to be brought to the Lord King through the air.”

The King commanded the tailor to be summoned, and said, “If you cause a son to be brought to me within nine days, you shall have my eldest daughter to wife.”

“The reward is indeed great,” thought the little tailor. “One would willingly do something for it, but the cherries grow too high for me. If I climb for them, the bough will break beneath me, and I shall fall.”

He went home, seated himself cross-legged on his work-table, and thought over what was to be done.

“It can’t be managed,” cried he at last. “I will go away. After all I can’t live in peace here.”

He tied up his bundle and hurried away to the gate. When he got to the meadow, he perceived his old friend the stork, who was walking backward and forward like a philosopher. Sometimes he stood still, took a frog into close consideration, and at length swallowed it down.

The stork came to him and greeted him. “I see,” he began, “that you have your pack on your back. Why are you leaving the town?”

The tailor told him what the King had required of him, and how he could not perform it, and lamented his misfortune.

“Don’t let your hair grow gray about that,” said the stork. “I will help you out of your difficulty. For a long time past, I have carried the children in swaddling-clothes into the town. So for once, I can fetch a little Prince out of the well. Go home and be easy. In nine days from this time repair to the royal palace, and there will I come.”

The little tailor went home, and at the appointed time was at the castle. It was not long before the stork came flying thither and tapped at the window. The tailor opened it, and Cousin Longlegs came carefully in, and walked with solemn steps over the smooth marble pavement.

He had a baby in his beak that was as lovely as an angel, and stretched out its little hands to the Queen. The stork laid it in her lap, and she caressed it and kissed it, and was beside herself with delight.

Before the stork flew away he took his traveling bag off his back and handed it over to the Queen. In it there were little paper parcels full of colored sweetmeats, and they were divided amongst the little Princesses.

The eldest, however, had none of them, but got the merry tailor for a husband.

“It seems to me,” said he, “just as if I had won the highest prize. My mother was right after all; she always said that whoever trusts in God and his own fortune can never fail.”

The shoemaker had to make the shoes in which the little tailor danced at the wedding festival. After which he was commanded to quit the town for ever.

The road to the forest led him to the gallows. Worn out with anger, rage, and the heat of the day, he threw himself down. When he had closed his eyes and was about to sleep, the two crows flew down from the heads of the men who were hanging there, and pecked his eyes out.

In his madness he ran into the forest and must have died there of hunger, for no one has ever either seen him again or heard of him.

JORINDA AND JORINGEL

There was once an old castle in the midst of a large and thick forest, and in it an old woman, who was a Witch, dwelt all alone.

In the daytime, she changed herself into a cat or a screech-owl, but in the evening she took her proper shape again as a human being. She could lure wild beasts and birds to her, then she killed and boiled and roasted them.

If any one came within one hundred paces of the castle he was obliged to stand still, and could not stir from the place until she bade him be free. But whenever an innocent maiden came within this circle, she changed her into a bird, shut her up in a wicker-work cage, and carried the cage into a room in the castle. She had about seven thousand cages of rare birds in the castle.

Now, there was once a maiden who was called Jorinda, who was fairer than all other girls. She and a handsome youth named Joringel had promised to marry each other, and their greatest happiness was being together.

One day, in order that they might be able to talk together in quiet, they went for a walk in the forest.

“Take care,” said Joringel, “that you do not go too near the castle.”

It was a beautiful evening. The sun shone brightly between the trunks of the trees into the dark green of the forest, and the turtledoves sang mournfully upon the young boughs of the birch-trees.

Jorinda wept now and then. She sat down in the sunshine and was sorrowful. Joringel was sorrowful too. They were as sad as if they were about to die. Then they looked around them, and were quite at a loss, for they did not know by which way to go home. The sun was half above the mountain and half set.

Joringel looked through the bushes, and saw the old walls of the castle close at hand. He was horror-stricken and filled with deadly fear.

Jorinda was singing:

“_My little Bird, with the necklace red,
Sings sorrow, sorrow, sorrow,
He sings that the Dove must soon be dead,
Sings sorrow, sor----jug, jug, jug!_”

Joringel looked for Jorinda. She was changed into a Nightingale, and sang “_jug, jug, jug!_”

A screech-owl with glowing eyes flew three times round about her, and three times cried, “_to-whoo, to-whoo, to-whoo!_”

Joringel could not move. He stood there like a stone, and could neither weep nor speak, nor move hand or foot.

The sun had now set. The owl flew into the thicket. Directly afterward there came out of it a crooked Old Woman, yellow and lean, with large red eyes and a hooked nose, the point of which reached to her chin. She muttered to herself, caught the Nightingale, and took it away in her hand.

Joringel could neither speak nor move from the spot. The Nightingale was gone.

At last the woman came back, and said in a hollow voice, “Greet thee, Zachiel. If the moon shines on the cage, Zachiel, let him loose at once.”

Then Joringel was freed. He fell on his knees before the woman and begged that she would give him back his Jorinda. But she said that he should never have her again, and went away. He called, he wept. He lamented, but all in vain, “Ah, what is to become of me?”

Joringel went away, and at last came to a strange village. There he kept sheep for a long time. He often walked round and round the castle, but not too near to it. One night he dreamt that he found a Blood-Red Flower, in the middle of which was a beautiful large pearl; that he picked the flower and went with it to the castle, and that everything he touched with the flower was freed from enchantment. He also dreamt that by means of it, he recovered his Jorinda.

In the morning, when he awoke, he began to seek over hill and dale to find such a flower. He sought until the ninth day, and then, early in the morning, he found the Blood-Red Flower. In the middle of it, there was a large dew-drop, as big as the finest pearl.

Day and night, he journeyed with this flower to the castle. When he was within a hundred paces of it he was not held fast, but walked on to the door.

Joringel was full of joy. He touched the door with the flower, and it sprang open. He walked in through the courtyard, and listened for the sound of the birds. At last he heard it. He went on, and found the room from whence it came. There the Witch was feeding the birds in the seven thousand cages.

When she saw Joringel, she was angry, very angry, and scolded and spat poison and gall, but she could not come within two paces of him. He did not take any notice of her, but went and looked at the cages with the birds. But there were many hundred Nightingales, how was he to find his Jorinda again?

Just then he saw the Old Woman quietly take away a cage with a bird in it, and go toward the door.

Swiftly he sprang toward her, touched the cage with the flower, and also the Old Woman.

She could now no longer bewitch any one. And Jorinda was standing there, clasping him round the neck, and she was as beautiful as ever!

HOW SIX MEN GOT ON IN THE WORLD

There was once a man who understood all kinds of arts. He served in war, and behaved well and bravely, but when the war was over he received his dismissal, and three farthings for his expenses on the way. “Stop,” said he, “I shall not be content with this. If I can but meet with the right people, the King will have to give me all the treasure of the country.”

Then full of anger he went into the forest, and saw a man standing therein who had plucked up six trees as if they were blades of corn. He said to him, “Will you be my servant and go with me?”

“Yes,” he answered, “but, first, I will take this little bundle of sticks home to my mother,” and he took one of the trees, and wrapped it round the five others, lifted the bundle on his back and carried it away.

Then he returned and went with his master, who said, “We two ought to be able to get through the world very well.”

When they had walked on for a short while they found a huntsman who was kneeling, had shouldered his gun, and was about to fire. The master said to him, “Huntsman, what are you going to shoot?”

He answered, “Two miles from here a fly is sitting on the branch of an oak-tree, and I want to shoot its left eye out.”

“Oh, come with me,” said the man, “if we three are together, we certainly ought to be able to get on in the world!”

The huntsman was ready, and went with him.

They came to seven windmills whose sails were turning round with great speed, and yet no wind was blowing either on the right or the left, and no leaf was stirring. Then said the man, “I know not what is driving the windmills, not a breath of air is stirring,” and he went onward with his servants, and when they had walked two miles they saw a man sitting on a tree, who was shutting one nostril, and blowing out of the other. “Good gracious! what are you doing up there?”

He answered, “Two miles from here are seven windmills. Look, I am blowing them till they turn round.”

“Oh, come with me,” said the man. “If we four are together, we shall carry the whole world before us!”

Then the blower came down and went with him.

After a while they saw a man who was standing on one leg and had taken off the other, and laid it beside him. Then the master said, “You have arranged things very comfortably to have a rest.”

“I am a runner,” he replied, “and to stop myself running far too fast, I have taken off one of my legs, for if I run with both, I go quicker than any bird can fly.”

“Oh, come with me. If we five are together, we shall carry the whole world before us.”

So he went with them.

It was not long before they met a man who wore a cap, but had put it quite on one ear. Then the master said to him, “Gracefully! gracefully! don’t stick your cap on one ear, you look just like a tom-fool!”

“I must not wear it otherwise,” said he, “for if I set my hat straight, a terrible frost comes on, and all the birds in the air are frozen, and drop dead on the ground.”

“Oh, come with me,” said the master. “If we six are together, we can carry the whole world before us.”

Now the six came to a town where the King had proclaimed that whosoever ran a race with his daughter and won the victory, should be her husband, but whosoever lost it, must lose his head.

Then the man presented himself and said, “I will, however, let my servant run for me.”

The King replied, “Then his life also must be staked, so that his head and thine are both set on the victory.”

When that was settled and made secure, the man buckled the other leg on the runner, and said to him, “Now be nimble, and help us to win.”

It was fixed that the one who was the first to bring some water from a far distant well, was to be the victor. The runner received a pitcher, and the King’s Daughter one too, and they began to run at the same time. But in an instant, when the King’s Daughter had got a very little way, the people who were looking on could see no more of the runner, it was just as if the wind had whistled by.

In a short time he reached the well, filled his pitcher with water, and turned back. Half-way home, however, he was overcome with fatigue, and set his pitcher down, lay down himself, and fell asleep. He had, however, made a pillow of a horse’s skull which was lying on the ground, in order that he might lie uncomfortably, and soon wake up again.

In the meantime, the King’s Daughter, who could also run very well--quite as well as any ordinary mortal can--had reached the well, and was hurrying back with her pitcher full of water, and when she saw the runner lying there asleep, she was glad and said, “My enemy is delivered over into my hands,” emptied his pitcher, and ran on.

And now all would have been lost if by good luck the huntsman had not been standing at the top of the castle, and had not seen everything with his sharp eyes. Then said he, “The King’s Daughter shall still not prevail against us.”

He loaded his gun, and shot so cleverly, that he shot the horse’s skull away from under the runner’s head without hurting him. Then the runner awoke, leapt up, and saw that his pitcher was empty, and that the King’s Daughter was already far in advance. He did not lose heart, however, but ran back to the well with his pitcher, again drew some water, and was still at home again, ten minutes before the King’s Daughter. “Behold!” said he, “I have not bestirred myself till now. It did not deserve to be called running before.”

But it pained the King, and still more his daughter, that she should be carried off by a common disbanded soldier like that. So they took counsel with each other how to get rid of him and his companions.

Then said the King to her, “I have thought of a way. Don’t be afraid, they shall not come back again.” And he said to them, “You shall now make merry together, and eat and drink.”

He conducted them to a room which had a floor of iron, and the doors also were of iron, and the windows were guarded with iron bars. There was a table in the room covered with delicious food, and the King said to them, “Go in, and enjoy yourselves.”

And when they were inside, he ordered the doors to be shut and bolted. Then he sent for the cook, and commanded him to make a fire under the room until the iron became red-hot. This the cook did, and the six who were sitting at table began to feel quite warm, and they thought the heat was caused by the food. But as it became still greater, and they wanted to get out, and found that the doors and windows were bolted, they became aware that the King had an evil intention, and wanted to suffocate them.

“He shall not succeed, however,” said the one with the cap. “I will cause a frost to come, before which the fire shall be ashamed, and creep away.”

Then he put his cap on straight, and immediately there came such a frost that all heat disappeared, and the food on the dishes began to freeze.

When an hour or two had passed by, and the King believed that they had perished in the heat, he had the doors opened to behold them himself. But when the doors were opened, all six were standing there, alive and well, and said that they should very much like to get out to warm themselves, for the very food was fast frozen to the dishes with the cold.

Then, full of anger, the King went down to the cook, scolded him and asked why he had not done what he had been ordered to do. But the cook replied, “There is heat enough there, just look yourself.” Then the King saw that a fierce fire was burning under the iron room, and perceived that there was no getting the better of the six in this way.

Again the King considered how to get rid of his unpleasant guests, and caused their chief to be brought and said, “If you will take gold and renounce my daughter, you shall have as much as you wish.”

“Oh, yes, Lord King,” he answered, “give me as much as my servant can carry, and I will not ask for your daughter.”

On this the King was satisfied, and the other continued, “In fourteen days, I will come and fetch it.”

Thereupon he summoned together all the tailors in the whole kingdom, and they were to sit for fourteen days and sew a sack. And when it was ready, the strong one who could tear up trees had to take it on his back, and go with it to the King.

Then said the King, “Who can that strong fellow be who is carrying a bundle of linen on his back that is as big as a house?” and he was alarmed and said, “What a lot of gold he can carry away!”

Then he commanded a ton of gold to be brought. It took sixteen of his strongest men to carry it, but the strong one snatched it up in one hand, put it in his sack, and said, “Why don’t you bring more at the same time?--that hardly covers the bottom!”

Then, little by little, the King caused all his treasure to be brought thither, and the strong one pushed it into the sack, and still the sack was not half full with it. “Bring more,” cried he, “these few crumbs don’t fill it.”

Then seven thousand carts with gold had to be gathered together in the whole kingdom, and the strong one thrust them and the oxen harnessed to them into his sack. “I will examine it no longer,” said he, “but will just take what comes, so long as the sack is but full.”

When all that was inside, there was still room for a great deal more. Then he said, “I will just make an end of the thing. People do sometimes tie up a sack even when it is not full.” So he took it on his back, and went away with his comrades.

When the King now saw how one single man was carrying away the entire wealth of the country, he became enraged, and bade his horsemen mount and pursue the six, and ordered them to take the sack away from the strong one. Two regiments speedily overtook the six, and called out, “You are prisoners. Put down the sack with the gold, or you will all be cut to pieces!”

“What say you?” cried the blower, “that we are prisoners! Rather than that should happen, all of you shall dance about in the air.” And he closed one nostril, and with the other blew on the two regiments. Then they were driven away from each other, and carried into the blue sky over all the mountains--one here, the other there.

One sergeant cried for mercy. He had nine wounds, and was a brave fellow who did not deserve ill-treatment. The blower stopped a little so that he came down without injury, and then the blower said to him, “Now go home to your King, and tell him he had better send some more horsemen, and I will blow them all into the air.”

When the King was informed of this he said, “Let the rascals go. They have the best of it.”

Then the six conveyed the riches home, divided it amongst them, and lived in content until their death.

THE GOOSE-GIRL

There was once upon a time, an old Queen, whose husband had been dead for many years, and she had a beautiful daughter.

When the Princess grew up, she was betrothed to a Prince who lived very far away. When the time came for her to be married, and she had to journey forth into the distant kingdom, the aged Queen packed up for her many costly vessels of silver and gold, and trinkets, also of gold and silver, and cups and jewels, in short, everything which appertained to a royal dowry, for she loved her child with all her heart.

She likewise sent her maid-in-waiting, who was to ride with her, and hand her over to the Bridegroom. Each had a horse for the journey, but the horse of the King’s Daughter was called Falada, and could speak.

So when the hour of parting had come, the aged mother went into her bedroom, took a small knife and cut her finger with it until it bled. Then she held a white handkerchief to it, into which she let three drops of blood fall.

She gave the handkerchief to her daughter and said, “Dear Child, preserve this carefully. It will be of service to you on your way.”

So they took a sorrowful leave of each other. The Princess put the piece of cloth in her bosom, mounted her horse, and then went away to her Bridegroom.

After she had ridden for a while she felt a burning thirst, and said to her waiting-maid, “Dismount, and take my cup which you have brought with you, and get me some water from the stream, for I should like to drink.”

“If you are thirsty,” said the waiting-maid, “get off your horse yourself, and lie down and drink out of the water. I don’t choose to be your servant.”

So in her great thirst the Princess alighted, bent down over the water in the stream and drank, and was not allowed to drink out of the golden cup. Then she said, “Ah, Heaven!” and the three drops of blood answered:

“_If thy Mother only knew,
’Twould surely break her heart in two!_”

But the King’s Daughter was humble, said nothing, and mounted her horse again.

She rode some miles further, but the day was warm, the sun scorched her, and she was thirsty once more. When they came to a stream of water, she again cried to her waiting-maid, “Dismount, and give me some water in my golden cup,” for she had long ago forgotten the girl’s ill words.

But the waiting-maid said still more haughtily, “If you wish to drink, drink as you can, I don’t choose to be your maid.”

Then in her great thirst the King’s Daughter alighted, bent over the flowing stream, wept and said, “Ah, Heaven!” and the drops of blood again replied:

“_If thy Mother only knew,
’Twould surely break her heart in two!_”

And as she was thus drinking and leaning right over the stream, the handkerchief with the three drops of blood fell out of her bosom, and floated away with the water without her observing it, so great was her trouble. The waiting-maid, however, had seen it, and she rejoiced to think that she had now power over the Bride, for since the Princess had lost the drops of blood, she had become weak and powerless.

So now, when she wanted to mount her horse again, the one that was called Falada, the waiting-maid said, “Falada is more suitable for me, and my nag will do for you,” and the Princess had to be content with that.

Then the waiting-maid, with many hard words, bade the Princess exchange her royal apparel for her own shabby clothes; and at length she was compelled to swear by the clear sky above her, that she would not say one word of this to any one at the Royal Court. And if she had not taken this oath she would have been killed on the spot. But Falada saw all this, and observed it well.

The waiting-maid now mounted Falada, and the true Bride the bad horse, and thus they traveled onward, until they entered the royal palace. There were great rejoicings over her arrival, and the Prince sprang forward to meet her, lifted the waiting-maid from her horse, and thought she was his Bride. She was conducted up-stairs, but the real Princess was left standing below.

Then the old King looked out of the window and saw her standing in the courtyard, and how dainty and delicate and beautiful she was. He instantly went to the royal apartment, and asked the Bride about the girl she had with her, who was standing down below in the courtyard, and who she was.

“I picked her up on my way for a companion. Give the girl something to work at, that she may not stand idle.”

But the old King had no work for her, and knew of none, so he said, “I have a little boy who tends the geese, she may help him.”

The boy was called Conrad, and the true Bride had to help him to tend the geese.

Soon afterward the false Bride said to the young King, “Dearest Husband, I beg you to do me a favor.”

He answered, “I will do so most willingly.”

“Then send for the butcher, and have the head of the horse on which I rode here, cut off, for it vexed me on the way.” In reality, she was afraid that the horse might tell how she had behaved to the King’s Daughter.

Then she succeeded in making the King promise that it should be done, and the faithful Falada was to die. This came to the ears of the real Princess, and she secretly promised the butcher a piece of gold if he would perform a small service for her. There was a great dark-looking gateway in the town, through which, morning and evening, she had to pass with the geese: would he be so good as to nail up Falada’s head on it, so that she might see him again? The butcher promised to do that, and cut off the head, and nailed it fast beneath the dark gateway.

Early in the morning, when she and Conrad drove out their flock beneath this gateway, she said in passing:

“_Alas, Falada, hanging there!_”

Then the head answered:

“_Alas! young Queen, how ill you fare!
If this your tender Mother knew,
Her heart would surely break in two!_”

Then they went still farther out of the town, and drove their geese into the country. And when they had come to the meadow, she sat down and unbound her hair which was like pure gold. Conrad saw it and delighted in its brightness, and wanted to pluck out a few hairs. Then she said:

“_Blow, blow, thou gentle Wind, I say,
Blow Conrad’s little hat away,
And make him chase it here and there,
Until I’ve braided all my hair,
And bound it up again._”

And there came such a violent wind that it blew Conrad’s hat far away across county, and he was forced to run after it.

When he came back she had finished combing her hair and was putting it up again and he could not get any of it. Then Conrad was angry, and would not speak to her. And thus they watched the geese until the evening, and then they went home.

Next day when they were driving the geese out through the dark gateway, the maiden said:

“_Alas, Falada, hanging there!_”

Falada answered:

“_Alas! young Queen, how ill you fare!
If this your tender Mother knew,
Her heart would surely break in two!_”

And she sat down again in the field and began to comb out her hair. Conrad ran and tried to clutch it, so she said in haste:

“_Blow, blow, thou gentle Wind, I say,
Blow Conrad’s little hat away,
And make him chase it here and there,
Until I’ve braided all my hair,
And bound it up again._”

Then the wind blew, and blew his little hat off his head and far away, and Conrad was forced to run after it. When he came back, her hair had been put up a long time, and he could get none of it. So they looked after their geese till evening came.

But in the evening, after they had got home, Conrad went to the old King, and said, “I won’t tend the geese with that girl any longer!”

“Why not?” inquired the old King.

“Oh, because she vexes me the whole day long.”

Then the old King commanded him to relate what it was that she did to him.

And Conrad said, “In the morning, when we pass beneath the dark gateway with the flock, there is a sorry horse’s head on the wall, and she says to it:

“‘_Alas, Falada, hanging there!_’

And the head replies:

“‘_Alas! young Queen, how ill you fare!
If this your tender Mother knew,
Her heart would surely break in two!_’”

And Conrad went on to relate what happened on the goose-pasture, and how when there he had to chase his hat.

The old King commanded him to drive his flock out again next day, and as soon as morning came, he placed himself behind the dark gateway, and heard how the maiden spoke to the head of Falada. Then he went into the country, and hid himself in the thicket in the meadow. There he soon saw with his own eyes, the goose-girl and the goose-boy bringing their flock, and how after a while she sat down and unplaited her hair, which shone with radiance. And soon she said:

“_Blow, blow, thou gentle Wind, I say,
Blow Conrad’s little hat away,
And make him chase it here and there,
Until I’ve braided all my hair,
And bound it up again._”

Then came a blast of wind and carried off Conrad’s hat, so that he had to run far away, while the maiden quietly went on combing and plaiting her hair. All of which the King observed.

Then, quite unseen, he went away, and when the goose-girl came home in the evening, he called her aside, and asked why she did all these things.

“I may not tell you that, and I dare not lament my sorrows to any human being, for I have sworn not to do so by the heaven which is above me. If I had not done that, I should have lost my life.”

He urged her and left her no peace, but he could draw nothing from her. Then said he, “If you will not tell me anything, tell your sorrows to the iron stove there,” and he went away.

Then she crept into the iron stove, and began to weep and lament, and emptied her whole heart, and said, “Here am I deserted by the whole world, and yet I am a King’s Daughter, and a false waiting-maid has by force brought me to such a pass, that I have been compelled to put off my royal apparel. She has taken my place with my Bridegroom, and I have to do the mean work of a goose-girl.

“_If my Mother only knew,
’Twould surely break her heart in two!_”

The old King was standing outside by the pipe of the stove, and was listening to what she said, and heard it. Then he came back again, and bade her come out of the stove. And royal garments were placed on her, and it was marvelous how beautiful she was! The old King called his son, and revealed to him, that he had got the false Bride who was only a waiting-maid, but that the true one was standing there, as the goose-girl.

The young King rejoiced with all his heart when he saw her beauty and youth, and a great feast was made ready to which all the people and all good friends were invited. At the head of the table sat the Bridegroom with the King’s Daughter at one side of him, and the waiting-maid on the other, but the waiting-maid was blinded, and did not recognize the Princess in her dazzling array.

When they had eaten and drunk, and were merry, the old King asked the waiting-maid as a riddle, what a person deserved who had behaved in such and such a way to her master, and at the same time related the whole story, and asked what sentence such a one merited?

Then the false Bride said, “She deserves no better fate than to be put in a barrel which is studded inside with pointed nails, and two white horses should be harnessed to it, to drag her along through one street after another, till she is dead.”

“It is you,” said the old King, “and you have pronounced your own sentence. Thus shall it be done unto you.”

And when the sentence had been carried out, the young King married his true Bride, and both of them reigned over their kingdom in peace and happiness.

THE SINGING, SOARING LARK

There was once on a time, a man who was about to set out on a long journey. At parting he asked his three daughters what he should bring back for them.

Whereupon the eldest wished for pearls, the second wished for diamonds, but the third said, “Dear Father, I should like a Singing, Soaring Lark.”

The father said, “Yes, if I can get it, you shall have it,” kissed all three, and set out.

Now, when the time had come for him to return home, he had brought pearls and diamonds for the two eldest. But he had sought everywhere in vain for a Singing, Soaring Lark for the youngest, and he was very unhappy about it, for she was his favorite child.

Then his road lay through a forest, and in the midst of it was a splendid castle. Near the castle stood a tree, and quite on the top of the tree, he saw a Singing, Soaring Lark.

“Aha, you come just at the right moment!” he said, quite delighted, and called to his servant to climb up and catch the little creature.

But as he approached the tree, a Lion leapt from beneath it, shook himself, and roared till the leaves on the tree trembled. “He who tries to steal my Singing, Soaring Lark,” he cried, “will I devour.”

Then the man said, “I did not know that the bird belonged to you. I will make amends for the wrong I have done, and ransom myself with a large sum of money, only spare my life.”

The Lion said, “Nothing can save you, unless you will promise to give me for mine own what first meets you on your return home. But if you will do that, I will grant you your life, and you shall have the bird for your daughter, into the bargain.”

The man hesitated and said, “That might be my youngest daughter, she loves me best, and always runs to meet me on my return home.”

The servant, however, was terrified and said, “Why should your daughter be the very one to meet you, it might as easily be a cat, or dog?”

Then the man allowed himself to be persuaded, took the Singing, Soaring Lark, and promised to give the Lion whatsoever should first meet him on his return home.

When he reached home and entered his house, the first who met him was no other than his youngest and dearest daughter, who came running up, kissed and embraced him. When she saw that he had brought with him a Singing, Soaring Lark, she was beside herself with joy.

The father, however, could not rejoice, but began to weep, and said, “My dearest Child, I have bought the little bird at a great cost! In return for it, I have been obliged to promise you to a savage Lion. When he has you he will tear you in pieces and devour you,” and he told her all, just as it had happened, and begged her not to go thither, come what might.

But she consoled him and said, “Dearest Father, indeed your promise must be fulfilled. I will go thither and soften the Lion, so that I may return to you safely.”

Next morning, she had the road pointed out to her, took leave, and went fearlessly out into the forest. The Lion, however, was an enchanted Prince and was by day a Lion, and all his people were Lions with him. But in the night, they resumed their natural human shapes.

On her arrival, she was kindly received and led into the castle. When night came, the Lion turned into a handsome man, and their wedding was celebrated with great magnificence. They lived happily together, remained awake at night, and slept in the daytime.

One day, he came and said, “To-morrow there is a feast in your father’s house, because your eldest sister is to be married, and if you are inclined to go there, my Lions shall conduct you.”

She said, “Yes, I should very much like to see my father again,” and went thither, accompanied by the Lions.

There was great joy when she arrived, for they had all believed that she had been torn in pieces by the Lion, and had long ceased to live. But she told them what a handsome husband she had, and how well off she was. She remained with them while the wedding-feast lasted, and then went back again to the forest.

When the second daughter was about to be married, and she was again invited to the wedding, she said to the Lion, “This time, I will not go alone. You must come with me.”

The Lion, however, said that it was too dangerous for him, for if a ray from a burning candle should fall on him, he would be changed into a Dove, and for seven years long would have to fly about with the Doves.

She said, “Ah, but do come with me, I will take great care of you and guard you from all light.”

So they went away together, and took with them their little child as well. She had a chamber built, so strong and thick that no ray could pierce through it. In this he was to shut himself up when the candles were lit for the wedding-feast. But the door was made of green wood which warped and left a little crack which no one noticed.

The wedding was celebrated with magnificence; but when the procession with all its candles and torches came back from church and passed by this apartment, a ray about the breadth of a hair fell on the King’s Son. When this ray touched him, he was transformed in an instant. And when she came in, and looked for him, she did not see him, but a white Dove was sitting there.

The Dove said to her, “For seven years must I fly about the world, but at every seventh step that you take I will let fall a drop of red blood and a white feather. These will show you the way. If you follow the trace you can release me.”

Thereupon the Dove flew out at the door, and she followed him. At every seventh step a red drop of blood and a little white feather fell down, and showed her the way.

So she went continually farther and farther, in the wide world, never looking about her nor resting, and the seven years were almost past. Then she rejoiced and thought that they would soon be delivered, and yet they were so far from it!

Once when they were thus moving onwards, no little feather and no drop of red blood fell, and when she raised her eyes the Dove had disappeared. And as she thought to herself, “In this no man can help me,” she climbed up to the Sun, and said to him, “You shine into every crevice, and over every peak, have you not seen a white Dove flying?”

“No,” said the Sun, “I have seen none, but I present you with a casket. Open it when you are in sorest need.”

Then she thanked the Sun, and went on until evening came and the Moon appeared. She then asked her, “You shine the whole night through, and on every field and forest, have you not seen a white Dove flying?”

“No,” said the Moon, “I have seen no Dove, but here I give you an egg. Break it when you are in great need.”

She thanked the Moon, and went on until the Night Wind came up and blew on her, then she said to it, “You blow over every tree and under every leaf, have you not seen a white Dove flying?”

“No,” said the Night Wind, “I have seen none, but I will ask the three other Winds; perhaps they have seen it.”

The East Wind and the West Wind came, and had seen nothing, but the South Wind said, “I have seen the white Dove, it has flown to the Red Sea, there it has become a Lion again, for the seven years are over. The Lion is there fighting with a Dragon. The Dragon, however, is an enchanted Princess.”

The Night Wind then said to her, “I will advise you. Go to the Red Sea, on the right bank are some tall reeds, count them, break off the eleventh, and strike the Dragon with it. Then the Lion will be able to subdue it, and both then will regain their human form. After that, look round and you will see the Griffin which is by the Red Sea. Swing yourself with your beloved, on to his back, and the bird will carry you over the sea to your own home.

“Here is a nut for you, when you are above the centre of the sea, let the nut fall. It will immediately shoot up, and a tall nut-tree will grow out of the water on which the Griffin may rest; for if he cannot rest, he will not be strong enough to carry you across. If you forget to throw down the nut, he will let you fall into the sea.”

Then she went thither, and found everything as the Night Wind had said. She counted the reeds by the sea, and cut off the eleventh, struck the Dragon with it, whereupon the Lion overcame it. Immediately both of them regained their human shapes. But when the Princess, who had been the Dragon, was delivered from enchantment, she took the youth by the arm, seated herself on the Griffin, and carried him off with her.

There stood the poor maiden, who had wandered so far and was again forsaken! She sat down and cried, but at last she took courage and said, “Still I will go as far as the Wind blows and as long as the cock crows, until I find him.”

She went forth by long, long roads, until at last she came to the castle, where both of them were living together. There she heard that a feast was to be held, in which they would celebrate their wedding, but she said, “God still helps me,” and opened the casket that the Sun had given her. A dress lay therein as brilliant as the sun itself.

So she took it out and put it on, and went up into the castle, and every one, even the Bride, looked at her with astonishment. The dress pleased the Bride so well that she thought it might do for her wedding-dress, and asked if it was for sale?

“Not for money or land,” answered she, “but for flesh and blood.”

The Bride asked her what she meant by that, then she said, “Let me sleep a night in the chamber where the Bridegroom sleeps.”

The Bride would not, yet wanted very much to have the dress. At last she consented, but the page was to give the Prince a sleeping-draught.

When it was night, and the youth was already asleep, she was led into the chamber. She seated herself on the bed and said, “I have followed you for seven years. I have been to the Sun and the Moon, and the Four Winds, and have inquired for you and have helped you against the Dragon. Will you, then, forget me?”

But the Prince slept so soundly that it only seemed to him as if the wind were whistling outside in the fir-trees. When therefore day broke, she was led out again, and had to give up the golden dress. And as that had been of no avail, she was sad, went out into a meadow, sat down there, and wept.

While she was sitting there, she thought of the egg which the Moon had given her. She opened it, and there came out a clucking hen with twelve chickens all of gold. They ran about chirping, and crept again under the old hen’s wings. Nothing more beautiful was ever seen in the world!

She arose, and drove them through the meadow. The Bride looked out of the window, and the little chickens pleased her so that she came down and asked if they were for sale.

“Not for money or land, but for flesh and blood. Let me sleep again in the chamber where the Bridegroom sleeps.”

The Bride said, “Yes,” intending to cheat her as on the former evening. But when the Prince went to bed he asked the page what the murmuring and rustling in the night had been. On this the page told all; that he had been forced to give him a sleeping-draught, because a poor girl had slept secretly in the chamber, and that he was to give him another that night.

The Prince said, “Pour out the draught by the bedside.”

At night, she was again led in, and when she began to relate how ill all had fared with her, he immediately recognized his beloved wife by her voice, sprang up and cried, “Now I really am released! I have been as it were in a dream, for the strange Princess has bewitched me so that I have been compelled to forget you! But God has delivered me from the spell at the right time.”