Chapter XXIV: Part 24

Then each of them went his way, and the eldest met a man who asked him where he was going, and what he was intending to do? “I want to learn a trade,” he replied. Then the other said, “Come with me, and be a thief.” “No,” he answered, “that is no longer regarded as a reputable trade, and the end of it is that one has to swing on the gallows.” “Oh,” said the man, “you need not be afraid of the gallows; I will only teach you to get such things as no other man could ever lay hold of, and no one will ever detect you.” So he allowed himself to be talked into it, and while with the man became an accomplished thief, and so dexterous that nothing was safe from him, if he once desired to have it. The second brother met a man who put the same question to him what he wanted to learn in the world. “I don’t know yet,” he replied. “Then come with me, and be an astronomer; there is nothing better than that, for nothing is hid from you.” He liked the idea, and became such a skillful astronomer that when he had learnt everything, and was about to travel onwards, his master gave him a telescope and said to him, “With that you canst thou see whatsoever takes place either on earth or in heaven, and nothing can remain concealed from thee.” A huntsman took the third brother into training, and gave him such excellent instruction in everything which related to huntsmanship, that he became an experienced hunter. When he went away, his master gave him a gun and said, “It will never fail you; whatsoever you aim at, you are certain to hit.” The youngest brother also met a man who spoke to him, and inquired what his intentions were. “Would you not like to be a tailor?” said he. “Not that I know of,” said the youth; “sitting doubled up from morning till night, driving the needle and the goose backwards and forwards, is not to my taste.” “Oh, but you are speaking in ignorance,” answered the man; “with me you would learn a very different kind of tailoring, which is respectable and proper, and for the most part very honorable.” So he let himself be persuaded, and went with the man, and learnt his art from the very beginning. When they parted, the man gave the youth a needle, and said, “With this you can sew together whatever is given you, whether it is as soft as an egg or as hard as steel; and it will all become one piece of stuff, so that no seam will be visible.”

When the appointed four years were over, the four brothers arrived at the same time at the cross-roads, embraced and kissed each other, and returned home to their father. “So now,” said he, quite delighted, “the wind has blown you back again to me.” They told him of all that had happened to them, and that each had learnt his own trade. Now they were sitting just in front of the house under a large tree, and the father said, “I will put you all to the test, and see what you can do.” Then he looked up and said to his second son, “Between two branches up at the top of this tree, there is a chaffinch’s nest, tell me how many eggs there are in it?” The astronomer took his glass, looked up, and said, “There are five.” Then the father said to the eldest, “Fetch the eggs down without disturbing the bird which is sitting hatching them.” The skillful thief climbed up, and took the five eggs from beneath the bird, which never observed what he was doing, and remained quietly sitting where she was, and brought them down to his father. The father took them, and put one of them on each corner of the table, and the fifth in the middle, and said to the huntsman, “With one shot thou shalt shoot me the five eggs in two, through the middle.” The huntsman aimed, and shot the eggs, all five as the father had desired, and that at one shot. He certainly must have had some of the powder for shooting round corners. “Now it’s your turn,” said the father to the fourth son; “you shall sew the eggs together again, and the young birds that are inside them as well, and you must do it so that they are not hurt by the shot.” The tailor brought his needle, and sewed them as his father wished. When he had done this the thief had to climb up the tree again, and carry them to the nest, and put them back again under the bird without her being aware of it. The bird sat her full time, and after a few days the young ones crept out, and they had a red line round their necks where they had been sewn together by the tailor.

“Well,” said the old man to his sons, “I begin to think you are worth more than breen clover; you have used your time well, and learnt something good. I can’t say which of you deserves the most praise. That will be proved if you have but an early opportunity of using your talents.” Not long after this, there was a great uproar in the country, for the King’s daughter was carried off by a dragon. The King was full of trouble about it, both by day and night, and caused it to be proclaimed that whosoever brought her back should have her to wife. The four brothers said to each other, “This would be a fine opportunity for us to show what we can do!” and resolved to go forth together and liberate the King’s daughter. “I will soon know where she is,” said the astronomer, and looked through his telescope and said, “I see her already, she is far away from here on a rock in the sea, and the dragon is beside her watching her.” Then he went to the King, and asked for a ship for himself and his brothers, and sailed with them over the sea until they came to the rock. There the King’s daughter was sitting, and the dragon was lying asleep on her lap. The huntsman said, “I dare not fire, I should kill the beautiful maiden at the same time.” “Then I will try my art,” said the thief, and he crept thither and stole her away from under the dragon, so quietly and dexterously, that the monster never remarked it, but went on snoring. Full of joy, they hurried off with her on board ship, and steered out into the open sea; but the dragon, who when he awoke had found no princess there, followed them, and came snorting angrily through the air. Just as he was circling above the ship, and about to descend on it, the huntsman shouldered his gun, and shot him to the heart. The monster fell down dead, but was so large and powerful that his fall shattered the whole ship. Fortunately, however, they laid hold of a couple of planks, and swam about the wide sea. Then again they were in great peril, but the tailor, who was not idle, took his wondrous needle, and with a few stitches sewed the planks together, and they seated themselves upon them, and collected together all the fragments of the vessel. Then he sewed these so skilfully together, that in a very short time the ship was once more seaworthy, and they could go home again in safety.

When the King once more saw his daughter, there were great rejoicings. He said to the four brothers, “One of you shall have her to wife, but which of you it is to be you must settle among yourselves.” Then a warm contest arose among them, for each of them preferred his own claim. The astronomer said, “If I had not seen the princess, all your arts would have been useless, so she is mine.” The thief said, “What would have been the use of your seeing, if I had not got her away from the dragon? so she is mine.” The huntsman said, “You and the princess, and all of you, would have been torn to pieces by the dragon if my ball had not hit him, so she is mine.” The tailor said, “And if I, by my art, had not sewn the ship together again, you would all of you have been miserably drowned, so she is mine.” Then the King uttered this saying, “Each of you has an equal right, and as all of you cannot have the maiden, none of you shall have her, but I will give to each of you, as a reward, half a kingdom.” The brothers were pleased with this decision, and said, “It is better thus than that we should be at variance with each other.” Then each of them received half a kingdom, and they lived with their father in the greatest happiness as long as it pleased God.

130 One-eye, Two-eyes, and Three-eyes

There was once a woman who had three daughters, the eldest of whom was called One-eye, because she had only one eye in the middle of her forehead, and the second, Two-eyes, because she had two eyes like other folks, and the youngest, Three-eyes, because she had three eyes; and her third eye was also in the centre of her forehead. However, as Two-eyes saw just as other human beings did, her sisters and her mother could not endure her. They said to her, “Thou, with thy two eyes, art no better than the common people; thou dost not belong to us!” They pushed her about, and threw old clothes to her, and gave her nothing to eat but what they left, and did everything that they could to make her unhappy. It came to pass that Two-eyes had to go out into the fields and tend the goat, but she was still quite hungry, because her sisters had given her so little to eat. So she sat down on a ridge and began to weep, and so bitterly that two streams ran down from her eyes. And once when she looked up in her grief, a woman was standing beside her, who said, “Why art thou weeping, little Two-eyes?” Two-Eyes answered, “Have I not reason to weep, when I have two eyes like other people, and my sisters and mother hate me for it, and push me from one corner to another, throw old clothes at me, and give me nothing to eat but the scraps they leave? To-day they have given me so little that I am still quite hungry.” Then the wise woman said, “Wipe away thy tears, Two-eyes, and I will tell thee something to stop thee ever suffering from hunger again; just say to thy goat,

“Bleat, my little goat, bleat, Cover the table with something to eat,”

and then a clean well-spread little table will stand before thee, with the most delicious food upon it of which thou mayst eat as much as thou art inclined for, and when thou hast had enough, and hast no more need of the little table, just say,

“Bleat, bleat, my little goat, I pray, And take the table quite away,”

and then it will vanish again from thy sight.” Hereupon the wise woman departed. But Two-eyes thought, “I must instantly make a trial, and see if what she said is true, for I am far too hungry,” and she said,

“Bleat, my little goat, bleat, Cover the table with something to eat,”

and scarcely had she spoken the words than a little table, covered with a white cloth, was standing there, and on it was a plate with a knife and fork, and a silver spoon; and the most delicious food was there also, warm and smoking as if it had just come out of the kitchen. Then Two-eyes said the shortest prayer she knew, “Lord God, be with us always, Amen,” and helped herself to some food, and enjoyed it. And when she was satisfied, she said, as the wise woman had taught her,

“Bleat, bleat, my little goat, I pray, And take the table quite away,”

and immediately the little table and everything on it was gone again. “That is a delightful way of keeping house!” thought Two-eyes, and was quite glad and happy.

In the evening, when she went home with her goat, she found a small earthenware dish with some food, which her sisters had set ready for her, but she did not touch it. Next day she again went out with her goat, and left the few bits of broken bread which had been handed to her, lying untouched. The first and second time that she did this, her sisters did not remark it at all, but as it happened every time, they did observe it, and said, “There is something wrong about Two-eyes, she always leaves her food untasted, and she used to eat up everything that was given her; she must have discovered other ways of getting food.” In order that they might learn the truth, they resolved to send One-eye with Two-eyes when she went to drive her goat to the pasture, to observe what Two-eyes did when she was there, and whether any one brought her anything to eat and drink. So when Two-eyes set out the next time, One-eye went to her and said, “I will go with you to the pasture, and see that the goat is well taken care of, and driven where there is food.” But Two-eyes knew what was in One-eye’s mind, and drove the goat into high grass and said, “Come, One-eye, we will sit down, and I will sing something to you.” One-eye sat down and was tired with the unaccustomed walk and the heat of the sun, and Two-eyes sang constantly,

“One eye, wakest thou? One eye, sleepest thou?”

until One-eye shut her one eye, and fell asleep, and as soon as Two-eyes saw that One-eye was fast asleep, and could discover nothing, she said,

“Bleat, my little goat, bleat, Cover the table with something to eat,”

and seated herself at her table, and ate and drank until she was satisfied, and then she again cried,

“Bleat, bleat, my little goat, I pray, And take the table quite away,”

and in an instant all was gone. Two-eyes now awakened One-eye, and said, “One-eye, you want to take care of the goat, and go to sleep while you are doing it, and in the meantime the goat might run all over the world. Come, let us go home again.” So they went home, and again Two-eyes let her little dish stand untouched, and One-eye could not tell her mother why she would not eat it, and to excuse herself said, “I fell asleep when I was out.”

Next day the mother said to Three-eyes, “This time thou shalt go and observe if Two-eyes eats anything when she is out, and if any one fetches her food and drink, for she must eat and drink in secret.” So Three-eyes went to Two-eyes, and said, “I will go with you and see if the goat is taken proper care of, and driven where there is food.” But Two-eyes knew what was in Three-eyes’ mind, and drove the goat into high grass and said, “We will sit down, and I will sing something to you, Three-eyes.” Three-eyes sat down and was tired with the walk and with the heat of the sun, and Two-eyes began the same song as before, and sang,

“Three eyes, are you waking?”

but then, instead of singing,

“Three eyes, are you sleeping?”

as she ought to have done, she thoughtlessly sang,

“Two eyes, are you sleeping?”

and sang all the time,

“Three eyes, are you waking? Two eyes, are you sleeping?”

Then two of the eyes which Three-eyes had, shut and fell asleep, but the third, as it had not been named in the song, did not sleep. It is true that Three-eyes shut it, but only in her cunning, to pretend it was asleep too, but it blinked, and could see everything very well. And when Two-eyes thought that Three-eyes was fast asleep, she used her little charm,

“Bleat, my little goat, bleat, Cover the table with something to eat,”

and ate and drank as much as her heart desired, and then ordered the table to go away again,

“Bleat, bleat, my little goat, I pray, And take the table quite away,”

and Three-eyes had seen everything. Then Two-eyes came to her, waked her and said, “Have you been asleep, Three-eyes? You are a good care-taker! Come, we will go home.” And when they got home, Two-eyes again did not eat, and Three-eyes said to the mother, “Now, I know why that high-minded thing there does not eat. When she is out, she says to the goat,

“Bleat, my little goat, bleat, Cover the table with something to eat,”

and then a little table appears before her covered with the best of food, much better than any we have here, and when she has eaten all she wants, she says,

“Bleat, bleat, my little goat, I pray, And take the table quite away,”

and all disappears. I watched everything closely. She put two of my eyes to sleep by using a certain form of words, but luckily the one in my forehead kept awake.” Then the envious mother cried, “Dost thou want to fare better than we do? The desire shall pass away,” and she fetched a butcher’s knife, and thrust it into the heart of the goat, which fell down dead.

When Two-eyes saw that, she went out full of trouble, seated herself on the ridge of grass at the edge of the field, and wept bitter tears. Suddenly the wise woman once more stood by her side, and said, “Two-eyes, why art thou weeping?” “Have I not reason to weep?” she answered. “The goat which covered the table for me every day when I spoke your charm, has been killed by my mother, and now I shall again have to bear hunger and want.” The wise woman said, “Two-eyes, I will give thee a piece of good advice; ask thy sisters to give thee the entrails of the slaughtered goat, and bury them in the ground in front of the house, and thy fortune will be made.” Then she vanished, and Two-eyes went home and said to her sisters, “Dear sisters, do give me some part of my goat; I don’t wish for what is good, but give me the entrails.” Then they laughed and said, “If that’s all you want, you can have it.” So Two-eyes took the entrails and buried them quietly in the evening, in front of the house-door, as the wise woman had counselled her to do.

Next morning, when they all awoke, and went to the house-door, there stood a strangely magnificent tree with leaves of silver, and fruit of gold hanging among them, so that in all the wide world there was nothing more beautiful or precious. They did not know how the tree could have come there during the night, but Two-eyes saw that it had grown up out of the entrails of the goat, for it was standing on the exact spot where she had buried them. Then the mother said to One-eye, “Climb up, my child, and gather some of the fruit of the tree for us.” One-eye climbed up, but when she was about to get hold of one of the golden apples, the branch escaped from her hands, and that happened each time, so that she could not pluck a single apple, let her do what she might. Then said the mother, “Three-eyes, do you climb up; you with your three eyes can look about you better than One-eye.” One-eye slipped down, and Three-eyes climbed up. Three-eyes was not more skilful, and might search as she liked, but the golden apples always escaped her. At length the mother grew impatient, and climbed up herself, but could get hold of the fruit no better than One-eye and Three-eyes, for she always clutched empty air. Then said Two-eyes, “I will just go up, perhaps I may succeed better.” The sisters cried, “You indeed, with your two eyes, what can you do?” But Two-eyes climbed up, and the golden apples did get out of her way, but came into her hand of their own accord, so that she could pluck them one after the other, and brought a whole apronful down with her. The mother took them away from her, and instead of treating poor Two-eyes any better for this, she and One-eye and Three-eyes were only envious, because Two-eyes alone had been able to get the fruit, and they treated her still more cruelly.

It so befell that once when they were all standing together by the tree, a young knight came up. “Quick, Two-eyes,” cried the two sisters, “creep under this, and don’t disgrace us!” and with all speed they turned an empty barrel which was standing close by the tree over poor Two-eyes, and they pushed the golden apples which she had been gathering, under it too. When the knight came nearer he was a handsome lord, who stopped and admired the magnificent gold and silver tree, and said to the two sisters, “To whom does this fine tree belong? Any one who would bestow one branch of it on me might in return for it ask whatsoever he desired.” Then One-eye and Three-eyes replied that the tree belonged to them, and that they would give him a branch. They both took great trouble, but they were not able to do it, for the branches and fruit both moved away from them every time. Then said the knight, “It is very strange that the tree should belong to you, and that you should still not be able to break a piece off.” They again asserted that the tree was their property. Whilst they were saying so, Two-eyes rolled out a couple of golden apples from under the barrel to the feet of the knight, for she was vexed with One-eye and Three-eyes, for not speaking the truth. When the knight saw the apples he was astonished, and asked where they came from. One-eye and Three-eyes answered that they had another sister, who was not allowed to show herself, for she had only two eyes like any common person. The knight, however, desired to see her, and cried, “Two-eyes, come forth.” Then Two-eyes, quite comforted, came from beneath the barrel, and the knight was surprised at her great beauty, and said, “Thou, Two-eyes, canst certainly break off a branch from the tree for me.” “Yes,” replied Two-eyes, “that I certainly shall be able to do, for the tree belongs to me.” And she climbed up, and with the greatest ease broke off a branch with beautiful silver leaves and golden fruit, and gave it to the knight. Then said the knight, “Two-eyes, what shall I give thee for it?” “Alas!” answered Two-eyes, “I suffer from hunger and thirst, grief and want, from early morning till late night; if you would take me with you, and deliver me from these things, I should be happy.” So the knight lifted Two-eyes on to his horse, and took her home with him to his father’s castle, and there he gave her beautiful clothes, and meat and drink to her heart’s content, and as he loved her so much he married her, and the wedding was solemnized with great rejoicing. When Two-eyes was thus carried away by the handsome knight, her two sisters grudged her good fortune in downright earnest. “The wonderful tree, however, still remains with us,” thought they, “and even if we can gather no fruit from it, still every one will stand still and look at it, and come to us and admire it. Who knows what good things may be in store for us?” But next morning, the tree had vanished, and all their hopes were at an end. And when Two-eyes looked out of the window of her own little room, to her great delight it was standing in front of it, and so it had followed her.

Two-eyes lived a long time in happiness. Once two poor women came to her in her castle, and begged for alms. She looked in their faces, and recognized her sisters, One-eye, and Three-eyes, who had fallen into such poverty that they had to wander about and beg their bread from door to door. Two-eyes, however, made them welcome, and was kind to them, and took care of them, so that they both with all their hearts repented the evil that they had done their sister in their youth.

131 Fair Katrinelje and Pif-Paf-Poltrie

“Good-day, Father Hollenthe.” “Many thanks, Pif-paf-poltrie.” “May I be allowed to have your daughter?” “Oh, yes, if Mother Malcho (Milch-cow), Brother High-and-Mighty, Sister Käsetraut, and fair Katrinelje are willing, you can have her.”

“Where is Mother Malcho, then?” “She is in the cow-house, milking the cow.”

“Good-day, Mother Malcho.” “Many thanks, Pif-paf-poltrie.” “May I be allowed to have your daughter?” “Oh, yes, if Father Hollenthe, Brother High-and-Mighty, Sister Käsetraut, and fair Katrinelje are willing, you can have her.” “Where is Brother High-and-Mighty, then?” “He is in the room chopping some wood.” “Good-day, Brother High-and-Mighty.” “Many thanks, Pif-paf-poltrie.” “May I be allowed to have your sister?” “Oh, yes, if Father Hollenthe, Mother Malcho, Sister Käsetraut, and fair Katrinelje are willing, you can have her.” “Where is Sister Käsetraut, then?” “She is in the garden cutting cabbages.” “Good-day, sister Käsetraut.” “Many thanks, Pif-paf-poltrie.” “May I be allowed to have your sister?” “Oh, yes, if Father Hollenthe, Mother Malcho, Brother High-and-Mighty, and fair Katrinelje are willing, you may have her.” “Where is fair Katrinelje, then?” “She is in the room counting out her farthings.” “Good day, fair Katrinelje.” “Many thanks, Pif-paf-poltrie.” “Wilt thou be my bride?” “Oh, yes, if Father Hollenthe, Mother Malcho, Brother High-and-Mighty, and Sister Käsetraut are willing, I am ready.”

“Fair Katrinelje, how much dowry do hast thou?” “Fourteen farthings in ready money, three and a half groschen owing to me, half a pound of dried apples, a handful of fried bread, and a handful of spices.

And many other things are mine, Have I not a dowry fine?

“Pif-paf-poltrie, what is thy trade? Art thou a tailor?” “Something better.” “A shoemaker?” “Something better.” “A husbandman?” “Something better.” “A joiner?” “Something better.” “A smith?” “Something better.” “A miller?” “Something better.” “Perhaps a broom-maker?” “Yes, that’s what I am, is it not a fine trade?”

132 The Fox and the Horse

A peasant had a faithful horse which had grown old and could do no more work, so his master would no longer give him anything to eat and said, “I can certainly make no more use of thee, but still I mean well by thee; if thou provest thyself still strong enough to bring me a lion here, I will maintain thee, but now take thyself away out of my stable,” and with that he chased him into the open country. The horse was sad, and went to the forest to seek a little protection there from the weather. Then the fox met him and said, “Why dost thou hang thy head so, and go about all alone?” “Alas,” replied the horse, “avarice and fidelity do not dwell together in one house. My master has forgotten what services I have performed for him for so many years, and because I can no longer plough well, he will give me no more food, and has driven me out.” “Without giving thee a chance?” asked the fox. “The chance was a bad one. He said, if I were still strong enough to bring him a lion, he would keep me, but he well knows that I cannot do that.” The fox said, “I will help thee, just lay thyself down, stretch thyself out, as if thou wert dead, and do not stir.” The horse did as the fox desired, and the fox went to the lion, who had his den not far off, and said, “A dead horse is lying outside there, just come with me, thou canst have a rich meal.” The lion went with him, and when they were both standing by the horse the fox said, “After all, it is not very comfortable for thee here I tell thee what I will fasten it to thee by the tail, and then thou canst drag it into thy cave, and devour it in peace.”

This advice pleased the lion: he lay down, and in order that the fox might tie the horse fast to him, he kept quite quiet. But the fox tied the lion’s legs together with the horse’s tail, and twisted and fastened all so well and so strongly that no strength could break it. When he had finished his work, he tapped the horse on the shoulder and said, “Pull, white horse, pull.” Then up sprang the horse at once, and drew the lion away with him. The lion began to roar so that all the birds in the forest flew out in terror, but the horse let him roar, and drew him and dragged him over the country to his master’s door. When the master saw the lion, he was of a better mind, and said to the horse, “Thou shalt stay with me and fare well,” and he gave him plenty to eat until he died.

133 The Shoes That Were Danced to Pieces

There was once upon a time a King who had twelve daughters, each one more beautiful than the other. They all slept together in one chamber, in which their beds stood side by side, and every night when they were in them the King locked the door, and bolted it. But in the morning when he unlocked the door, he saw that their shoes were worn out with dancing, and no one could find out how that had come to pass. Then the King caused it to be proclaimed that whosoever could discover where they danced at night, should choose one of them for his wife and be King after his death, but that whosoever came forward and had not discovered it within three days and nights, should have forfeited his life. It was not long before a King’s son presented himself, and offered to undertake the enterprise. He was well received, and in the evening was led into a room adjoining the princesses’ sleeping-chamber. His bed was placed there, and he was to observe where they went and danced, and in order that they might do nothing secretly or go away to some other place, the door of their room was left open.

But the eyelids of the prince grew heavy as lead, and he fell asleep, and when he awoke in the morning, all twelve had been to the dance, for their shoes were standing there with holes in the soles. On the second and third nights it fell out just the same, and then his head was struck off without mercy. Many others came after this and undertook the enterprise, but all forfeited their lives. Now it came to pass that a poor soldier, who had a wound, and could serve no longer, found himself on the road to the town where the King lived. There he met an old woman, who asked him where he was going. “I hardly know myself,” answered he, and added in jest, “I had half a mind to discover where the princesses danced their shoes into holes, and thus become King.” “That is not so difficult,” said the old woman, “you must not drink the wine which will be brought to you at night, and must pretend to be sound asleep.” With that she gave him a little cloak, and said, “If you put on that, you will be invisible, and then you can steal after the twelve.” When the soldier had received this good advice, he went into the thing in earnest, took heart, went to the King, and announced himself as a suitor. He was as well received as the others, and royal garments were put upon him. He was conducted that evening at bed-time into the ante-chamber, and as he was about to go to bed, the eldest came and brought him a cup of wine, but he had tied a sponge under his chin, and let the wine run down into it, without drinking a drop. Then he lay down and when he had lain a while, he began to snore, as if in the deepest sleep. The twelve princesses heard that, and laughed, and the eldest said, “He, too, might as well have saved his life.” With that they got up, opened wardrobes, presses, cupboards, and brought out pretty dresses; dressed themselves before the mirrors, sprang about, and rejoiced at the prospect of the dance. Only the youngest said, “I know not how it is; you are very happy, but I feel very strange; some misfortune is certainly about to befall us.” “Thou art a goose, who art always frightened,” said the eldest. “Hast thou forgotten how many Kings’ sons have already come here in vain? I had hardly any need to give the soldier a sleeping-draught, in any case the clown would not have awakened.” When they were all ready they looked carefully at the soldier, but he had closed his eyes and did not move or stir, so they felt themselves quite secure. The eldest then went to her bed and tapped it; it immediately sank into the earth, and one after the other they descended through the opening, the eldest going first. The soldier, who had watched everything, tarried no longer, put on his little cloak, and went down last with the youngest. Half-way down the steps, he just trod a little on her dress; she was terrified at that, and cried out, “What is that? who is pulling my dress?” “Don’t be so silly!” said the eldest, “you have caught it on a nail.” Then they went all the way down, and when they were at the bottom, they were standing in a wonderfully pretty avenue of trees, all the leaves of which were of silver, and shone and glistened. The soldier thought, “I must carry a token away with me,” and broke off a twig from one of them, on which the tree cracked with a loud report. The youngest cried out again. “Something is wrong, did you hear the crack?” But the eldest said, “It is a gun fired for joy, because we have got rid of our prince so quickly.” After that they came into an avenue where all the leaves were of gold, and lastly into a third where they were of bright diamonds; he broke off a twig from each, which made such a crack each time that the youngest started back in terror, but the eldest still maintained that they were salutes. They went on and came to a great lake whereon stood twelve little boats, and in every boat sat a handsome prince, all of whom were waiting for the twelve, and each took one of them with him, but the soldier seated himself by the youngest. Then her prince said, “I can’t tell why the boat is so much heavier to-day; I shall have to row with all my strength, if I am to get it across.” “What should cause that,” said the youngest, “but the warm weather? I feel very warm too.” On the opposite side of the lake stood a splendid, brightly-lit castle, from whence resounded the joyous music of trumpets and kettle-drums. They rowed over there, entered, and each prince danced with the girl he loved, but the soldier danced with them unseen, and when one of them had a cup of wine in her hand he drank it up, so that the cup was empty when she carried it to her mouth; the youngest was alarmed at this, but the eldest always made her be silent. They danced there till three o’clock in the morning when all the shoes were danced into holes, and they were forced to leave off; the princes rowed them back again over the lake, and this time the soldier seated himself by the eldest. On the shore they took leave of their princes, and promised to return the following night. When they reached the stairs the soldier ran on in front and lay down in his bed, and when the twelve had come up slowly and wearily, he was already snoring so loudly that they could all hear him, and they said, “So far as he is concerned, we are safe.” They took off their beautiful dresses, laid them away, put the worn-out shoes under the bed, and lay down. Next morning the soldier was resolved not to speak, but to watch the wonderful goings on, and again went with them. Then everything was done just as it had been done the first time, and each time they danced until their shoes were worn to pieces. But the third time he took a cup away with him as a token. When the hour had arrived for him to give his answer, he took the three twigs and the cup, and went to the King, but the twelve stood behind the door, and listened for what he was going to say. When the King put the question, “Where have my twelve daughters danced their shoes to pieces in the night?” he answered, “In an underground castle with twelve princes,” and related how it had come to pass, and brought out the tokens. The King then summoned his daughters, and asked them if the soldier had told the truth, and when they saw that they were betrayed, and that falsehood would be of no avail, they were obliged to confess all. Thereupon the King asked which of them he would have to wife? He answered, “I am no longer young, so give me the eldest.” Then the wedding was celebrated on the self-same day, and the kingdom was promised him after the King’s death. But the princes were bewitched for as many days as they had danced nights with the twelve.

134 The Six Servants

In former times there lived an aged Queen who was a sorceress, and her daughter was the most beautiful maiden under the sun. The old woman, however, had no other thought than how to lure mankind to destruction, and when a wooer appeared, she said that whosoever wished to have her daughter, must first perform a task, or die. Many had been dazzled by the daughter’s beauty, and had actually risked this, but they never could accomplish what the old woman enjoined them to do, and then no mercy was shown; they had to kneel down, and their heads were struck off. A certain King’s son who had also heard of the maiden’s beauty, said to his father, “Let me go there, I want to demand her in marriage.” “Never,” answered the King; “if you were to go, it would be going to your death.” On this the son lay down and was sick unto death, and for seven years he lay there, and no physician could heal him. When the father perceived that all hope was over, with a heavy heart he said to him, “Go thither, and try your luck, for I know no other means of curing you.” When the son heard that, he rose from his bed and was well again, and joyfully set out on his way.

And it came to pass that as he was riding across a heath, he saw from afar something like a great heap of hay lying on the ground, and when he drew nearer, he could see that it was the stomach of a man, who had laid himself down there, but the stomach looked like a small mountain. When the fat man saw the traveller, he stood up and said, “If you are in need of any one, take me into your service.” The prince answered, “What can I do with such a great big man?” “Oh,” said the Stout One, “this is nothing, when I stretch myself out well, I am three thousand times fatter.” “If that’s the case,” said the prince, “I can make use of thee, come with me.” So the Stout One followed the prince, and after a while they found another man who was lying on the ground with his ear laid to the turf. “What art thou doing there?” asked the King’s son. “I am listening,” replied the man. “What art thou listening to so attentively?” “I am listening to what is just going on in the world, for nothing escapes my ears; I even hear the grass growing.” “Tell me,” said the prince, “what thou hearest at the court of the old Queen who has the beautiful daughter.” Then he answered, “I hear the whizzing of the sword that is striking off a wooer’s head.” The King’s son said, “I can make use of thee, come with me.” They went onwards, and then saw a pair of feet lying and part of a pair of legs, but could not see the rest of the body. When they had walked on for a great distance, they came to the body, and at last to the head also. “Why,” said the prince, “what a tall rascal thou art!” “Oh,” replied the Tall One, “that is nothing at all yet; when I really stretch out my limbs, I am three thousand times as tall, and taller than the highest mountain on earth. I will gladly enter your service, if you will take me.” “Come with me,” said the prince, “I can make use of thee.” They went onwards and found a man sitting by the road who had bound up his eyes. The prince said to him, “Hast thou weak eyes, that thou canst not look at the light?” “No,” replied the man, “but I must not remove the bandage, for whatsoever I look at with my eyes, splits to pieces, my glance is so powerful. If you can use that, I shall be glad to serve you.” “Come with me,” replied the King’s son, “I can make use of thee.” They journeyed onwards and found a man who was lying in the hot sunshine, trembling and shivering all over his body, so that not a limb was still. “How canst thou shiver when the sun is shining so warm?” said the King’s son. “Alack,” replied the man, “I am of quite a different nature. The hotter it is, the colder I am, and the frost pierces through all my bones; and the colder it is, the hotter I am. In the midst of ice, I cannot endure the heat, nor in the midst of fire, the cold.” “Thou art a strange fellow,” said the prince, “but if thou wilt enter my service, follow me.” They travelled onwards, and saw a man standing who made a long neck and looked about him, and could see over all the mountains. “What art thou looking at so eagerly?” said the King’s son. The man replied, “I have such sharp eyes that I can see into every forest and field, and hill and valley, all over the world.” The prince said, “Come with me if thou wilt, for I am still in want of such an one.”

And now the King’s son and his six servants came to the town where the aged Queen dwelt. He did not tell her who he was, but said, “If you will give me your beautiful daughter, I will perform any task you set me.” The sorceress was delighted to get such a handsome youth as this into her net, and said, “I will set thee three tasks, and if thou art able to perform them all, thou shalt be husband and master of my daughter.” “What is the first to be?” “Thou shalt fetch me my ring which I have dropped into the Red Sea.” So the King’s son went home to his servants and said, “The first task is not easy. A ring is to be got out of the Red Sea. Come, find some way of doing it.” Then the man with the sharp sight said, “I will see where it is lying,” and looked down into the water and said, “It is sticking there, on a pointed stone.” The Tall One carried them thither, and said, “I would soon get it out, if I could only see it.” “Oh, is that all!” cried the Stout One, and lay down and put his mouth to the water, on which all the waves fell into it just as if it had been a whirlpool, and he drank up the whole sea till it was as dry as a meadow. The Tall One stooped down a little, and brought out the ring with his hand. Then the King’s son rejoiced when he had the ring, and took it to the old Queen. She was astonished, and said, “Yes, it is the right ring. Thou hast safely performed the first task, but now comes the second. Dost thou see the meadow in front of my palace? Three hundred fat oxen are feeding there, and these must thou eat, skin, hair, bones, horns and all, and down below in my cellar lie three hundred casks of wine, and these thou must drink up as well, and if one hair of the oxen, or one little drop of the wine is left, thy life will be forfeited to me.” “May I invite no guests to this repast?” inquired the prince, “no dinner is good without some company.” The old woman laughed maliciously, and replied, “Thou mayst invite one for the sake of companionship, but no more.”

The King’s son went to his servants and said to the Stout One, “Thou shalt be my guest to-day, and shalt eat thy fill.” Hereupon the Stout One stretched himself out and ate the three hundred oxen without leaving one single hair, and then he asked if he was to have nothing but his breakfast. He drank the wine straight from the casks without feeling any need of a glass, and he licked the last drop from his finger-nails. When the meal was over, the prince went to the old woman, and told her that the second task also was performed. She wondered at this and said, “No one has ever done so much before, but one task still remains,” and she thought to herself, “Thou shalt not escape me, and wilt not keep thy head on thy shoulders! This night,” said she, “I will bring my daughter to thee in thy chamber, and thou shalt put thine arms round her, but when you are sitting there together, beware of falling asleep. When twelve o’clock is striking, I will come, and if she is then no longer in thine arms, thou art lost.” The prince thought, “The task is easy, I will most certainly keep my eyes open.” Nevertheless he called his servants, told them what the old woman had said, and remarked, “Who knows what treachery lurks behind this? Foresight is a good thing keep watch, and take care that the maiden does not go out of my room again.” When night fell, the old woman came with her daughter, and gave her into the princes’s arms, and then the Tall One wound himself round the two in a circle, and the Stout One placed himself by the door, so that no living creature could enter. There the two sat, and the maiden spake never a word, but the moon shone through the window on her face, and the prince could behold her wondrous beauty. He did nothing but gaze at her, and was filled with love and happiness, and his eyes never felt weary. This lasted until eleven o’clock, when the old woman cast such a spell over all of them that they fell asleep, and at the self-same moment the maiden was carried away.

Then they all slept soundly until a quarter to twelve, when the magic lost its power, and all awoke again. “Oh, misery and misfortune!” cried the prince, “now I am lost!” The faithful servants also began to lament, but the Listener said, “Be quiet, I want to listen.” Then he listened for an instant and said, “She is on a rock, three hundred leagues from hence, bewailing her fate. Thou alone, Tall One, canst help her; if thou wilt stand up, thou wilt be there in a couple of steps.”

“Yes,” answered the Tall One, “but the one with the sharp eyes must go with me, that we may destroy the rock.” Then the Tall One took the one with bandaged eyes on his back, and in the twinkling of an eye they were on the enchanted rock. The Tall One immediately took the bandage from the other’s eyes, and he did but look round, and the rock shivered into a thousand pieces. Then the Tall One took the maiden in his arms, carried her back in a second, then fetched his companion with the same rapidity, and before it struck twelve they were all sitting as they had sat before, quite merrily and happily. When twelve struck, the aged sorceress came stealing in with a malicious face, which seemed to say, “Now he is mine!” for she believed that her daughter was on the rock three hundred leagues off. But when she saw her in the prince’s arms, she was alarmed, and said, “Here is one who knows more than I do!” She dared not make any opposition, and was forced to give him her daughter. But she whispered in her ear, “It is a disgrace to thee to have to obey common people, and that thou art not allowed to choose a husband to thine own liking.”

On this the proud heart of the maiden was filled with anger, and she meditated revenge. Next morning she caused three hundred great bundles of wood to be got together, and said to the prince that though the three tasks were performed, she would still not be his wife until some one was ready to seat himself in the midst of the wood, and bear the fire. She thought that none of his servants would let themselves be burnt for him, and that out of love for her, he himself would place himself upon it, and then she would be free. But the servants said, “Every one of us has done something except the Frosty One, he must set to work,” and they put him in the middle of the pile, and set fire to it. Then the fire began to burn, and burnt for three days until all the wood was consumed, and when the flames had burnt out, the Frosty One was standing amid the ashes, trembling like an aspen leaf, and saying, “I never felt such a frost during the whole course of my life; if it had lasted much longer, I should have been benumbed!”

As no other pretext was to be found, the beautiful maiden was now forced to take the unknown youth as a husband. But when they drove away to church, the old woman said, “I cannot endure the disgrace,” and sent her warriors after them with orders to cut down all who opposed them, and bring back her daughter. But the Listener had sharpened his ears, and heard the secret discourse of the old woman. “What shall we do?” said he to the Stout One. But he knew what to do, and spat out once or twice behind the carriage some of the sea-water which he had drunk, and a great sea arose in which the warriors were caught and drowned. When the sorceress perceived that, she sent her mailed knights; but the Listener heard the rattling of their armour, and undid the bandage from one eye of Sharp-eyes, who looked for a while rather fixedly at the enemy’s troops, on which they all sprang to pieces like glass. Then the youth and the maiden went on their way undisturbed, and when the two had been blessed in church, the six servants took leave, and said to their master, “Your wishes are now satisfied, you need us no longer, we will go our way and seek our fortunes.”