out, her mother said, "Cook, little pot, cook." And it did cook and she
ate till she was satisfied, and then she wanted the pot to stop cooking,
but did not know the word. So it went on cooking and the porridge rose
over the edge, and still it cooked on until the kitchen and whole house
were full, and then the next house, and then the whole street, just as
if it wanted to satisfy the hunger of the whole world, and there was
the greatest distress, but no one knew how to stop it. At last when
only one single house remained, the child came home and just said,
"Stop, little pot," and it stopped and gave up cooking, and whosoever
wished to return to the town had to eat his way back.
104 Wise Folks
ONE day a peasant took his good hazel-stick out of the corner and said
to his wife, "Trina, I am going across country, and shall not return
for three days. If during that time the cattle-dealer should happen to
call and want to buy our three cows, you may strike a bargain at once,
but not unless you can get two hundred thalers for them; nothing less,
do you hear?" "For heaven's sake just go in peace," answered the woman,
"I will manage that." "You, indeed," said the man. "You once fell on
your head when you were a little child, and that affects you even now;
but let me tell you this, if you do anything foolish, I will make your
back black and blue, and not with paint, I assure you, but with the
stick which I have in my hand, and the colouring shall last a whole year,
you may rely on that." And having said that, the man went on his way.
Next morning the cattle-dealer came, and the woman had no need to say many
words to him. When he had seen the cows and heard the price, he said,
"I am quite willing to give that, honestly speaking, they are worth
it. I will take the beasts away with me at once." He unfastened their
chains and drove them out of the byre, but just as he was going out of
the yard-door, the woman clutched him by the sleeve and said, "You must
give me the two hundred thalers now, or I cannot let the cows go." "True,"
answered the man, "but I have forgotten to buckle on my money-belt. Have
no fear, however, you shall have security for my paying. I will take two
cows with me and leave one, and then you will have a good pledge." The
woman saw the force of this, and let the man go away with the cows,
and thought to herself, "How pleased Hans will be when he finds how
cleverly I have managed it!" The peasant came home on the third day as
he had said he would, and at once inquired if the cows were sold? "Yes,
indeed, dear Hans," answered the woman, "and as you said, for two hundred
thalers. They are scarcely worth so much, but the man took them without
making any objection." "Where is the money?" asked the peasant. "Oh, I
have not got the money," replied the woman; "he had happened to forget his
money-belt, but he will soon bring it, and he left good security behind
him." "What kind of security?" asked the man. "One of the three cows,
which he shall not have until he has paid for the other two. I have
managed very cunningly, for I have kept the smallest, which eats the
least." The man was enraged and lifted up his stick, and was just going
to give her the beating he had promised her. Suddenly he let the stick
fail and said, "You are the stupidest goose that ever waddled on God's
earth, but I am sorry for you. I will go out into the highways and wait
for three days to see if I find anyone who is still stupider than you. If
I succeed in doing so, you shall go scot-free, but if I do not find him,
you shall receive your well-deserved reward without any discount."
He went out into the great highways, sat down on a stone, and waited for
what would happen. Then he saw a peasant's waggon coming towards him,
and a woman was standing upright in the middle of it, instead of sitting
on the bundle of straw which was lying beside her, or walking near the
oxen and leading them. The man thought to himself, "That is certainly
one of the kind I am in search of," and jumped up and ran backwards and
forwards in front of the waggon like one who is not very wise. "What do
you want, my friend?" said the woman to him; "I don't know you, where
do you come from?" "I have fallen down from heaven," replied the man,
"and don't know how to get back again, couldn't you drive me up?" "No,"
said the woman, "I don't know the way, but if you come from heaven you can
surely tell me how my husband, who has been there these three years is.
You must have seen him?" "Oh, yes, I have seen him, but all men can't
get on well. He keeps sheep, and the sheep give him a great deal to
do. They run up the mountains and lose their way in the wilderness,
and he has to run after them and drive them together again. His clothes
are all torn to pieces too, and will soon fall off his body. There is
no tailor there, for Saint Peter won't let any of them in, as you know
by the story." "Who would have thought it?" cried the woman, "I tell you
what, I will fetch his Sunday coat which is still hanging at home in the
cupboard, he can wear that and look respectable. You will be so kind as
to take it with you." "That won't do very well," answered the peasant;
"people are not allowed to take clothes into Heaven, they are taken
away from one at the gate." "Then hark you," said the woman, "I sold
my fine wheat yesterday and got a good lot of money for it, I will send
that to him. If you hide the purse in your pocket, no one will know that
you have it." "If you can't manage it any other way," said the peasant,
"I will do you that favor." "Just sit still where you are," said she,
"and I will drive home and fetch the purse, I shall soon be back again. I
do not sit down on the bundle of straw, but stand up in the waggon,
because it makes it lighter for the cattle." She drove her oxen away,
and the peasant thought, "That woman has a perfect talent for folly,
if she really brings the money, my wife may think herself fortunate,
for she will get no beating." It was not long before she came in a great
hurry with the money, and with her own hands put it in his pocket. Before
she went away, she thanked him again a thousand times for his courtesy.
When the woman got home again, she found her son who had come in from
the field. She told him what unlooked-for things had befallen her,
and then added, "I am truly delighted at having found an opportunity
of sending something to my poor husband. Who would ever have imagined
that he could be suffering for want of anything up in heaven?" The son
was full of astonishment. "Mother," said he, "it is not every day that
a man comes from Heaven in this way, I will go out immediately, and see
if he is still to be found; he must tell me what it is like up there,
and how the work is done." He saddled the horse and rode off with all
speed. He found the peasant who was sitting under a willow-tree, and was
just going to count the money in the purse. "Have you seen the man who
has fallen down from Heaven?" cried the youth to him. "Yes," answered
the peasant, "he has set out on his way back there, and has gone up
that hill, from whence it will be rather nearer; you could still catch
him up, if you were to ride fast." "Alas," said the youth, "I have been
doing tiring work all day, and the ride here has completely worn me out;
you know the man, be so kind as to get on my horse, and go and persuade
him to come here." "Aha!" thought the peasant, "here is another who has
no wick in his lamp!" "Why should I not do you this favor?" said he,
and mounted the horse and rode off in a quick trot. The youth remained
sitting there till night fell, but the peasant never came back. "The
man from Heaven must certainly have been in a great hurry, and would
not turn back," thought he, "and the peasant has no doubt given him the
horse to take to my father." He went home and told his mother what had
happened, and that he had sent his father the horse so that he might not
have to be always running about. "Thou hast done well," answered she,
"thy legs are younger than his, and thou canst go on foot."
When the peasant got home, he put the horse in the stable beside the
cow which he had as a pledge, and then went to his wife and said,
"Trina, as your luck would have it, I have found two who are still
sillier fools than you; this time you escape without a beating, I will
store it up for another occasion." Then he lighted his pipe, sat down
in his grandfather's chair, and said, "It was a good stroke of business
to get a sleek horse and a great purse full of money into the bargain,
for two lean cows. If stupidity always brought in as much as that,
I would be quite willing to hold it in honor." So thought the peasant,
but you no doubt prefer the simple folks.
105 Stories about Snakes
First Story.
There was once a little child whose mother gave her every afternoon a
small bowl of milk and bread, and the child seated herself in the yard
with it. When she began to eat however, a snake came creeping out of a
crevice in the wall, dipped its little head in the dish, and ate with
her. The child had pleasure in this, and when she was sitting there with
her little dish and the snake did not come at once, she cried,
"Snake, snake, come swiftly
Hither come, thou tiny thing,
Thou shalt have thy crumbs of bread,
Thou shalt refresh thyself with milk."
Then the snake came in haste, and enjoyed its food. Moreover it showed
gratitude, for it brought the child all kinds of pretty things from its
hidden treasures, bright stones, pearls, and golden playthings. The snake,
however, only drank the milk, and left the bread-crumbs alone. Then one
day the child took its little spoon and struck the snake gently on its
head with it, and said, "Eat the bread-crumbs as well, little thing." The
mother, who was standing in the kitchen, heard the child talking to
someone, and when she saw that she was striking a snake with her spoon,
ran out with a log of wood, and killed the good little creature.
From that time forth, a change came over the child. As long as the snake
had eaten with her, she had grown tall and strong, but now she lost her
pretty rosy cheeks and wasted away. It was not long before the funeral
bird began to cry in the night, and the redbreast to collect little
branches and leaves for a funeral garland, and soon afterwards the child
lay on her bier.
Second Story.
An orphan child was sitting on the town walls spinning, when she saw
a snake coming out of a hole low down in the wall. Swiftly she spread
out beside this one of the blue silk handkerchiefs which snakes have
such a strong liking for, and which are the only things they will
creep on. As soon as the snake saw it, it went back, then returned,
bringing with it a small golden crown, laid it on the handkerchief,
and then went away again. The girl took up the crown, it glittered and
was of delicate golden filagree work. It was not long before the snake
came back for the second time, but when it no longer saw the crown, it
crept up to the wall, and in its grief smote its little head against it
as long as it had strength to do so, until at last it lay there dead. If
the girl had but left the crown where it was, the snake would certainly
have brought still more of its treasures out of the hole.
Third Story.
A snake cries, "Huhu, huhu." A child says, "Come out." The snake comes
out, then the child inquires about her little sister: "Hast thou not seen
little Red-stockings?" The snake says, "No." "Neither have I." "Then I
am like you. Huhu, huhu, huhu."
106 The Poor Miller's Boy and the Cat
In a certain mill lived an old miller who had neither wife nor child,
and three apprentices served under him. As they had been with him
several years, he one day said to them, "I am old, and want to sit in
the chimney-corner, go out, and whichsoever of you brings me the best
horse home, to him will I give the mill, and in return for it he shall
take care of me till my death." The third of the boys was, however,
the drudge, who was looked on as foolish by the others; they begrudged
the mill to him, and afterwards he would not have it. Then all three
went out together, and when they came to the village, the two said to
stupid Hans, "Thou mayst just as well stay here, as long as thou livest
thou wilt never get a horse." Hans, however, went with them, and when
it was night they came to a cave in which they lay down to sleep. The
two sharp ones waited until Hans had fallen asleep, then they got up,
and went away leaving him where he was. And they thought they had done
a very clever thing, but it was certain to turn out ill for them. When
the sun arose, and Hans woke up, he was lying in a deep cavern. He looked
around on every side and exclaimed, "Oh, heavens, where am I?" Then he
got up and clambered out of the cave, went into the forest, and thought,
"Here I am quite alone and deserted, how shall I obtain a horse now?"
Whilst he was thus walking full of thought, he met a small tabby-cat
which said quite kindly, "Hans, where are you going?" "Alas, thou canst
not help me." "I well know your desire," said the cat. "You wish to have a
beautiful horse. Come with me, and be my faithful servant for seven years
long, and then I will give you one more beautiful than any you have ever
seen in your whole life." "Well, this is a wonderful cat!" thought Hans,
"but I am determined to see if she is telling the truth." So she took him
with her into her enchanted castle, where there were nothing but cats
who were her servants. They leapt nimbly upstairs and downstairs, and
were merry and happy. In the evening when they sat down to dinner, three
of them had to make music. One played the bassoon, the other the fiddle,
and the third put the trumpet to his lips, and blew out his cheeks as much
as he possibly could. When they had dined, the table was carried away,
and the cat said, "Now, Hans, come and dance with me." "No," said he,
"I won't dance with a pussy cat. I have never done that yet." "Then
take him to bed," said she to the cats. So one of them lighted him to
his bed-room, one pulled his shoes off, one his stockings, and at last
one of them blew out the candle. Next morning they returned and helped
him out of bed, one put his stockings on for him, one tied his garters,
one brought his shoes, one washed him, and one dried his face with
her tail. "That feels very soft!" said Hans. He, however, had to serve
the cat, and chop some wood every day, and to do that, he had an axe of
silver, and the wedge and saw were of silver and the mallet of copper. So
he chopped the wood small; stayed there in the house and had good meat
and drink, but never saw anyone but the tabby-cat and her servants. Once
she said to him, "Go and mow my meadow, and dry the grass," and gave him
a scythe of silver, and a whetstone of gold, but bade him deliver them
up again carefully. So Hans went thither, and did what he was bidden,
and when he had finished the work, he carried the scythe, whetstone,
and hay to the house, and asked if it was not yet time for her to give
him his reward. "No," said the cat, "you must first do something more
for me of the same kind. There is timber of silver, carpenter's axe,
square, and everything that is needful, all of silver, with these build
me a small house." Then Hans built the small house, and said that he
had now done everything, and still he had no horse. Nevertheless the
seven years had gone by with him as if they were six months. The cat
asked him if he would like to see her horses? "Yes," said Hans. Then she
opened the door of the small house, and when she had opened it, there
stood twelve horses, such horses, so bright and shining, that his heart
rejoiced at the sight of them. And now she gave him to eat and drink,
and said, "Go home, I will not give thee thy horse away with thee; but
in three days' time I will follow thee and bring it." So Hans set out,
and she showed him the way to the mill. She had, however, never once
given him a new coat, and he had been obliged to keep on his dirty old
smock-frock, which he had brought with him, and which during the seven
years had everywhere become too small for him. When he reached home,
the two other apprentices were there again as well, and each of them
certainly had brought a horse with him, but one of them was a blind one,
and the other lame. They asked Hans where his horse was. "It will follow
me in three days' time." Then they laughed and said, "Indeed, stupid Hans,
where wilt thou get a horse?" "It will be a fine one!" Hans went into
the parlour, but the miller said he should not sit down to table, for
he was so ragged and torn, that they would all be ashamed of him if any
one came in. So they gave him a mouthful of food outside, and at night,
when they went to rest, the two others would not let him have a bed,
and at last he was forced to creep into the goose-house, and lie down
on a little hard straw. In the morning when he awoke, the three days
had passed, and a coach came with six horses and they shone so bright
that it was delightful to see them! and a servant brought a seventh as
well, which was for the poor miller's boy. And a magnificent princess
alighted from the coach and went into the mill, and this princess was
the little tabby-cat whom poor Hans had served for seven years. She asked
the miller where the miller's boy and drudge was? Then the miller said,
"We cannot have him here in the mill, for he is so ragged; he is lying
in the goose-house." Then the King's daughter said that they were to
bring him immediately. So they brought him out, and he had to hold his
little smock-frock together to cover himself. The servants unpacked
splendid garments, and washed him and dressed him, and when that was
done, no King could have looked more handsome. Then the maiden desired
to see the horses which the other apprentices had brought home with
them, and one of them was blind and the other lame. So she ordered the
servant to bring the seventh horse, and when the miller saw it, he said
that such a horse as that had never yet entered his yard. "And that is
for the third miller's boy," said she. "Then he must have the mill,"
said the miller, but the King's daughter said that the horse was there,
and that he was to keep his mill as well, and took her faithful Hans
and set him in the coach, and drove away with him. They first drove to
the little house which he had built with the silver tools, and behold
it was a great castle, and everything inside it was of silver and gold;
and then she married him, and he was rich, so rich that he had enough
for all the rest of his life. After this, let no one ever say that anyone
who is silly can never become a person of importance.
107 The Two Travellers
Hill and vale do not come together, but the children of men do, good and
bad. In this way a shoemaker and a tailor once met with each other in
their travels. The tailor was a handsome little fellow who was always
merry and full of enjoyment. He saw the shoemaker coming towards him
from the other side, and as he observed by his bag what kind of a trade
he plied, he sang a little mocking song to him,
"Sew me the seam,
Draw me the thread,
Spread it over with pitch,
Knock the nail on the head."
The shoemaker, however, could not endure a joke; he pulled a face as if
he had drunk vinegar, and made a gesture as if he were about to seize
the tailor by the throat. But the little fellow began to laugh, reached
him his bottle, and said, "No harm was meant, take a drink, and swallow
your anger down." The shoemaker took a very hearty drink, and the storm
on his face began to clear away. He gave the bottle back to the tailor,
and said, "I spoke civilly to you; one speaks well after much drinking,
but not after much thirst. Shall we travel together?" "All right,"
answered the tailor, "if only it suits you to go into a big town where
there is no lack of work." "That is just where I want to go," answered the
shoemaker. "In a small nest there is nothing to earn, and in the country,
people like to go barefoot." They travelled therefore onwards together,
and always set one foot before the other like a weasel in the snow.
Both of them had time enough, but little to bite and to break. When they
reached a town they went about and paid their respects to the tradesmen,
and because the tailor looked so lively and merry, and had such pretty
red cheeks, every one gave him work willingly, and when luck was good
the master's daughters gave him a kiss beneath the porch, as well. When
he again fell in with the shoemaker, the tailor had always the most in
his bundle. The ill-tempered shoemaker made a wry face, and thought,
"The greater the rascal the more the luck," but the tailor began to laugh
and to sing, and shared all he got with his comrade. If a couple of pence
jingled in his pockets, he ordered good cheer, and thumped the table in
his joy till the glasses danced, and it was lightly come, lightly go,
with him.
When they had travelled for some time, they came to a great forest
through which passed the road to the capital. Two foot-paths, however,
led through it, one of which was a seven days' journey, and the other only
two, but neither of the travellers knew which way was the short one. They
seated themselves beneath an oak-tree, and took counsel together how they
should forecast, and for how many days they should provide themselves
with bread. The shoemaker said, "One must look before one leaps, I will
take with me bread for a week." "What!" said the tailor, "drag bread for
seven days on one's back like a beast of burden, and not be able to look
about. I shall trust in God, and not trouble myself about anything! The
money I have in my pocket is as good in summer as in winter, but in hot
weather bread gets dry, and mouldy into the bargain; even my coat does
not go as far as it might. Besides, why should we not find the right
way? Bread for two days, and that's enough." Each, therefore, bought
his own bread, and then they tried their luck in the forest.
It was as quiet there as in a church. No wind stirred, no brook murmured,
no bird sang, and through the thickly-leaved branches no sunbeam forced
its way. The shoemaker spoke never a word, the heavy bread weighed
down his back until the perspiration streamed down his cross and gloomy
face. The tailor, however, was quite merry, he jumped about, whistled
on a leaf, or sang a song, and thought to himself, "God in heaven must
be pleased to see me so happy."
This lasted two days, but on the third the forest would not come to
an end, and the tailor had eaten up all his bread, so after all his
heart sank down a yard deeper. In the meantime he did not lose courage,
but relied on God and on his luck. On the third day he lay down in the
evening hungry under a tree, and rose again next morning hungry still;
so also passed the fourth day, and when the shoemaker seated himself on a
fallen tree and devoured his dinner, the tailor was only a looker-on. If
he begged for a little piece of bread the other laughed mockingly, and
said, "Thou hast always been so merry, now thou canst try for once what
it is to be sad: the birds which sing too early in the morning are struck
by the hawk in the evening," In short he was pitiless. But on the fifth
morning the poor tailor could no longer stand up, and was hardly able to
utter one word for weakness; his cheeks were white, and his eyes red. Then
the shoemaker said to him, "I will give thee a bit of bread to-day, but
in return for it, I will put out thy right eye." The unhappy tailor who
still wished to save his life, could not do it in any other way; he wept
once more with both eyes, and then held them out, and the shoemaker,
who had a heart of stone, put out his right eye with a sharp knife.
The tailor called to remembrance what his mother had formerly said to
him when he had been eating secretly in the pantry. "Eat what one can,
and suffer what one must." When he had consumed his dearly-bought bread,
he got on his legs again, forgot his misery and comforted himself with
the thought that he could always see enough with one eye. But on the sixth
day, hunger made itself felt again, and gnawed him almost to the heart. In
the evening he fell down by a tree, and on the seventh morning he could
not raise himself up for faintness, and death was close at hand. Then
said the shoemaker, "I will show mercy and give thee bread once more, but
thou shalt not have it for nothing, I shall put out thy other eye for it."
And now the tailor felt how thoughtless his life had been, prayed to God
for forgiveness, and said, "Do what thou wilt, I will bear what I must,