sure to come back to-morrow." The wood-cutter, however, arose before dawn
to go into the forest, and requested that the second daughter should
take him his dinner that day. "I will take a bag with lentils," said
he; "the seeds are larger than millet, the girl will see them better,
and can't lose her way." At dinner-time, therefore, the girl took out
the food, but the lentils had disappeared. The birds of the forest had
picked them up as they had done the day before, and had left none. The
girl wandered about in the forest until night, and then she too reached
the house of the old man, was told to go in, and begged for food and a
bed. The man with the white beard again asked the animals,
"Pretty little hen, Pretty little cock, And pretty brindled cow, What
say ye to that?"
The animals again replied "Duks," and everything happened just as it
had happened the day before. The girl cooked a good meal, ate and drank
with the old man, and did not concern herself about the animals, and
when she inquired about her bed they answered,
"Thou hast eaten with him, Thou hast drunk with him, Thou hast had no
thought for us, To find out for thyself where thou canst pass the night."
When she was asleep the old man came, looked at her, shook his head,
and let her down into the cellar.
On the third morning the wood-cutter said to his wife, "Send our youngest
child out with my dinner to-day, she has always been good and obedient,
and will stay in the right path, and not run about after every wild
humble-bee, as her sisters did." The mother did not want to do it,
and said, "Am I to lose my dearest child, as well?"
"Have no fear," he replied, "the girl will not go astray; she is
too prudent and sensible; besides I will take some peas with me, and
strew them about. They are still larger than lentils, and will show
her the way." But when the girl went out with her basket on her arm,
the wood-pigeons had already got all the peas in their crops, and she
did not know which way she was to turn. She was full of sorrow and
never ceased to think how hungry her father would be, and how her good
mother would grieve, if she did not go home. At length when it grew dark,
she saw the light and came to the house in the forest. She begged quite
prettily to be allowed to spend the night there, and the man with the
white beard once more asked his animals,
"Pretty little hen, Pretty little cock, And beautiful brindled cow,
What say ye to that?"
"Duks," said they. Then the girl went to the stove where the animals were
lying, and petted the cock and hen, and stroked their smooth feathers
with her hand, and caressed the brindled cow between her horns, and when,
in obedience to the old man's orders, she had made ready some good soup,
and the bowl was placed upon the table, she said, "Am I to eat as much as
I want, and the good animals to have nothing? Outside is food in plenty,
I will look after them first." So she went and brought some barley and
stewed it for the cock and hen, and a whole armful of sweet-smelling
hay for the cow. "I hope you will like it, dear animals," said she,
"and you shall have a refreshing draught in case you are thirsty." Then
she fetched in a bucketful of water, and the cock and hen jumped on
to the edge of it and dipped their beaks in, and then held up their
heads as the birds do when they drink, and the brindled cow also took a
hearty draught. When the animals were fed, the girl seated herself at the
table by the old man, and ate what he had left. It was not long before
the cock and the hen began to thrust their heads beneath their wings,
and the eyes of the cow likewise began to blink. Then said the girl,
"Ought we not to go to bed?"
"Pretty little hen, Pretty little cock, And pretty brindled cow, What
say ye to that?"
The animals answered "Duks,"
"Thou hast eaten with us, Thou hast drunk with us, Thou hast had kind
thought for all of us, We wish thee good-night."
Then the maiden went upstairs, shook the feather-beds, and laid clean
sheets on them, and when she had done it the old man came and lay down
on one of the beds, and his white beard reached down to his feet. The
girl lay down on the other, said her prayers, and fell asleep.
She slept quietly till midnight, and then there was such a noise in the
house that she awoke. There was a sound of cracking and splitting in every
corner, and the doors sprang open, and beat against the walls. The beams
groaned as if they were being torn out of their joints, it seemed as if
the staircase were falling down, and at length there was a crash as if
the entire roof had fallen in. As, however, all grew quiet once more, and
the girl was not hurt, she stayed quietly lying where she was, and fell
asleep again. But when she woke up in the morning with the brilliancy of
the sunshine, what did her eyes behold? She was lying in a vast hall,
and everything around her shone with royal splendor; on the walls,
golden flowers grew up on a ground of green silk, the bed was of ivory,
and the canopy of red velvet, and on a chair close by, was a pair of
shoes embroidered with pearls. The girl believed that she was in a dream,
but three richly clad attendants came in, and asked what orders she would
like to give? "If you will go," she replied, "I will get up at once and
make ready some soup for the old man, and then I will feed the pretty
little hen, and the cock, and the beautiful brindled cow." She thought
the old man was up already, and looked round at his bed; he, however,
was not lying in it, but a stranger. And while she was looking at him,
and becoming aware that he was young and handsome, he awoke, sat up in
bed, and said, "I am a King's son, and was bewitched by a wicked witch,
and made to live in this forest, as an old gray-haired man; no one was
allowed to be with me but my three attendants in the form of a cock,
a hen, and a brindled cow. The spell was not to be broken until a girl
came to us whose heart was so good that she showed herself full of love,
not only towards mankind, but towards animals - and that thou hast done,
and by thee at midnight we were set free, and the old hut in the forest
was changed back again into my royal palace." And when they had arisen,
the King's son ordered the three attendants to set out and fetch the
father and mother of the girl to the marriage feast. "But where are my
two sisters?" inquired the maiden. "I have locked them in the cellar,
and to-morrow they shall be led into the forest, and shall live as
servants to a charcoal-burner, until they have grown kinder, and do not
leave poor animals to suffer hunger."
170 Sharing Joy and Sorrow
There was once a tailor, who was a quarrelsome fellow, and his wife,
who was good, industrious, and pious, never could please him. Whatever
she did, he was not satisfied, but grumbled and scolded, and knocked
her about and beat her. As the authorities at last heard of it, they had
him summoned, and put in prison in order to make him better. He was kept
for a while on bread and water, and then set free again. He was forced,
however, to promise not to beat his wife any more, but to live with her
in peace, and share joy and sorrow with her, as married people ought to
do. All went on well for a time, but then he fell into his old ways, and
was surly and quarrelsome. And because he dared not beat her, he would
seize her by the hair and tear it out. The woman escaped from him, and
sprang out into the yard, but he ran after her with his yard-measure and
scissors, and chased her about, and threw the yard-measure and scissors
at her, and whatever else came his way. When he hit her he laughed,
and when he missed her, he stormed and swore. This went on so long
that the neighbors came to the wife's assistance. The tailor was again
summoned before the magistrates, and reminded of his promise. "Dear
gentlemen," said he, "I have kept my word, I have not beaten her, but
have shared joy and sorrow with her." "How can that be," said the judge,
"when she continually brings such heavy complaints against you?" "I have
not beaten her, but just because she looked so strange I wanted to comb
her hair with my hand; she, however, got away from me, and left me quite
spitefully. Then I hurried after her, and in order to bring her back to
her duty, I threw at her as a well-meant admonition whatever came readily
to hand. I have shared joy and sorrow with her also, for whenever I hit
her I was full of joy, and she of sorrow, and if I missed her, then she
was joyful, and I sorry." The judges were not satisfied with this answer,
but gave him the reward he deserved.
171 The Willow-Wren
In former days every sound still had its meaning and application. When
the smith's hammer resounded, it cried, "Strike away! strike away." When
the carpenter's plane grated, it said, "Here goes! here goes." If the
mill wheel began to clack, it said, "Help, Lord God! help, Lord God!" And
if the miller was a cheat and happened to leave the mill, it spoke high
German, and first asked slowly, "Who is there? Who is there?" and then
answered quickly, "The miller! the miller!" and at last quite in a hurry,
"He steals bravely! he steals bravely! three pecks in a bushel."
At this time the birds also had their own language which every one
understood; now it only sounds like chirping, screeching, and whistling,
and to some like music without words. It came into the bird's mind,
however, that they would no longer be without a ruler, and would choose
one of themselves to be their King. One alone amongst them, the green
plover, was opposed to this. He had lived free, and would die free, and
anxiously flying hither and thither, he cried, "Where shall I go? where
shall I go?" He retired into a solitary and unfrequented marsh, and
showed himself no more among his fellows.
The birds now wished to discuss the matter, and on a fine May morning they
all gathered together from the woods and fields: eagles and chaffinches,
owls and crows, larks and sparrows, how can I name them all? Even the
cuckoo came, and the hoopoe, his clerk, who is so called because he is
always heard a few days before him, and a very small bird which as yet
had no name, mingled with the band. The hen, which by some accident
had heard nothing of the whole matter, was astonished at the great
assemblage. "What, what, what is going to be done?" she cackled; but the
cock calmed his beloved hen, and said, "Only rich people," and told her
what they had on hand. It was decided, however, that the one who could
fly the highest should be King. A tree-frog which was sitting among the
bushes, when he heard that, cried a warning, "No, no, no! no!" because he
thought that many tears would be shed because of this; but the crow said,
"Caw, caw," and that all would pass off peaceably. It was now determined
that on this fine morning they should at once begin to ascend, so that
hereafter no one should be able to say, "I could easily have flown much
higher, but the evening came on, and I could do no more." On a given
signal, therefore, the whole troop rose up in the air. The dust ascended
from the land, and there was tremendous fluttering and whirring and
beating of wings, and it looked as if a black cloud was rising up. The
little birds were, however, soon left behind. They could go no farther,
and fell back to the ground. The larger birds held out longer, but none
could equal the eagle, who mounted so high that he could have picked the
eyes out of the sun. And when he saw that the others could not get up
to him, he thought, "Why shouldst thou fly still higher, thou art the
King?" and began to let himself down again. The birds beneath him at
once cried to him. "Thou must be our King, no one has flown so high as
thou." "Except me," screamed the little fellow without a name, who had
crept into the breast-feathers of the eagle. And as he was not at all
tired, he rose up and mounted so high that he reached heaven itself. When,
however, he had gone as far as this, he folded his wings together,
and called down with clear and penetrating voice, "I am King! I am King."
"Thou, our King?" cried the birds angrily. "Thou hast compassed it by
trick and cunning!" So they made another condition. He should be King
who could go down lowest in the ground. How the goose did flap about with
its broad breast when it was once more on the land! How quickly the cock
scratched a hole! The duck came off the worst of all, for she leapt into
a ditch, but sprained her legs, and waddled away to a neighboring pond,
crying, "Cheating, cheating!" The little bird without a name, however,
sought out a mouse-hole, slipped down into it, and cried out of it with
his small voice, "I am King! I am King!"
"Thou our King!" cried the birds still more angrily. "Dost thou think
thy cunning shall prevail?" They determined to keep him a prisoner in
the hole and starve him out. The owl was placed as sentinel in front
of it, and was not to let the rascal out if she had any value for her
life. When evening was come all the birds were feeling very tired after
exerting their wings so much, so they went to bed with their wives and
children. The owl alone remained standing by the mouse-hole, gazing
steadfastly into it with her great eyes. In the meantime she, too, had
grown tired and thought to herself, "You might certainly shut one eye,
you will still watch with the other, and the little miscreant shall not
come out of his hole." So she shut one eye, and with the other looked
straight at the mouse-hole. The little fellow put his head out and
peeped, and wanted to slip away, but the owl came forward immediately,
and he drew his head back again. Then the owl opened the one eye again,
and shut the other, intending to shut them in turn all through the night.
But when she next shut the one eye, she forgot to open the other, and
as soon as both her eyes were shut she fell asleep. The little fellow
soon observed that, and slipped away.
From that day forth, the owl has never dared to show herself by daylight,
for if she does the other birds chase her and pluck her feathers out. She
only flies out by night, but hates and pursues mice because they make
such ugly holes. The little bird, too, is very unwilling to let himself be
seen, because he is afraid it will cost him his life if he is caught. He
steals about in the hedges, and when he is quite safe, he sometimes cries,
"I am King," and for this reason, the other birds call him in mockery,
'King of the hedges' (Zaunkönig). No one, however, was so happy as
the lark at not having to obey the little King. As soon as the sun
appears, she ascends high in the air and cries, "Ah, how beautiful that
is! beautiful that is! beautiful, beautiful! ah, how beautiful that is!"
172 The Sole
The fishes had for a long time been discontented because no order
prevailed in their kingdom. None of them turned aside for the others,
but all swam to the right or the left as they fancied, or darted between
those who wanted to stay together, or got into their way; and a strong
one gave a weak one a blow with its tail, which drove it away, or else
swallowed it up without more ado. "How delightful it would be," said they,
"if we had a king who enforced law and justice among us!" and they met
together to choose for their ruler, the one who could cleave through
the water most quickly, and give help to the weak ones.
They placed themselves in rank and file by the shore, and the pike gave
the signal with his tail, on which they all started. Like an arrow, the
pike darted away, and with him the herring, the gudgeon, the perch, the
carp, and all the rest of them. Even the sole swam with them, and hoped
to reach the winning-place. All at once, the cry was heard, "The herring
is first!" "Who is first?" screamed angrily the flat envious sole, who
had been left far behind, "who is first?" "The herring! The herring,"
was the answer. "The naked herring?" cried the jealous creature, "the
naked herring?" Since that time the sole's mouth has been at one side
for a punishment.
173 The Bittern and the Hoopoe
"Where do you like best to feed your flocks?" said a man to an old
cow-herd. "Here, sir, where the grass is neither too rich nor too poor, or
else it is no use." "Why not?" asked the man. "Do you hear that melancholy
cry from the meadow there?" answered the shepherd, "that is the bittern;
he was once a shepherd, and so was the hoopoe also, - I will tell you
the story. The bittern pastured his flocks on rich green meadows where
flowers grew in abundance, so his cows became wild and unmanageable. The
hoopoe drove his cattle on to high barren hills, where the wind plays
with the sand, and his cows became thin, and got no strength. When it
was evening, and the shepherds wanted to drive their cows homewards,
the bittern could not get his together again; they were too high-
spirited, and ran away from him. He called, "Come, cows, come," but it
was of no use; they took no notice of his calling. The hoopoe, however,
could not even get his cows up on their legs, so faint and weak had they
become. "Up, up, up," screamed he, but it was in vain, they remained
lying on the sand. That is the way when one has no moderation. And to
this day, though they have no flocks now to watch, the bittern cries,
"Come, cows, come," and the hoopoe, "Up, up, up."
174 The Owl
Two or three hundred years ago, when people were far from being so
crafty and cunning as they are now-a-day, an extraordinary event took
place in a little town. By some mischance one of the great owls, called
horned owls, had come from the neighboring woods into the barn of one
of the townsfolk in the night-time, and when day broke did not dare
to venture forth again from her retreat, for fear of the other birds,
which raised a terrible outcry whenever she appeared. In the morning
when the man-servant went into the barn to fetch some straw, he was
so mightily alarmed at the sight of the owl sitting there in a corner,
that he ran away and announced to his master that a monster, the like
of which he had never set eyes on in his life, and which could devour a
man without the slightest difficulty, was sitting in the barn, rolling
its eyes about in its head. "I know you already," said the master,
"you have courage enough to chase a blackbird about the fields, but
when you see a dead hen lying, you have to get a stick before you go
near it. I must go and see for myself what kind of a monster it is,"
added the master, and went quite boldly into the granary and looked round
him. When, however, he saw the strange grim creature with his own eyes,
he was no less terrified than the servant had been. With two bounds he
sprang out, ran to his neighbours, and begged them imploringly to lend
him assistance against an unknown and dangerous beast, or else the whole
town might be in danger if it were to break loose out of the barn, where
it was shut up. A great noise and clamour arose in all the streets, the
townsmen came armed with spears, hay-forks, scythes, and axes, as if they
were going out against an enemy; finally, the senators appeared with the
burgomaster at their head. When they had drawn up in the market-place,
they marched to the barn, and surrounded it on all sides. Thereupon one
of the most courageous of them stepped forth and entered with his spear
lowered, but came running out immediately afterwards with a shriek and as
pale as death, and could not utter a single word. Yet two others ventured
in, but they fared no better. At last one stepped forth; a great strong
man who was famous for his warlike deeds, and said, "You will not drive
away the monster by merely looking at him; we must be in earnest here,
but I see that you have all tuned into women, and not one of you dares
to encounter the animal." He ordered them to give him some armour, had
a sword and spear brought, and armed himself. All praised his courage,
though many feared for his life. The two barn-doors were opened, and they
saw the owl, which in the meantime had perched herself on the middle of a
great cross-beam. He had a ladder brought, and when he raised it, and made
ready to climb up, they all cried out to him that he was to bear himself
bravely, and commended him to St. George, who slew the dragon. When he had
just got to the top, and the owl perceived that he had designs on her,
and was also bewildered by the crowd and the shouting, and knew not how
to escape, she rolled her eyes, ruffled her feathers, flapped her wings,
snapped her beak, and cried, "Tuwhit, tuwhoo," in a harsh voice. "Strike
home! strike home!" screamed the crowd outside to the valiant hero. "Any
one who was standing where I am standing," answered he, "would not cry,
strike home!" He certainly did plant his foot one rung higher on the
ladder, but then he began to tremble, and half-fainting, went back again.
And now there was no one left who dared to put himself in such
danger. "The monster," said they, "has poisoned and mortally wounded
the very strongest man among us, by snapping at him and just breathing
on him! Are we, too, to risk our lives?" They took counsel as to what
they ought to do to prevent the whole town being destroyed. For a long
time everything seemed to be of no use, but at length the burgomaster
found an expedient. "My opinion," said he, "is that we ought, out of
the common purse, to pay for this barn, and whatsoever corn, straw,
or hay it contains, and thus indemnify the owner, and then burn down
the whole building, and the terrible beast with it. Thus no one will
have to endanger his life. This is no time for thinking of expense, and
niggardliness would be ill applied." All agreed with him. So they set
fire to the barn at all four corners, and with it the owl was miserably
burnt. Let any one who will not believe it, go thither and inquire
for himself.
175 The Moon
In days gone by there was a land where the nights were always dark,
and the sky spread over it like a black cloth, for there the moon never
rose, and no star shone in the obscurity. At the creation of the world,
the light at night had been sufficient. Three young fellows once went
out of this country on a travelling expedition, and arrived in another
kingdom, where, in the evening when the sun had disappeared behind the
mountains, a shining globe was placed on an oak-tree, which shed a soft
light far and wide. By means of this, everything could very well be seen
and distinguished, even though it was not so brilliant as the sun. The
travellers stopped and asked a countryman who was driving past with his
cart, what kind of a light that was. "That is the moon," answered he; "our
mayor bought it for three thalers, and fastened it to the oak-tree. He
has to pour oil into it daily, and to keep it clean, so that it may
always burn clearly. He receives a thaler a week from us for doing it."
When the countryman had driven away, one of them said, "We could make
some use of this lamp, we have an oak-tree at home, which is just as
big as this, and we could hang it on that. What a pleasure it would be
not to have to feel about at night in the darkness!" "I'll tell you what
we'll do," said the second; "we will fetch a cart and horses and carry
away the moon. The people here may buy themselves another." "I'm a good
climber," said the third, "I will bring it down." The fourth brought a
cart and horses, and the third climbed the tree, bored a hole in the moon,
passed a rope through it, and let it down. When the shining ball lay in
the cart, they covered it over with a cloth, that no one might observe
the theft. They conveyed it safely into their own country, and placed it
on a high oak. Old and young rejoiced, when the new lamp let its light
shine over the whole land, and bed-rooms and sitting-rooms were filled
with it. The dwarfs came forth from their caves in the rocks, and the
tiny elves in their little red coats danced in rings on the meadows.
The four took care that the moon was provided with oil, cleaned the wick,
and received their weekly thaler, but they became old men, and when one
of them grew ill, and saw that he was about to die, he appointed that
one quarter of the moon, should, as his property, be laid in the grave
with him. When he died, the mayor climbed up the tree, and cut off a
quarter with the hedge-shears, and this was placed in his coffin. The
light of the moon decreased, but still not visibly. When the second died,
the second quarter was buried with him, and the light diminished. It
grew weaker still after the death of the third, who likewise took his
part of it away with him; and when the fourth was borne to his grave,