"And thou, my dearest child, how much dost thou love me?" "I do not know,
and can compare my love with nothing." But her father insisted that she
should name something. So she said at last, "The best food does not please
me without salt, therefore I love my father like salt." When the King
heard that, he fell into a passion, and said, "If thou lovest me like
salt, thy love shall also be repaid thee with salt." Then he divided the
kingdom between the two elder, but caused a sack of salt to be bound on
the back of the youngest, and two servants had to lead her forth into
the wild forest. We all begged and prayed for her, said the Queen,
"but the King's anger was not to be appeased. How she cried when she
had to leave us! The whole road was strewn with the pearls which flowed
from her eyes. The King soon afterwards repented of his great severity,
and had the whole forest searched for the poor child, but no one could
find her. When I think that the wild beasts have devoured her, I know
not how to contain myself for sorrow; many a time I console myself with
the hope that she is still alive, and may have hidden herself in a cave,
or has found shelter with compassionate people. But picture to yourself,
when I opened your little emerald book, a pearl lay therein, of exactly
the same kind as those which used to fall from my daughter's eyes; and
then you can also imagine how the sight of it stirred my heart. You
must tell me how you came by that pearl." The count told her that he
had received it from the old woman in the forest, who had appeared very
strange to him, and must be a witch, but he had neither seen nor hear
anything of the Queen's child. The King and the Queen resolved to seek
out the old woman. They thought that there where the pearl had been,
they would obtain news of their daughter.

The old woman was sitting in that lonely place at her spinning-wheel,
spinning. It was already dusk, and a log which was burning on the hearth
gave a scanty light. All at once there was a noise outside, the geese
were coming home from the pasture, and uttering their hoarse cries. Soon
afterwards the daughter also entered. But the old woman scarcely thanked
her, and only shook her head a little. The daughter sat down beside her,
took her spinning-wheel, and twisted the threads as nimbly as a young
girl. Thus they both sat for two hours, and exchanged never a word. At
last something rustled at the window, and two fiery eyes peered in. It was
an old night-owl, which cried, "Uhu!" three times. The old woman looked
up just a little, then she said, "Now, my little daughter, it is time
for thee to go out and do thy work." She rose and went out, and where did
she go? Over the meadows ever onward into the valley. At last she came to
a well, with three old oak-trees standing beside it; meanwhile the moon
had risen large and round over the mountain, and it was so light that one
could have found a needle. She removed a skin which covered her face, then
bent down to the well, and began to wash herself. When she had finished,
she dipped the skin also in the water, and then laid it on the meadow,
so that it should bleach in the moonlight, and dry again. But how the
maiden was changed! Such a change as that was never seen before! When the
gray mask fell off, her golden hair broke forth like sunbeams, and spread
about like a mantle over her whole form. Her eyes shone out as brightly as
the stars in heaven, and her cheeks bloomed a soft red like apple-blossom.

But the fair maiden was sad. She sat down and wept bitterly. One tear
after another forced itself out of her eyes, and rolled through her long
hair to the ground. There she sat, and would have remained sitting a long
time, if there had not been a rustling and cracking in the boughs of the
neighbouring tree. She sprang up like a roe which has been overtaken by
the shot of the hunter. Just then the moon was obscured by a dark cloud,
and in an instant the maiden had put on the old skin and vanished,
like a light blown out by the wind.

She ran back home, trembling like an aspen-leaf. The old woman was
standing on the threshold, and the girl was about to relate what had
befallen her, but the old woman laughed kindly, and said, "I already
know all." She led her into the room and lighted a new log. She did
not, however, sit down to her spinning again, but fetched a broom and
began to sweep and scour, "All must be clean and sweet," she said to the
girl. "But, mother," said the maiden, "why do you begin work at so late an
hour? What do you expect?" "Dost thou know then what time it is?" asked
the old woman. "Not yet midnight," answered the maiden, "but already
past eleven o'clock." "Dost thou not remember," continued the old woman,
"that it is three years to-day since thou camest to me? Thy time is up,
we can no longer remain together." The girl was terrified, and said,
"Alas! dear mother, will you cast me off? Where shall I go? I have no
friends, and no home to which I can go. I have always done as you bade me,
and you have always been satisfied with me; do not send me away." The
old woman would not tell the maiden what lay before her. "My stay here
is over," she said to her, "but when I depart, house and parlour must be
clean: therefore do not hinder me in my work. Have no care for thyself,
thou shalt find a roof to shelter thee, and the wages which I will give
thee shall also content thee." "But tell me what is about to happen,"
the maiden continued to entreat. "I tell thee again, do not hinder me
in my work. Do not say a word more, go to thy chamber, take the skin
off thy face, and put on the silken gown which thou hadst on when thou
camest to me, and then wait in thy chamber until I call thee."

But I must once more tell of the King and Queen, who had journeyed forth
with the count in order to seek out the old woman in the wilderness. The
count had strayed away from them in the wood by night, and had to
walk onwards alone. Next day it seemed to him that he was on the right
track. He still went forward, until darkness came on, then he climbed a
tree, intending to pass the night there, for he feared that he might lose
his way. When the moon illumined the surrounding country he perceived
a figure coming down the mountain. She had no stick in her hand, but
yet he could see that it was the goose-girl, whom he had seen before in
the house of the old woman. "Oho," cried he, "there she comes, and if I
once get hold of one of the witches, the other shall not escape me!" But
how astonished he was, when she went to the well, took off the skin and
washed herself, when her golden hair fell down all about her, and she was
more beautiful than any one whom he had ever seen in the whole world. He
hardly dared to breathe, but stretched his head as far forward through
the leaves as he dared, and stared at her. Either he bent over too far,
or whatever the cause might be, the bough suddenly cracked, and that
very moment the maiden slipped into the skin, sprang away like a roe, and
as the moon was suddenly covered, disappeared from his eyes. Hardly had
she disappeared, before the count descended from the tree, and hastened
after her with nimble steps. He had not been gone long before he saw,
in the twilight, two figures coming over the meadow. It was the King
and Queen, who had perceived from a distance the light shining in the
old woman's little house, and were going to it. The count told them
what wonderful things he had seen by the well, and they did not doubt
that it had been their lost daughter. They walked onwards full of joy,
and soon came to the little house. The geese were sitting all round
it, and had thrust their heads under their wings and were sleeping,
and not one of them moved. The King and Queen looked in at the window,
the old woman was sitting there quite quietly spinning, nodding her head
and never looking round. The room was perfectly clean, as if the little
mist men, who carry no dust on their feet, lived there. Their daughter,
however, they did not see. They gazed at all this for a long time, at
last they took heart, and knocked softly at the window. The old woman
appeared to have been expecting them; she rose, and called out quite
kindly, "Come in, - I know you already." When they had entered the room,
the old woman said, "You might have spared yourself the long walk, if
you had not three years ago unjustly driven away your child, who is so
good and lovable. No harm has come to her; for three years she has had
to tend the geese; with them she has learnt no evil, but has preserved
her purity of heart. You, however, have been sufficiently punished by
the misery in which you have lived." Then she went to the chamber and
called, "Come out, my little daughter." Thereupon the door opened, and
the princess stepped out in her silken garments, with her golden hair
and her shining eyes, and it was as if an angel from heaven had entered.

She went up to her father and mother, fell on their necks and kissed them;
there was no help for it, they all had to weep for joy. The young count
stood near them, and when she perceived him she became as red in the
face as a moss-rose, she herself did not know why. The King said, "My
dear child, I have given away my kingdom, what shall I give thee?" "She
needs nothing," said the old woman. "I give her the tears that she has
wept on your account; they are precious pearls, finer than those that
are found in the sea, and worth more than your whole kingdom, and I give
her my little house as payment for her services." When the old woman had
said that, she disappeared from their sight. The walls rattled a little,
and when the King and Queen looked round, the little house had changed
into a splendid palace, a royal table had been spread, and the servants
were running hither and thither.

The story goes still further, but my grandmother, who related it to me,
had partly lost her memory, and had forgotten the rest. I shall always
believe that the beautiful princess married the count, and that they
remained together in the palace, and lived there in all happiness so long
as God willed it. Whether the snow-white geese, which were kept near
the little hut, were verily young maidens (no one need take offence,)
whom the old woman had taken under her protection, and whether they now
received their human form again, and stayed as handmaids to the young
Queen, I do not exactly know, but I suspect it. This much is certain,
that the old woman was no witch, as people thought, but a wise woman,
who meant well. Very likely it was she who, at the princess's birth,
gave her the gift of weeping pearls instead of tears. That does not
happen now-a-days, or else the poor would soon become rich.


180 Eve's Various Children

When Adam and Eve were driven out of Paradise, they were compelled to
build a house for themselves on unfruitful ground, and eat their bread
in the sweat of their brow. Adam dug up the land, and Eve span. Every
year Eve brought a child into the world; but the children were unlike
each other, some pretty, and some ugly. After a considerable time had
gone by, God sent an angel to them, to announce that he was coming to
inspect their household. Eve, delighted that the Lord should be so
gracious, cleaned her house diligently, decked it with flowers, and
strewed reeds on the floor. Then she brought in her children, but only
the beautiful ones. She washed and bathed them, combed their hair, put
clean raiment on them, and cautioned them to conduct themselves decorously
and modestly in the presence of the Lord. They were to bow down before
him civilly, hold out their hands, and to answer his questions modestly
and sensibly. The ugly children were, however, not to let themselves
be seen. One hid himself beneath the hay, another under the roof, a
third in the straw, the fourth in the stove, the fifth in the cellar,
the sixth under a tub, the seventh beneath the wine-cask, the eighth
under an old fur cloak, the ninth and tenth beneath the cloth out of
which she always made their clothes, and the eleventh and twelfth under
the leather out of which she cut their shoes. She had scarcely got ready,
before there was a knock at the house-door. Adam looked through a chink,
and saw that it was the Lord. Adam opened the door respectfully, and the
Heavenly Father entered. There, in a row, stood the pretty children,
and bowed before him, held out their hands, and knelt down. The Lord,
however, began to bless them, laid his hands on the first, and said,
"Thou shalt be a powerful king;" and to the second, "Thou a prince," to
the third, "Thou a count," to the fourth, "Thou a knight," to the fifth,
"Thou a nobleman," to the sixth, "Thou a burgher," to the seventh, "Thou
a merchant," to the eighth, "Thou a learned man." He bestowed upon them
also all his richest blessings. When Eve saw that the Lord was so mild
and gracious, she thought, "I will bring hither my ill-favoured children
also, it may be that he will bestow his blessing on them likewise." So she
ran and brought them out of the hay, the straw, the stove, and wherever
else she had concealed them. Then came the whole coarse, dirty, shabby,
sooty band. The Lord smiled, looked at them all, and said, "I will bless
these also." He laid his hands on the first, and said to him, "Thou shalt
be a peasant," to the second, "Thou a fisherman," to the third, "Thou a
smith," to the fourth, "Thou a tanner," to the fifth, "Thou a weaver,"
to the sixth, "Thou a shoemaker," to the seventh, "Thou a tailor," to the
eighth, "Thou a potter," to the ninth, "Thou a waggoner," to the tenth,
"Thou a sailor," to the eleventh, "Thou an errand-boy," to the twelfth,
"Thou a scullion all the days of thy life."

When Eve had heard all this she said, "Lord, how unequally thou dividest
thy gifts! After all they are all of them my children, whom I have
brought into the world, thy favours should be given to all alike." But
God answered, "Eve, thou dost not understand. It is right and necessary
that the entire world should be supplied from thy children; if they were
all princes and lords, who would grow corn, thresh it, grind and bake
it? Who would be blacksmiths, weavers, carpenters, masons, labourers,
tailors and seamstresses? Each shall have his own place, so that one
shall support the other, and all shall be fed like the limbs of one
body." Then Eve answered, "Ah, Lord, forgive me, I was too quick in
speaking to thee. Have thy divine will with my children."


181 The Nix of the Mill-Pond

There was once upon a time a miller who lived with his wife in great
contentment. They had money and land, and their prosperity increased year
by year more and more. But ill-luck comes like a thief in the night,
as their wealth had increased so did it again decrease, year by year,
and at last the miller could hardly call the mill in which he lived, his
own. He was in great distress, and when he lay down after his day's work,
found no rest, but tossed about in his bed, full of care. One morning he
rose before daybreak and went out into the open air, thinking that perhaps
there his heart might become lighter. As he was stepping over the mill-
dam the first sunbeam was just breaking forth, and he heard a rippling
sound in the pond. He turned round and perceived a beautiful woman,
rising slowly out of the water. Her long hair, which she was holding off
her shoulders with her soft hands, fell down on both sides, and covered
her white body. He soon saw that she was the Nix of the Mill-pond, and
in his fright did not know whether he should run away or stay where he
was. But the nix made her sweet voice heard, called him by his name,
and asked him why he was so sad? The miller was at first struck dumb,
but when he heard her speak so kindly, he took heart, and told her
how he had formerly lived in wealth and happiness, but that now he was
so poor that he did not know what to do. "Be easy," answered the nix,
"I will make thee richer and happier than thou hast ever been before,
only thou must promise to give me the young thing which has just been
born in thy house." "What else can that be," thought the miller, "but
a young puppy or kitten?" and he promised her what she desired. The nix
descended into the water again, and he hurried back to his mill, consoled
and in good spirits. He had not yet reached it, when the maid-servant
came out of the house, and cried to him to rejoice, for his wife had
given birth to a little boy. The miller stood as if struck by lightning;
he saw very well that the cunning nix had been aware of it, and had
cheated him. Hanging his head, he went up to his wife's bedside and
when she said, "Why dost thou not rejoice over the fine boy?" he told
her what had befallen him, and what kind of a promise he had given to
the nix. "Of what use to me are riches and prosperity?" he added, "if
I am to lose my child; but what can I do?" Even the relations, who had
come thither to wish them joy, did not know what to say. In the meantime
prosperity again returned to the miller's house. All that he undertook
succeeded, it was as if presses and coffers filled themselves of their
own accord, and as if money multiplied nightly in the cupboards. It was
not long before his wealth was greater than it had ever been before. But
he could not rejoice over it untroubled, for the bargain which he had
made with the nix tormented his soul. Whenever he passed the mill-pond,
he feared she might ascend and remind him of his debt. He never let
the boy himself go near the water. "Beware," he said to him, "if thou
dost but touch the water, a hand will rise, seize thee, and draw thee
down." But as year after year went by and the nix did not show herself
again, the miller began to feel at ease. The boy grew up to be a youth
and was apprenticed to a huntsman. When he had learnt everything, and
had become an excellent huntsman, the lord of the village took him into
his service. In the village lived a beautiful and true-hearted maiden,
who pleased the huntsman, and when his master perceived that, he gave
him a little house, the two were married, lived peacefully and happily,
and loved each other with all their hearts.

One day the huntsman was chasing a roe; and when the animal turned
aside from the forest into the open country, he pursued it and at last
shot it. He did not notice that he was now in the neighbourhood of the
dangerous mill-pond, and went, after he had disembowelled the stag, to
the water, in order to wash his blood-stained hands. Scarcely, however,
had he dipped them in than the nix ascended, smilingly wound her dripping
arms around him, and drew him quickly down under the waves, which closed
over him. When it was evening, and the huntsman did not return home, his
wife became alarmed. She went out to seek him, and as he had often told
her that he had to be on his guard against the snares of the nix, and
dared not venture into the neighbourhood of the mill-pond, she already
suspected what had happened. She hastened to the water, and when she
found his hunting-pouch lying on the shore, she could no longer have any
doubt of the misfortune. Lamenting her sorrow, and wringing her hands,
she called on her beloved by name, but in vain. She hurried across to the
other side of the pond, and called him anew; she reviled the nix with
harsh words, but no answer followed. The surface of the water remained
calm, only the crescent moon stared steadily back at her. The poor woman
did not leave the pond. With hasty steps, she paced round and round it,
without resting a moment, sometimes in silence, sometimes uttering a loud
cry, sometimes softly sobbing. At last her strength came to an end, she
sank down to the ground and fell into a heavy sleep. Presently a dream
took possession of her. She was anxiously climbing upwards between great
masses of rock; thorns and briars caught her feet, the rain beat in her
face, and the wind tossed her long hair about. When she had reached the
summit, quite a different sight presented itself to her; the sky was blue,
the air soft, the ground sloped gently downwards, and on a green meadow,
gay with flowers of every colour, stood a pretty cottage. She went
up to it and opened the door; there sat an old woman with white hair,
who beckoned to her kindly. At that very moment, the poor woman awoke,
day had already dawned, and she at once resolved to act in accordance
with her dream. She laboriously climbed the mountain; everything was
exactly as she had seen it in the night. The old woman received her
kindly, and pointed out a chair on which she might sit. "Thou must
have met with a misfortune," she said, "since thou hast sought out
my lonely cottage." With tears, the woman related what had befallen
her. "Be comforted," said the old woman, "I will help thee. Here is a
golden comb for thee. Tarry till the full moon has risen, then go to
the mill-pond, seat thyself on the shore, and comb thy long black hair
with this comb. When thou hast done, lay it down on the bank, and thou
wilt see what will happen." The woman returned home, but the time till
the full moon came, passed slowly. At last the shining disc appeared in
the heavens, then she went out to the mill-pond, sat down and combed
her long black hair with the golden comb, and when she had finished,
she laid it down at the water's edge. It was not long before there was a
movement in the depths, a wave rose, rolled to the shore, and bore the
comb away with it. In not more than the time necessary for the comb to
sink to the bottom, the surface of the water parted, and the head of the
huntsman arose. He did not speak, but looked at his wife with sorrowful
glances. At the same instant, a second wave came rushing up, and covered
the man's head. All had vanished, the mill-pond lay peaceful as before,
and nothing but the face of the full moon shone on it. Full of sorrow,
the woman went back, but again the dream showed her the cottage of the
old woman. Next morning she again set out and complained of her woes to
the wise woman. The old woman gave her a golden flute, and said, "Tarry
till the full moon comes again, then take this flute; play a beautiful
air on it, and when thou hast finished, lay it on the sand; then thou
wilt see what will happen." The wife did as the old woman told her. No
sooner was the flute lying on the sand than there was a stirring in the
depths, and a wave rushed up and bore the flute away with it. Immediately
afterwards the water parted, and not only the head of the man, but half
of his body also arose. He stretched out his arms longingly towards her,
but a second wave came up, covered him, and drew him down again. "Alas,
what does it profit me?" said the unhappy woman, "that I should see my
beloved, only to lose him again!" Despair filled her heart anew, but the
dream led her a third time to the house of the old woman. She set out, and
the wise woman gave her a golden spinning-wheel, consoled her and said,
"All is not yet fulfilled, tarry until the time of the full moon, then
take the spinning-wheel, seat thyself on the shore, and spin the spool
full, and when thou hast done that, place the spinning-wheel near the
water, and thou wilt see what will happen." The woman obeyed all she said
exactly; as soon as the full moon showed itself, she carried the golden
spinning-wheel to the shore, and span industriously until the flax came
to an end, and the spool was quite filled with the threads. No sooner was
the wheel standing on the shore than there was a more violent movement
than before in the depths of the pond, and a mighty wave rushed up, and
bore the wheel away with it. Immediately the head and the whole body of
the man rose into the air, in a water-spout. He quickly sprang to the
shore, caught his wife by the hand and fled. But they had scarcely gone
a very little distance, when the whole pond rose with a frightful roar,
and streamed out over the open country. The fugitives already saw death
before their eyes, when the woman in her terror implored the help of the
old woman, and in an instant they were transformed, she into a toad,
he into a frog. The flood which had overtaken them could not destroy
them, but it tore them apart and carried them far away. When the water
had dispersed and they both touched dry land again, they regained their
human form, but neither knew where the other was; they found themselves
among strange people, who did not know their native land. High mountains
and deep valleys lay between them. In order to keep themselves alive,
they were both obliged to tend sheep. For many long years they drove their
flocks through field and forest and were full of sorrow and longing. When