“Good morning,” said Art and then he said quickly, “don’t let me interrupt your song which is the loveliest I’ve ever heard.”
“Oh!” she answered him, “I’m glad you’ve interrupted it. I have to make music here for an old giant that captured me. I’m the King of Greece’s daughter,” she said, “and I’ve been here for a year and a day and I can’t get away from this old fellow until someone comes to rescue me. But,” she said, “I’d sooner you went away for he’s a very big man and very very fierce.”
“I’m not afraid of him,” said Art, “what can he do?”
“Well,” she said, “he’ll ask you a number of riddles. He has to hide for three nights and you have to hide for three nights … ”
Before she could finish, or before Art could say whether he was going to stay or go, he heard a deep voice saying: “Who is this I see in here?” In comes this huge giant and caught poor Art by the throat. “What are you doing here?” he roared.
“I came to find the heavenly music,” said Art.
“Well, now you’ve found it,” said the giant, “and much good may it do you. And I’ll tell you something,” he said, “I’m going to hide for three days and, if you don’t find me before the three days are up, I’ll cut your head off, skin you, cook you and eat you. And after that,” he roared, “if you have found me, you’ll hide for three days and if I find you, I’ll still kill, skin, cook and eat you.”
So poor Art didn’t know what to say but, “Well, I’d like to go back and see to my little stallion.”
“Right,” said the giant, “but we’ll start in the morning.”
“This is an awful thing,” said Art to the stallion when he got back, “what am I going to do—how do I know where he’s going to hide?”
“That’s all right,” said the stallion, “it’s getting late at night so we’ll want to eat something for, honest to God, my belly thinks my throat is cut. Sit down there now,” said the stallion, “and put your left hand into my right ear and you’ll find a tablecloth. Spread out the tablecloth,” he said, and Art did as he was told. “Now,” said the stallion, “put your right hand into my left ear and take out what you’ll find there.” Art did that and took out the best of fine food and the finest of old drink. “Now,” said the stallion, “you take that for yourself and stick your right hand into my left ear again.” So Art did that and pulled out a bucket of water and a truss of hay. And Art ate the best of fine food and the finest of old drink and the stallion had the hay and the water. “Now,” said the stallion when they were finished, “spread yourself out under my legs and we’ll go to sleep for the night.” So they went to sleep for the night.
The next morning when they woke up, they could hear the giant shouting: “Now come and find me if you can.”
“I can tell you where he is,” the little stallion said to Art, “he’s at the top of the tree.” So Art climbed to the top of the tree and there, right enough, was the giant who comes down very highly annoyed. “Aah!” he roared, “you found me today, but you won’t find me tomorrow.”
After this, Art had great confidence in the stallion; and that night, he again had a feed of the best of fine food and the finest of old drink, and the stallion had a truss of hay and a bucket of clear water, and they carried on a learned discussion until it was time to go to bed.
Next morning when they got up, the stallion said: “Now go on in through the house and out into the back garden and there you’ll see a football. Give the football a good kick.”
“All right,” said Art and off he went and, in the back garden, he gave the football a terrific kick and out spun the giant.
“Well,” said the giant very nastily, “you got me this time, but you won’t get me tomorrow for I’ve got a trick up my sleeve yet.”
Art went back to the stallion and told him what had happened and said: “What will we do now?”
“Well,” said the stallion, “first of all, we’ll have a feed.” They ate again all kinds of lovely foods and talked until it was time to go to sleep.
In the morning, Art said: “What will I do now? Where is he hiding?”
“I’ll tell you what to do,” said the stallion. “When you go inside, ask the girl where he is. But,” he said, “without the giant understanding you. Just signal to her, where is he?”
So Art goes and sees the daughter of the King of Greece and she is singing away there and he makes signs to ask where is the giant. The girl pointed to a ring on her finger and, at first, Art didn’t understand. But she motioned him to take the ring off, which he did. He looked at it and made signs to show that he didn’t believe that the giant could fit in such a small ring. But the girl kept singing away and pointed to him to throw it in the fire. So he did that and there was an enormous screech: “Oh! I’m burnt! I’m burnt!” and out jumped the giant. “Now,” he roared, “you caught me the three times, but now it’s your turn.”
“All right,” said Art, “I’ll hide tomorrow.”
“Well, now,” said Art to the stallion when he went back, “we’re in a right fix now. Where am I going to hide? Sure I’m a stranger here and don’t know the place at all.”
“That’s all right,” said the stallion, “I’ll tell you in the morning. In the meantime, put your hands into my two ears and take out the grub.” So they had a feed and then Art got under the stallion’s legs and slept there for the night.
When he woke up: “Now,” said the stallion, “the first thing you do is to take a hair out of my tail and, the hole it leaves, get up into that.” So Art took the hair out of the stallion’s tail, got up into the hole and stopped there. And the giant searched all round and couldn’t find Art all day and nearly went tearing mad. Art came out that night and the giant said: “I didn’t find you today but I’ll find you tomorrow and eat you.”
So that night Art said to the stallion: “Where am I going to hide tomorrow?”
“That’s all right,” said the stallion, “put your hands into my two ears and take out the food and we’ll have a feed first. Then you can stretch out under my legs and have a sleep and we’ll talk about the matter in the morning.”
In the morning Art said: “Now, where am I going to hide?”
“Take a nail out of my hoof,” said the stallion, “get up into the hole and draw the nail up after you.” So Art did that and stayed there all day, while the giant went round roaring and swearing.
At night, the giant went back to his house and Art came out of the hole and said: “So you didn’t find me.”
“No,” said the giant, “but I will tomorrow and then I’ll kill, skin, cook, and eat you.”
Then Art said to the stallion: “Where will I hide tomorrow?” and the stallion said: “One thing at a time. Get out the grub there and we’ll have a feed and we’ll see about the other matter in the morning.”
“Now,” said the stallion in the morning, when they woke up fresh and early, “pull out one of my teeth, get up into the hole and draw the tooth up after you.” The giant came rampaging around the place and couldn’t find Art and, to cut a long story short, he nearly went demented.
In the evening, Art came out and went into the house and there was the King of Greece’s daughter. The music was stopped but she looked happier than ever and she said: “You have broken the spell. I had to wait for a stranger to come and beat the giant six times.”
“We’ve done that,” said Art, “now I’ll take you away from here.”
“All right,” she said, “although I’m the daughter of the King of Greece.”
“Well,” said Art, “that’s nothing. I’m the King of Ireland’s son.” So she jumped up on the back of the stallion behind Art and they rode out of the tunnel and back to his father’s palace. The King of Greece’s daughter then sang some of the heavenly music for the King of Ireland and the King gave Art half his kingdom. The two brothers were banished and Art and the King of Greece’s daughter got married and they had a wedding and everybody ate and drank, and wasn’
t I at the wedding as well as everybody else and I got a present of a pair of paper boots and a pair of stockings made of buttermilk; and that’s the end of my story and all I’m going to tell you.
THE GOOSE GIRL
Germany
There was once upon a time an old queen whose husband had been dead for many years, and she had a beautiful daughter. When the princess grew up she was betrothed to a prince who lived at a great distance. When the time came for her to be married, and she had to journey forth into the distant kingdom, the aged queen packed up for her many costly vessels of silver and gold, and trinkets also of gold and silver; and cups and jewels, in short, everything which appertained to a royal dowry, for she loved her child with all her heart. She likewise sent her maid-in-waiting, who was to ride with her, and hand her over to the bridegroom, and each had a horse for the journey, but the horse of the king’s daughter was called Falada, and could speak. So when the hour of parting had come, the aged mother went into her bedroom, took a small knife and cut her finger with it until it bled. Then she held a white handkerchief to it into which she let three drops of blood fall, gave it to her daughter and said, “Dear child, preserve this carefully. It will be of service to you on your way.”
So they took a sorrowful leave of each other; the princess put the piece of cloth in her bosom, mounted her horse, and then went away to her bridegroom. After she had ridden for a while she felt a burning thirst, and said to her waiting maid, “Dismount, and take my cup which you have brought with you for me, and get me some water from the stream, for I should like to drink.”
“If you are thirsty,” said the waiting maid, “get off your horse yourself, and lie down and drink out of the water, I don’t choose to be your servant.”
So in her great thirst the princess alighted, bent down over the water in the stream and drank, and was not allowed to drink out of the golden cup. Then she said, “Ah, Heaven!” and the three drops of blood answered, “If this your mother knew, her heart would break in two.” But the king’s daughter was humble, said nothing, and mounted her horse again. She rode some miles further, but the day was warm, the sun scorched her, and she was thirsty once more, and when they came to a stream of water, she again cried to her waiting maid, “Dismount, and give me some water in my golden cup,” for she had long ago forgotten the girl’s ill words.
But the waiting maid said still more haughtily, “If you wish to drink, get it yourself, I don’t choose to be your maid.”
Then in her great thirst the king’s daughter alighted, bent over the flowing stream, wept and said, “Ah, Heaven!” and the drops of blood again replied, “If this your mother knew, her heart would break in two.” And as she was thus drinking and leaning right over the stream, the handkerchief with the three drops of blood fell out of her bosom, and floated away with the water without her observing it, so great was her trouble.
The waiting maid, however, had seen it, and she rejoiced to think that she had now power over the bride, for since the princess had lost the drops of blood, she had become weak and powerless. So now when she wanted to mount her horse again, the one that was called Falada, the waiting maid said, “Falada is more suitable for me, and my nag will do for you,” and the princess had to be content with that. Then the waiting maid, with many hard words, bade the princess exchange her royal apparel for her own shabby clothes; and at length she was compelled to swear by the clear sky above her, that she would not say one word of this to anyone at the royal court, and if she had not taken this oath she would have been killed on the spot. But Falada saw all this, and observed it well.
The waiting maid now mounted Falada, and the true bride the bad horse, and thus they traveled onwards, until at length they entered the royal palace. There were great rejoicings over her arrival, and the prince sprang forward to meet her, lifted the waiting maid from her horse, and thought she was his consort. She was conducted upstairs, but the real princess was left standing below.
Then the old king looked out of the window and saw her standing in the courtyard, and noticed how dainty and delicate and beautiful she was, and instantly went to the royal apartment, and asked the bride about the girl she had with her who was standing down below in the courtyard, and who she was. “I picked her up on my way for a companion. Give the girl something to work at, that she may not stand idle.”
But the old king had no work for her, and knew of none, so he said, “I have a little boy who tends the geese, she may help him.” The boy was called Conrad, and the true bride had to help him to tend the geese.
Soon afterwards the false bride said to the young king, “Dearest husband, I beg you to do me a favor.”
He answered, “I will do so most willingly.”
“Then send for the knacker, and have the head of the horse on which I rode here cut off, for it vexed me on the way.” In reality, she was afraid that the horse might tell how she had behaved to the king’s daughter.
Then she succeeded in making the king promise that it should be done, and the faithful Falada was to die. This came to the ears of the real princess, and she secretly promised to pay the knacker a piece of gold if he would perform a small service for her. There was a great dark-looking gateway in the town, through which morning and evening she had to pass with the geese: would he be so good as to nail up Falada’s head on it, so that she might see him again, more than once. The knacker’s man promised to do that, and cut off the head, and nailed it fast beneath the dark gateway.
Early in the morning, when she and Conrad drove out their flock beneath this gateway, she said in passing:
Alas, Falada, hanging there!
Then the head answered:
Alas, young queen, how ill you fare!
If this your mother knew,
Her heart would break in two.
Then they went still further out of the town, and drove their geese into the country. And when they had come to the meadow, she sat down and unbound her hair which was like pure gold, and Conrad saw it and delighted in its brightness, and wanted to pluck out a few hairs. Then she said:
Blow, blow, thou gentle wind, I say,
Blow Conrad’s little hat away,
And make him chase it here and there,
Until I have braided all my hair,
And bound it up again.
And there came such a violent wind that it blew Conrad’s hat far away across country, and he was forced to run after it. When he came back she had finished combing her hair and was putting it up again, and he could not get any of it. Then Conrad was angry, and would not speak to her, and thus they watched the geese until the evening, and, then they went home.
Next day when they were driving the geese out through the dark gateway, the maiden said:
Alas, Falada, hanging there!
Falada answered:
Alas, young queen, how ill you fare!
If this your mother knew,
Her heart would break in two.
And she sat down again in the field and began to comb out her hair, and Conrad ran and tried to clutch it, so she said in haste:
Blow, blow, thou gentle wind, I say,
Blow Conrad’s little hat away,
And make him chase it here and there,
Until I have braided all my hair,
And bound it up again.
Then the wind blew, and blew his little hat off his head and far away, and Conrad was forced to run after it, and when he came back, her hair had been put up a long time, and he could get none of it, and so they looked after their geese till evening came.
But in the evening after they had got home, Conrad went to the old king, and said, “I won’t tend the geese with that girl any longer!”
“Why not?” inquired the aged king.
“Oh, because she vexes me the whole day long.”
Then the aged king commanded him to relate what it was that she did to him. And Conrad said, “In the morning when we pass beneath the dark gateway with the flock, there is a horse’s head on the wa
ll, and she says to it:
Alas, Falada, hanging there!
And the head replies:
Alas, young queen, how ill you fare!
If this your mother knew,
Her heart would break in two.
And Conrad went on to relate what happened on the goose pasture, and how when there he had to chase his hat.
The aged king commanded him to drive his flock out again next day, and as soon as morning came, he placed himself behind the dark gateway, and heard how the maiden spoke to the head of Falada, and then he too went into the country, and hid himself in the thicket in the meadow. There he soon saw with his own eyes the goose girl and the goose boy bringing their flock, and how after a while she sat down and unplaited her hair, which shone with radiance. And soon she said:
Blow, blow, thou gentle wind, I say,
Blow Conrad’s little hat away,
And make him chase it here and there,
Until I have braided all my hair,
And bound it up again.
Then came a blast of wind and carried off Conrad’s hat, so that he had to run far away, while the maiden quietly went on combing and plaiting her hair, all of which the king observed. Then, quite unseen, he went away and when the goose girl came home in the evening, he called her aside, and asked why she did all these things. “I may not tell that, and I dare not lament my sorrows to any human being, for I have sworn not to do so by the heaven which is above me. If I had not done that, I should have lost my life.”
He urged her and left her no peace, but he could draw nothing from her.
Then said he, “If you will not tell me anything, tell your sorrows to the iron stove there,” and he went away. Then she crept into the iron stove, and began to weep and lament, and emptied her whole heart, and said, “Here am I deserted by the whole world, and yet I am a king’s daughter, and a false waiting maid has by force brought me to such a pass that I have been compelled to put off my royal apparel, and she has taken my place with my bridegroom, and I have to perform menial service as a goose girl. If this my mother knew, her heart would break in two.”