Grimm's Household Tales

There was once a woman who had three daughters. The eldest was called One-eye because she had only one eye, in the middle of her forehead; the second was called Two-eyes because she had two eyes like other people; and the youngest was called Three-eyes because she had three eyes, and her third eye was also in the center of her forehead. However, because Two-eyes saw just as other human beings did, her sisters and her mother could not bear her. They said to her, “You, with your two eyes, are no better than the common people; you do not belong to us!” They pushed her about, threw old clothes to her, gave her nothing to eat but what they left, and did everything they could to make her unhappy. It happened 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 and said, “Why are you weeping, little Two-eyes?” Two-eyes answered, “Do I not have 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? Today they have given me so little that I am still quite hungry.” Then the wise woman said, “Wipe away your tears, Two-eyes, and I will tell you something that will keep you from ever suffering from hunger again; just say to your goat,

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

And then a clean, well-spread little table will stand before you, with the most delicious food on it, of which you may eat as much as you wish, and when you have had enough and have 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 your sight.” With that, the wise woman departed. But Two-eyes thought, “I must try it at once 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.”

Scarcely had she spoken the words when a little table, covered with a white cloth, was standing there, and on it lay a plate with a knife and fork and a silver spoon; and the most delicious food was there also, warm and steaming 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.”

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

In the evening, when she went home with her goat, she found a small earthenware dish with some food that her sisters had set ready for her, but she did not touch it. The next day she went out with her goat again and left the few bits of broken bread that had been handed to her lying untouched. The first and second times that she did this, her sisters did not notice it at all, but because it happened every time, they took notice of it and said, “There is something wrong with 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.” To 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 anyone 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 she 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, tired from the unaccustomed walk and the heat of the sun, and Two-eyes sang constantly,

“One eye, are you waking?
One eye, are you sleeping?”

She sang on 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.”

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

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

In an instant all was gone. Two-eyes now woke 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 Two-eyes would not eat it, and to excuse herself she said, “I fell asleep when I was out.”

The next day the mother said to Three-eyes, “This time you are to go and observe whether Two-eyes eats anything when she is out, and whether anyone 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 whether the goat is properly looked after and driven where there is food.” But Two-eyes knew what Three-eyes had in mind, and she 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, tired from the walk and 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?”

She sang all the time,

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

Then two of her three eyes shut and fell asleep, but the third, because it had not been named in the song, did not sleep. It is true that Three-eyes shut it, but only out of cunning, to pretend that 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.”

She 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.”

Three-eyes had seen everything. Then Two-eyes came to her, woke her, and said, “Have you been asleep, Three-eyes? You are a good caretaker! 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 haughty 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 then it 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 stayed awake.” Then the envious mother cried, “Do you want to fare better than we do? That desire will 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 sorrow, sat down on the grassy ridge at the edge of the field, and wept bitter tears. Suddenly the wise woman stood by her side once more and said, “Two-eyes, why are you weeping?” “Do I not have reason to weep?” she answered. “The goat that covered the table for me every day when I spoke your charm has been killed by my mother, and now I will have to bear hunger and want again.” The wise woman said, “Two-eyes, I will give you a piece of good advice: ask your sisters to give you the entrails of the slaughtered goat, and bury them in the ground in front of the house, and your 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 want the good parts, 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 advised her to do.

The 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 pick a single apple, no matter what she did. Then the mother said, “Three-eyes, you climb up; with your three eyes you can look about you better than One-eye.” One-eye slipped down, and Three-eyes climbed up. Three-eyes was no more skillful, and she could search as she liked, but the golden apples always escaped her. At last the mother grew impatient and climbed up herself, but she could get hold of the fruit no better than One-eye and Three-eyes, for she always clutched empty air. Then Two-eyes said, “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 not get out of her way but came into her hand of their own accord, so that she could pick them one after the other, and she 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, the mother, One-eye, and Three-eyes were only envious because Two-eyes alone had been able to get the fruit, and they treated her even more cruelly.

It happened 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 that was standing close by the tree over poor Two-eyes, and they pushed the golden apples that she had been gathering under it too. When the knight came nearer, he proved to be 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? Anyone who will give me one branch of it may ask for whatever he desires in return.” 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 pains, but they were not able to do it, for the branches and the fruit moved away from them every time. Then the knight said, “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 asserted again that the tree was their property. While they were saying so, Two-eyes rolled a couple of golden apples out from under the barrel to the feet of the knight, because she was annoyed with One-eye and Three-eyes for not telling 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, wished to see her and called out, “Two-eyes, come out.” Then Two-eyes, quite reassured, came out from beneath the barrel, and the knight was surprised at her great beauty and said, “You, Two-eyes, can certainly break off a branch from the tree for me.” “Yes,” replied Two-eyes, “that I certainly will be able to do, for the tree belongs to me.” And she climbed up, and with the greatest ease she broke off a branch with beautiful silver leaves and golden fruit and gave it to the knight. Then the knight said, “Two-eyes, what shall I give you for it?” “Oh,” answered Two-eyes, “I suffer from hunger and thirst, grief and want, from early morning till late at night; if you would take me with you and free me from these things, I would be happy.” So the knight lifted Two-eyes onto his horse and took her home with him to his father’s castle, and there he gave her beautiful clothes and food and drink to her heart’s content, and because he loved her so much, he married her, and the wedding was celebrated with great rejoicing. When Two-eyes was thus carried away by the handsome knight, her two sisters truly begrudged her good fortune. “The wonderful tree, however, still remains with us,” they thought, “and even if we can gather no fruit from it, still everyone will stop and look at it and come to us and admire it. Who knows what good things may be in store for us?” But the 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 the tree was standing in front of it, and so it had followed her.

Two-eyes lived in happiness for a long time. Once two poor women came to her in her castle and begged for charity. She looked into 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 repented with all their hearts of the evil that they had done to their sister in their youth.