Grimm's Household Tales

Once upon a time there was a very old woman who lived with her flock of geese in a desolate place among the mountains, where she had a little house. The wasteland was surrounded by a large forest, and every morning the old woman took her crutch and hobbled into it. There, however, she was quite active, more so than anyone would have thought, considering her age, and she collected grass for her geese, picked all the wild fruit she could reach, and carried everything home on her back. Anyone would have thought that the heavy load would weigh her down to the ground, but she always brought it home safely. If anyone met her, she greeted that person quite courteously. “Good day, dear countryman. It is a fine day. Ah! You wonder that I should drag grass about, but all people must carry their burdens on their backs.” Nevertheless, people did not like to meet her if they could help it, and they preferred to take a roundabout way; and when a father with his boys passed her, he whispered to them, “Beware of the old woman. She has claws beneath her gloves; she is a witch.” One morning a handsome young man was going through the forest. The sun shone brightly, the birds sang, a cool breeze crept through the leaves, and he was full of joy and gladness. He had not yet met anyone when he suddenly noticed the old witch kneeling on the ground, cutting grass with a sickle. She had already thrust a whole load into her cloth, and near it stood two baskets filled with wild apples and pears. “But, good little mother,” he said, “how can you carry all that away?” “I must carry it, dear sir,” she answered. “Rich people’s children have no need to do such things, but among peasant folk the saying goes, ‘Don’t look behind you; you will only see how crooked your back is!’”

“Will you help me?” she said as he remained standing beside her. “You still have a straight back and young legs; it would be a trifle for you. Besides, my house is not so very far from here. It stands there on the heath behind the hill. You would bound up there in no time.” The young man took pity on the old woman. “My father is certainly no peasant,” he replied, “but a rich count. Nevertheless, so that you may see that it is not only peasants who can carry things, I will take your bundle.” “If you will try it,” she said, “I shall be very glad. You will certainly have to walk for an hour, but what will that matter to you? Only you must carry the apples and pears as well.” It now seemed a little serious to the young man when he heard about an hour’s walk, but the old woman would not let him off. She packed the bundle on his back and hung the two baskets on his arm. “Look, it is quite light,” she said. “No, it is not light,” answered the count, making a rueful face. “Truly, the bundle weighs as heavily as if it were full of cobblestones, and the apples and pears are as heavy as lead! I can scarcely breathe.” He wanted to put everything down again, but the old woman would not allow it. “Just look,” she said mockingly, “the young gentleman will not carry what I, an old woman, have so often dragged along. You are ready with fine words, but when it gets serious, you want to take to your heels. Why are you standing there loitering?” she continued. “Get moving. No one will take the bundle off again.” As long as he walked on level ground, it was still bearable, but when they came to the hill and had to climb, and the stones rolled down under his feet as if they were alive, it was beyond his strength. The drops of perspiration stood on his forehead and ran, hot and cold, down his back. “Madam,” he said, “I can go no farther. I want to rest a little.” “Not here,” answered the old woman. “When we have arrived at our journey’s end, you can rest; but now you must go forward. Who knows what good it may do you?” “Old woman, you are becoming shameless!” said the count, and he tried to throw off the bundle, but he labored in vain; it stuck as fast to his back as if it grew there. He turned and twisted, but he could not get rid of it. The old woman laughed at this and sprang about on her crutch, quite delighted. “Don’t get angry, dear sir,” she said. “You are growing as red in the face as a turkey cock! Carry your bundle patiently. I will give you a good present when we get home.”

What could he do? He was obliged to submit to his fate and crawl along patiently behind the old woman. She seemed to grow more and more nimble, and his burden heavier still. All at once she made a spring, jumped onto the bundle, and seated herself on top of it; and however withered she might be, she was heavier than the stoutest country girl. The youth’s knees trembled, but when he did not go on, the old woman hit him about the legs with a switch and with stinging nettles. Groaning continually, he climbed the mountain and at last reached the old woman’s house, just when he was about to drop. When the geese saw the old woman, they flapped their wings, stretched out their necks, and ran to meet her, cackling all the while. Behind the flock, stick in hand, walked an old-looking girl, strong and big, but as ugly as night. “Good mother,” she said to the old woman, “has anything happened to you? You have stayed away so long.” “By no means, my dear daughter,” the old woman answered. “I have met with nothing bad but, on the contrary, with this kind gentleman, who has carried my burden for me. Only think, he even took me on his back when I was tired. The way, too, has not seemed long to us; we have been merry, and we have been cracking jokes with each other all the time.” At last the old woman slid down, took the bundle off the young man’s back and the baskets from his arm, looked at him quite kindly, and said, “Now seat yourself on the bench in front of the door, and rest. You have fairly earned your wages, and they shall not be lacking.” Then she said to the goose-girl, “Go into the house, my dear daughter. It is not proper for you to be alone with a young gentleman; one must not pour oil on the fire; he might fall in love with you.” The count did not know whether to laugh or to cry. “Such a sweetheart as that,” he thought, “could not touch my heart, even if she were thirty years younger.” In the meantime the old woman stroked and fondled her geese as if they were children, and then went into the house with her daughter. The youth lay down on the bench under a wild apple tree. The air was warm and mild; on all sides stretched a green meadow dotted with cowslips, wild thyme, and a thousand other flowers. Through the middle of it rippled a clear brook on which the sun sparkled, and the white geese went walking back and forth or paddled in the water. “It is quite delightful here,” he said, “but I am so tired that I cannot keep my eyes open. I will sleep a little. I only hope a gust of wind does not come and blow my legs off my body, for they are as rotten as tinder.”

When he had slept a little while, the old woman came and shook him until he awoke. “Sit up,” she said. “You cannot stay here. I have certainly treated you harshly, but it has not cost you your life. You have no need of money and land; here is something else for you.” Then she thrust into his hand a little book that was cut out of a single emerald. “Take great care of it,” she said. “It will bring you good fortune.” The count sprang up, and as he felt that he was quite fresh and had recovered his vigor, he thanked the old woman for her present and set off without even once looking back at the beautiful daughter. When he was already some way off, he still heard in the distance the noisy cry of the geese.

For three days the count had to wander in the wilderness before he could find his way out. He then reached a large town, and as no one knew him, he was led into the royal palace, where the King and Queen were sitting on their throne. The count fell on one knee, drew the emerald book out of his pocket, and laid it at the Queen’s feet. She told him to rise and hand her the little book. Hardly had she opened it and looked inside when she fell to the ground as if dead. The King’s servants seized the count and were leading him to prison when the Queen opened her eyes, ordered them to release him, and told everyone to go out, as she wished to speak with him in private.

When the Queen was alone, she began to weep bitterly and said, “Of what use to me are the splendors and honors with which I am surrounded? Every morning I awake in pain and sorrow. I had three daughters, the youngest of whom was so beautiful that the whole world looked on her as a wonder. She was as white as snow, as rosy as apple blossom, and her hair was as radiant as sunbeams. When she cried, not tears but only pearls and jewels fell from her eyes. When she was fifteen years old, the King summoned all three sisters to come before his throne. You should have seen how all the people gazed when the youngest entered; it was just as if the sun were rising! Then the King spoke: ‘My daughters, I do not know when my last day may arrive. Today I will decide what each of you shall receive at my death. You all love me, but the one of you who loves me best shall fare the best.’ Each of them said she loved him best. ‘Can you not express to me,’ said the King, ‘how much you love me, so that I may see what you mean?’ The eldest spoke: ‘I love my father as dearly as the sweetest sugar.’ The second said, ‘I love my father as dearly as my prettiest dress.’ But the youngest was silent. Then the father said, ‘And you, my dearest child, how much do you love me?’ ‘I do not know, and I can compare my love with nothing.’ But her father insisted that she name something. So at last she said, ‘The best food does not please me without salt; therefore I love my father like salt.’ When the King heard that, he flew into a rage and said, ‘If you love me like salt, your love shall also be repaid with salt.’ Then he divided the kingdom between the two elder daughters, but he had a sack of salt bound on the back of the youngest, and two servants had to lead her out 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 that flowed from her eyes. Soon afterward the King 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 do not know how to contain myself in my sorrow. Many a time I console myself with the hope that she is still alive and may have hidden herself in a cave or may have found shelter with compassionate people. But just think: when I opened your little emerald book, a pearl lay inside, of exactly the same kind as those that used to fall from my daughter’s eyes; and you can 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 seemed very strange to him and must be a witch, but he had neither seen nor heard anything of the Queen’s child. The King and the Queen resolved to seek out the old woman. They thought that where the pearl had come from, 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 burning on the hearth gave a scanty light. All at once there was a noise outside: the geese were coming home from the pasture, uttering their hoarse cries. Soon afterward 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 never exchanged 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 you to go out and do your work.” She rose and went out, and where did she go? She went 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 that covered her face, then bent down to the well and began to wash herself. When she had finished, she dipped the skin in the water too, and then laid it on the meadow so that it would bleach in the moonlight and dry again. But how the maiden was changed! Such a change as that had never been 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 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 she would have remained sitting a long time if there had not been a rustling and cracking in the boughs of the neighboring tree. She sprang up like a roe deer that has been overtaken by the hunter’s shot. 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 tell what had befallen her, but the old woman laughed kindly and said, “I already know everything.” She led her into the room and lit a new log. She did not, however, sit down to her spinning again but fetched a broom and began to sweep and scour. “Everything 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?” “Do you know, then, what time it is?” asked the old woman. “Not yet midnight,” answered the maiden, “but already past eleven o’clock.” “Do you not remember,” continued the old woman, “that it is three years today since you came to me? Your 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 told 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 parlor must be clean. Therefore do not hinder me in my work. Do not worry about yourself; you shall find a roof to shelter you, and the wages that I will give you shall also content you.” “But tell me what is about to happen,” the maiden continued to plead. “I tell you again, do not hinder me in my work. Do not say a word more. Go to your chamber, take the skin off your face, put on the silken gown that you had on when you came to me, and then wait in your chamber until I call you.”

But I must once more tell of the King and Queen, who had set out with the count to seek out the old woman in the wilderness. The count had strayed away from them in the woods by night and had to walk onward alone. The 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 lit up the surrounding country, he saw a figure coming down the mountain. She had no stick in her hand, but he could see that it was the goose-girl, whom he had seen before in the house of the old woman. “Oho,” he cried, “there she comes, and once I get hold of one of the witches, the other will not escape me!” But how astonished he was when she went to the well, took off the skin, and washed herself, and when her golden hair fell down all about her and she was more beautiful than anyone he had ever seen in the whole world! He hardly dared to breathe, but he stretched his head as far forward through the leaves as he dared and stared at her. Whether he bent over too far or for some other reason, the bough suddenly cracked, and at that very moment the maiden slipped into the skin, sprang away like a roe deer, and, as the moon was suddenly covered, disappeared from his sight. Hardly had she disappeared when 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 noticed from a distance the light shining in the old woman’s little house and were going toward 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 onward, full of joy, and soon came to the little house. The geese were sitting all around it, and they 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 around. 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 on the window. The old woman seemed to have been expecting them; she rose and called out quite kindly, “Come in. I already know you.” When they had entered the room, the old woman said, “You might have spared yourselves the long walk if three years ago you had not 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 learned 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.” At that, 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, threw her arms around their necks, and kissed them. It could not be helped; they all had to weep for joy. The young count stood near them, and when she noticed him, she turned as red in the face as a moss rose, and she herself did not know why. The King said, “My dear child, I have given away my kingdom. What shall I give you?” “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 around, the little house had changed into a splendid palace, a royal table had been spread, and the servants were running here and there.

The story goes on, but my grandmother, who told 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 as long as God willed it. Whether the snow-white geese, which were kept near the little hut, were truly young maidens (no one need take offense) whom the old woman had taken under her protection, and whether they now received their human form again and stayed on as maids to the young Queen, I do not exactly know, but I suspect it. This much is certain: 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 nowadays, or else the poor would soon become rich.