Grimm's Household Tales

Once upon a time there was a tailor who had three sons and only one goat. Because the goat supported all of them with her milk, she had to have good food and be taken to pasture every day. The sons therefore took turns doing this. Once the eldest took her to the churchyard, where the finest herbs were to be found, and let her eat and run about there. At night, when it was time to go home, he asked, “Goat, have you had enough?” The goat answered,

“I have eaten so much, / Not a leaf more I’ll touch, meh! meh!”

“Come home, then,” said the youth. He took hold of the cord around her neck, led her into the stable, and tied her up securely. “Well,” said the old tailor, “has the goat had as much food as she should?” “Oh,” answered the son, “she has eaten so much that she won’t touch another leaf.” But the father wished to satisfy himself, so he went down to the stable, stroked the dear animal, and asked, “Goat, are you satisfied?” The goat answered,

“How could I be satisfied? / Among the graves I leapt about, / And found no food, so went without, meh! meh!”

“What do I hear?” cried the tailor. He ran upstairs and said to the youth, “Hello, you liar! You said the goat had had enough, and you let her go hungry!” In his anger he took the yardstick from the wall and drove him out with blows.

Next day it was the turn of the second son. He looked for a place in the garden fence where nothing but good herbs grew, and the goat cleared them all off. At night, when he wanted to go home, he asked, “Goat, are you satisfied?” The goat answered,

“I have eaten so much, / Not a leaf more I’ll touch, meh! meh!”

“Come home, then,” said the youth. He led her home and tied her up in the stable. “Well,” said the old tailor, “has the goat had as much food as she should?” “Oh,” answered the son, “she has eaten so much that she won’t touch another leaf.” The tailor would not rely on this, but went down to the stable and said, “Goat, have you had enough?” The goat answered,

“How could I be satisfied? / Among the graves I leapt about, / And found no food, so went without, meh! meh!”

“The godless wretch!” cried the tailor. “To let such a good animal go hungry!” He ran up and drove the youth out of the house with the yardstick.

Now came the turn of the third son. He wanted to do the job well, so he sought out some bushes with the finest leaves and let the goat devour them. In the evening, when he wanted to go home, he asked, “Goat, have you had enough?” The goat answered,

“I have eaten so much, / Not a leaf more I’ll touch, meh! meh!”

“Come home, then,” said the youth. He led her into the stable and tied her up. “Well,” said the old tailor, “has the goat had a proper amount of food?” “She has eaten so much that she won’t touch another leaf.” The tailor did not trust that answer, but went down and asked, “Goat, have you had enough?” The wicked beast answered,

“How could I be satisfied? / Among the graves I leapt about, / And found no leaves, so went without, meh! meh!”

“Oh, the brood of liars!” cried the tailor. “Each is as wicked and forgetful of his duty as the other! You will not make a fool of me any longer!” Quite beside himself with anger, he ran upstairs and beat the poor young fellow so hard with the yardstick that he sprang out of the house.

The old tailor was now alone with his goat. Next morning he went down into the stable, caressed the goat, and said, “Come, my dear little animal, I will take you out to feed myself.” He took her by the rope and led her to green hedges, to yarrow, and to whatever else goats like to eat. “There you may eat to your heart’s content for once,” he said to her, and he let her browse until evening. Then he asked, “Goat, are you satisfied?” She replied,

“I have eaten so much, / Not a leaf more I’ll touch, meh! meh!”

“Come home, then,” said the tailor. He led her into the stable and tied her up firmly. When he was going away, he turned around again and said, “Well, are you satisfied for once?” But the goat did not behave any better toward him, and cried,

“How could I be satisfied? / Among the graves I leapt about, / And found no leaves, so went without, meh! meh!”

When the tailor heard that, he was shocked, and he saw clearly that he had driven away his three sons without cause. “Wait, you ungrateful creature,” he cried. “It is not enough to drive you out. I will mark you so that you will never again dare to show yourself among honest tailors.” In great haste he ran upstairs, fetched his razor, lathered the goat’s head, and shaved her as clean as the palm of his hand. And because the yardstick would have been too good for her, he brought the horsewhip and gave her such cuts with it that she ran away in a frenzy.

When the tailor was thus left quite alone in his house, he fell into great grief. He would gladly have had his sons back again, but no one knew where they had gone. The eldest had apprenticed himself to a joiner and learned his trade industriously and tirelessly. When the time came for him to go traveling, his master gave him a little table that had no special appearance and was made of common wood, but it had one good property. If anyone set it out and said, “Little table, spread yourself,” the good little table was at once covered with a clean little cloth, and a plate was there, with a knife and fork beside it, and dishes of boiled meats and roasted meats, as many as there was room for, and a great glass of red wine shone so brightly that it made the heart glad. The young journeyman thought, “With this you have enough for your whole life,” and he went joyfully about the world and never troubled himself at all about whether an inn was good or bad, or whether anything was to be found in it or not. When it suited him, he did not enter an inn at all. Instead, on the plain, in a wood, in a meadow, or wherever he fancied, he took his little table off his back, set it down before him, and said, “Cover yourself,” and then everything his heart desired appeared. At length he took it into his head to go back to his father, whose anger would surely be appeased by now, and who would willingly receive him with his wishing-table. On his way home, he came one evening to an inn that was filled with guests. They welcomed him and invited him to sit and eat with them, since otherwise he would have difficulty getting anything. “No,” answered the joiner, “I will not take the few bites out of your mouths. Rather than that, you shall be my guests.” They laughed and thought he was joking with them. He, however, placed his wooden table in the middle of the room and said, “Little table, cover yourself.” Instantly it was covered with food so good that the host could never have obtained it, and the smell of it rose pleasantly to the nostrils of the guests. “Dig in, dear friends,” said the joiner. When the guests saw that he meant it, they did not need to be asked twice, but drew near, pulled out their knives, and attacked the food bravely. And what surprised them most was that whenever a dish became empty, a full one instantly took its place of its own accord. The innkeeper stood in one corner and watched the whole affair. He did not know what to say, but thought, “You could easily find a use for such a cook in your kitchen.” The joiner and his companions made merry until late into the night. At length they lay down to sleep, and the young apprentice also went to bed and set his magic table against the wall. The host’s thoughts, however, gave him no rest. It occurred to him that there was a little old table in his lumber room that looked just like the apprentice’s, and he brought it out quite softly and exchanged it for the wishing-table. Next morning the joiner paid for his bed, took up his table, never thinking that he had a false one, and went on his way. At midday he reached his father, who received him with great joy. “Well, my dear son, what have you learned?” the father said to him. “Father, I have become a joiner.”

“A good trade,” replied the old man. “But what have you brought back with you from your apprenticeship?” “Father, the best thing I have brought back with me is this little table.” The tailor inspected it on all sides and said, “You did not make a masterpiece when you made that. It is a bad old table.” “But it is a table that furnishes itself,” replied the son. “When I set it out and tell it to cover itself, the most beautiful dishes stand on it, and a wine also, which gladdens the heart. Just invite all our relatives and friends. They shall refresh themselves and enjoy themselves for once, for the table will give them everything they require.” When the company was assembled, he put his table in the middle of the room and said, “Little table, cover yourself,” but the little table did not stir, and it remained as bare as any other table that did not understand language. Then the poor apprentice realized that his table had been changed, and he was ashamed to stand there like a liar. The relatives, however, mocked him and had to go home without having eaten or drunk. The father brought out his patches again and went on tailoring, but the son went to work for a master in the craft.

The second son had gone to a miller and apprenticed himself to him. When his years were over, the master said, “Because you have conducted yourself so well, I will give you a donkey of a peculiar kind, which neither draws a cart nor carries a sack.” “What use is he, then?” asked the young apprentice. “He lets gold drop from his mouth,” answered the miller. “If you set him on a cloth and say ‘Bricklebrit,’ the good animal will drop gold pieces for you.” “That is a fine thing,” said the apprentice. He thanked the master and went out into the world. When he needed gold, he had only to say “Bricklebrit” to his donkey, and it rained gold pieces, and he had nothing to do but pick them up off the ground. Wherever he went, the best of everything was good enough for him, and the more expensive the better, for he always had a full purse. When he had looked about the world for some time, he thought, “You must seek out your father. If you go to him with the gold donkey, he will forget his anger and receive you well.” He came to the same public house in which his brother’s table had been exchanged. He led his donkey by the bridle, and the host was about to take the animal from him and tie him up, but the young apprentice said, “Don’t trouble yourself. I will take my gray horse into the stable and tie him up myself, for I must know where he stands.” This struck the host as odd, and he thought that a man who had to look after his donkey himself could not have much to spend. But when the stranger put his hand in his pocket, brought out two gold pieces, and told him to provide something good, the host opened his eyes wide and ran and found the best he could get. After dinner the guest asked what he owed. The host saw no reason not to double the bill and said the apprentice must give two more gold pieces. He felt in his pocket, but his gold had just run out. “Wait a moment, sir host,” he said. “I will go and fetch some money.” But he took the tablecloth with him. The host could not imagine what this could mean, and being curious, he crept after him, and as the guest bolted the stable door, he peeped through a hole left by a knot in the wood. The stranger spread the cloth under the animal and cried, “Bricklebrit,” and immediately the beast began to let gold pieces fall, so that it fairly rained money on the ground. “Well, my word,” said the host, “ducats are quickly coined there! A purse like that is not bad.” The guest paid his bill and went to bed, but in the night the host crept down into the stable, led away the mint master, and tied up another donkey in his place. Early next morning the apprentice traveled away with his donkey, thinking that he had his gold donkey. At midday he reached his father, who rejoiced to see him again and gladly took him in. “What have you made of yourself, my son?” asked the old man. “A miller, dear father,” he answered. “What have you brought back with you from your travels?” “Nothing but a donkey.” “There are donkeys enough here,” said the father. “I would rather have had a good goat.” “Yes,” replied the son, “but it is no common donkey. It is a gold donkey. When I say ‘Bricklebrit,’ the good beast opens its mouth and drops a whole sheetful of gold pieces. Just summon all our relatives here, and I will make them rich folks.” “That suits me well,” said the tailor, “for then I shall have no need to torment myself any longer with the needle.” He ran out himself and called the relatives together. As soon as they were assembled, the miller asked them to make way, spread out his cloth, and brought the donkey into the room. “Now watch,” he said, and cried, “Bricklebrit,” but no gold pieces fell, and it was clear that the animal knew nothing of the art, for not every donkey attains such perfection. Then the poor miller pulled a long face, saw that he had been betrayed, and begged the relatives’ pardon, and they went home as poor as they had come. There was no help for it: the old man had to take up his needle once more, and the youth hired himself out to a miller.

The third brother had apprenticed himself to a turner, and because that is skilled labor, he was the longest in learning. His brothers, however, told him in a letter how badly things had gone with them and how the innkeeper had cheated them of their beautiful wishing-gifts on the last evening before they reached home. When the turner had served his time and had to set out on his travels, his master, because he had conducted himself so well, presented him with a sack and said, “There is a cudgel in it.” “I can put the sack on,” he said, “and it may be of good service to me, but why should the cudgel be in it? It only makes it heavy.” “I will tell you why,” replied the master. “If anyone has done anything to injure you, just say, ‘Out of the sack, Cudgel!’ and the cudgel will leap out among the people and play such a dance on their backs that they will not be able to stir or move for a week, and it will not leave off until you say, ‘Into the sack, Cudgel!’” The apprentice thanked him and put the sack on his back. When anyone came too near him and wished to attack him, he said, “Out of the sack, Cudgel!” and instantly the cudgel sprang out and dusted the coat or jacket of one man after another on his back, and never stopped until it had stripped it off him. It was done so quickly that before anyone was aware, it was already his own turn. In the evening the young turner reached the inn where his brothers had been cheated. He laid his sack on the table before him and began to talk of all the wonderful things he had seen in the world. “Yes,” he said, “people may easily find a table that will cover itself, a gold donkey, and things of that kind—extremely good things that I by no means despise—but these are nothing in comparison with the treasure I have won for myself and am carrying about with me in my sack there.” The innkeeper pricked up his ears. “What in the world can that be?” he thought. “The sack must be filled with nothing but jewels. I ought to get them cheap, too, for all good things come in threes.” When it was time for sleep, the guest stretched himself on the bench and laid his sack beneath him for a pillow. When the innkeeper thought his guest was sound asleep, he went to him and pushed and pulled quite gently and carefully at the sack to see if he could possibly draw it away and put another in its place. The turner, however, had been waiting for this for a long time, and just as the innkeeper was about to give a hearty tug, he cried, “Out of the sack, Cudgel!” Instantly the little cudgel came out, fell on the innkeeper, and gave him a sound thrashing.

The host cried for mercy, but the louder he cried, the more heavily the cudgel beat time on his back, until at length he fell to the ground exhausted. Then the turner said, “If you do not give back the table that covers itself and the gold donkey, the dance will begin afresh.” “Oh, no,” cried the host, quite humbly, “I will gladly produce everything, only make the accursed goblin creep back into the sack.” Then the apprentice said, “I will let mercy take the place of justice, but beware of getting into mischief again!” So he cried, “Into the sack, Cudgel!” and let him rest.

Next morning the turner went home to his father with the wishing-table and the gold donkey. The tailor rejoiced when he saw him once more, and asked him likewise what he had learned in foreign parts. “Dear father,” he said, “I have become a turner.” “A skilled trade,” said the father. “What have you brought back with you from your travels?”

“A precious thing, dear father,” replied the son, “a cudgel in the sack.”

“What!” cried the father. “A cudgel! That’s worth your trouble, indeed! You can cut yourself one from any tree.” “But not one like this, dear father. If I say, ‘Out of the sack, Cudgel!’ the cudgel springs out and leads anyone who means me ill a weary dance, and never stops until he lies on the ground and prays for fair weather. Look, with this cudgel I have got back the wishing-table and the gold donkey that the thieving innkeeper took from my brothers. Now let them both be sent for, and invite all our kinsmen. I will give them food and drink, and will fill their pockets with gold into the bargain.” The old tailor did not quite believe it, but he got the relatives together anyway. Then the turner spread a cloth in the room, led in the gold donkey, and said to his brother, “Now, dear brother, speak to him.” The miller said, “Bricklebrit,” and instantly the gold pieces fell down on the cloth like a thundershower, and the donkey did not stop until every one of them had so much that he could carry no more. (I can see in your face that you would like to have been there, too.)

Then the turner brought the little table and said, “Now, dear brother, speak to it.” And scarcely had the joiner said, “Table, cover yourself,” when it was spread and amply covered with the most exquisite dishes. Then such a meal took place as the good tailor had never known in his house, and the whole party of kinsmen stayed together until far into the night, and all were merry and glad. The tailor locked away needle and thread, yardstick and goose in a cupboard, and lived with his three sons in joy and splendor. (But what became of the goat who was to blame for the tailor driving out his three sons? I will tell you. She was ashamed that she had a bald head, and she ran to a fox’s hole and crept into it. When the fox came home, he was met by two great eyes shining out of the darkness, and he was terrified and ran away. A bear met him, and as the fox looked quite disturbed, the bear said, “What is the matter with you, brother Fox? Why do you look like that?” “Ah,” answered Red Fox, “a fierce beast is in my cave and stared at me with its fiery eyes.” “We will soon drive him out,” said the bear, and he went with him to the cave and looked in, but when he saw the fiery eyes, fear seized him, too. He would have nothing to do with the furious beast and took to his heels. The bee met him, and when she saw that he was ill at ease, she said, “Bear, you are really making a very pitiful face. What has become of all your cheerfulness?” “It is all very well for you to talk,” replied the bear. “A furious beast with staring eyes is in Red Fox’s house, and we can’t drive him out.” The bee said, “Bear, I pity you. I am a poor, weak creature whom you would not turn aside to look at, but still, I believe I can help you.” She flew into the fox’s cave, landed on the goat’s smoothly shorn head, and stung her so violently that she sprang up, crying “Meh, meh,” and ran out into the world as if mad, and to this hour no one knows where she has gone.)