Fairy Tales from the Brothers Grimm: A New English Version

by Philip Pullman

  He went to the gallows, sat himself down beneath it, and waited for night to fall. He felt cold, so he made himself a fire, but by midnight a wind arose and he couldn’t get warm in spite of the blazing logs. The wind pushed the hanged men to and fro so that the bodies jostled against one another, and the boy thought, ‘If I’m freezing down here by the fire, those poor fellows up there must be even colder.’ He put up a ladder, climbed up and untied them, one after the other, and brought all seven of them down.

  Then he put another couple of logs on the fire, and arranged the dead men around it to warm themselves; but all they did was sit there quite still, even when their clothes caught fire.

  ‘Hey, watch out,’ he said. ‘I’ll hang you up again if you’re not careful.’

  Of course, the dead men took no notice. They just continued to stare at nothing while their clothes blazed up.

  This made the boy angry. ‘I told you to be careful!’ he said. ‘I don’t want to catch fire just because you’re too lazy to pull your legs out of the flames.’

  And he hung them all up again in a row, and lay down by his fire and fell asleep.

  Next morning, he woke up to find the man demanding his fifty talers.

  ‘You got the shivers last night all right, didn’t you?’ he said.

  ‘No,’ said the boy. ‘How could I learn anything from those stupid fellows? They didn’t say a word, and they just sat there quite still while their trousers caught fire.’

  The man saw there was no chance of getting his fifty talers, so he threw his hands in the air and left. ‘What a fool!’ he said to himself. ‘I’ve never met such a dimwit in all my life.’

  The boy went on his way, still muttering to himself, ‘If only I could get the shivers! If only I could get the shivers!’

  A carter was walking along behind him, and hearing what he said, caught up with him and asked: ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Dunno,’ said the boy.

  ‘Where d’you come from, eh?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Who’s your father, then?’

  ‘I’m not allowed to say.’

  ‘And what are you muttering to yourself all the time?’

  ‘Oh,’ said the boy, ‘I want to get the shivers, but no one can teach me how.’

  ‘You’re a poor simpleton,’ said the carter. ‘Step along with me and I’ll see that you find a place to stay, at least.’

  The boy went along with him, and that evening they came to an inn where they decided to stay the night. As they went into the parlour the boy said again, ‘If only I could get the shivers! Oh, if only I could get the shivers!’

  The innkeeper heard what he said, and laughed, saying, ‘If that’s what you want, you’re in luck. There’s a chance for you very close to here.’

  ‘Sshh,’ said the innkeeper’s wife, ‘don’t talk about that. Think of all those poor fellows who lost their lives. It would be such a pity if this young man’s lovely eyes never saw the light of day again!’

  ‘But I want to get the shivers,’ said the boy. ‘That’s why I left home. What did you mean? What’s the chance you talked about? Where is it?’

  He wouldn’t stop pestering till the innkeeper told him that there was a haunted castle nearby, where anyone who wanted to learn about the shivers could do so easily if only he managed to keep watch there for three nights.

  ‘The king promised that whoever does that can have his daughter in marriage,’ he said, ‘and I swear the princess is the most beautiful girl who ever lived. What’s more there are great heaps of treasure in the castle, guarded by evil spirits. You can have the treasure too, if you stay there for three nights – there’s enough to make anyone rich. Plenty of young men have gone up there and tried, but no one’s come out again.’

  Next morning the boy went to the king and said, ‘If you let me, I’ll stay three nights in the haunted castle.’

  The king eyed him, and liked the look of him. So he said, ‘I’ll let you take three things into the castle with you, but they must be things that aren’t alive.’

  The boy said, ‘In that case, I’d like things to make a fire with, a lathe and a woodcarver’s bench with a knife.’

  The king ordered that all these things should be taken to the castle during daylight. When night fell the boy went inside and lit a bright fire in one of the rooms, dragged the woodcarver’s bench and knife beside it, and sat down at the lathe.

  ‘Oh, if only I could get the shivers!’ he said. ‘But this place doesn’t look very promising either.’

  When it was nearly midnight he stirred the fire up. He was just blowing on it when he heard voices from a corner of the room.

  ‘Miaow, miaow! We’re so cold!’ they said.

  ‘What are you yelling about?’ he said over his shoulder. ‘If you’re cold, come and sit down by the fire.’

  Next moment two huge black cats leaped out of the shadows and sat on either side of him, staring at him with their coal-red eyes.

  ‘Fancy a game of cards?’ they said.

  ‘Why not?’ he replied. ‘But let me see your claws first.’

  So they stretched out their paws.

  ‘Good God,’ he said, ‘what long nails you’ve got. I’ll have to trim them before we start to play.’

  And he seized the cats by their necks, lifted them up to the woodcarver’s bench, and tightened the vice around their paws.

  ‘I don’t like the look of these at all,’ he said. ‘They’ve put me right off the idea of playing cards.’

  And he struck them both dead, and threw them into the moat.

  He had just sat down again when from every corner of the room there came black cats and black dogs, each of them wearing a red-hot collar with a red-hot chain. They piled in from every direction until he couldn’t move. They howled, they barked, they shrieked horribly, they jumped into the fire and scattered the burning logs in all directions.

  He watched curiously for a minute or two, but finally he lost patience. Seizing his knife, he cried, ‘Out with you, you scoundrels!’

  And he hacked away merrily. Some of them he killed, and the others ran away. When all the live ones had fled, he threw the dead ones into the moat, and came back inside to warm up.

  But his eyes wouldn’t stay open, so he went to the large bed in the corner of the room.

  ‘This looks comfortable,’ he thought. ‘Just the job!’

  But as soon as he lay down, the bed began to move. It trundled to the door, which flew open, and then rolled all the way through the castle, gathering speed as it went.

  ‘Not bad,’ he said, ‘but let’s go faster still.’

  And on it rolled as though drawn by six fine horses, along the corridors, up the stairs and down again, until suddenly – hop! It turned upside down, trapping him underneath. It lay on him like a mountain.

  But he threw off the blankets and the pillows and clambered out.

  ‘I’ve finished with the bed now,’ he called out. ‘If anyone else wants it, they can have it.’

  And he lay down by his fire, and went peacefully to sleep.

  When the king came in the morning he found him lying there, and said, ‘Oh, that’s a pity. The ghosts have killed him. Such a handsome young man, too!’

  The boy heard him, and got up at once. ‘They haven’t killed me yet, your majesty,’ he said.

  ‘Oh! You’re alive!’ said the king. ‘Well, I’m glad to see you. How did you get on?’

  ‘Very well, thanks,’ said the boy. ‘One night down, two more to go.’

  He went back to the inn. The innkeeper was astonished.

  ‘You’re alive! I never thought I’d see you again. Did you get the shivers?’

  ‘No, not once. I hope someone can give me the shivers tonight.’

 
The second night he went up to the castle, lit his fire, and sat down again.

  ‘Oh!’ he said. ‘I wish someone could give me the shivers.’

  As midnight approached he heard a commotion up in the chimney. Banging and shouting, scuffling, screaming, and finally, with a loud yell, the lower half of a man fell down into the fireplace.

  ‘What are you doing?’ said the boy. ‘Where’s your other half?’

  But the half-man, not having eyes or ears, couldn’t hear him or see where anything was, and it ran around the room knocking into things and falling over and scrambling up again.

  Then there was more noise from the chimney, and in a cloud of soot the missing top half fell down, and scrambled away from the fire.

  ‘Not hot enough for you?’ said the boy.

  ‘Legs! Legs! This way! Over here!’ called the top half, but the bottom half couldn’t hear and kept on blundering around till the boy grabbed him around the knees and hung on. The top half leaped on board, and they became one man again at once. He was hideous. He sat down on the boy’s bench next to the fire, and wouldn’t give way, so the boy knocked him off and sat down himself.

  Then there was yet more commotion, and half a dozen dead men fell down the chimney, one after the other. They had nine thigh-bones and two skulls with them, and set them up to play skittles.

  ‘Can I play too?’ asked the boy.

  ‘Well, have you got any money?’

  ‘Plenty,’ he said. ‘But your bowling balls aren’t round enough.’

  He took the skulls, put them on the lathe, and turned them till they were round.

  ‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘Now they’ll roll properly. This will be fun!’

  He played with the dead men for a while and lost some of his money. Finally, at midnight, the clock struck twelve and they all vanished, every one of them. The boy lay down peacefully and went to sleep.

  Next morning the king came in again to see how he’d got on.

  ‘How did you do this time?’ he said.

  ‘I had a game of skittles,’ said the boy. ‘I lost some money, too.’

  ‘And did you get the shivers?’

  ‘Not a bit of it,’ he replied. ‘I enjoyed the game, but that was it. If only I could get the shivers!’

  On the third night he sat down again on his bench by the fire and sighed. ‘Only one night left,’ he said. ‘I hope this is the night I’ll get the shivers.’

  When it was nearly midnight, he heard a heavy tread coming slowly towards the room, and in came six huge men carrying a coffin.

  ‘Oh, so someone’s dead?’ the boy said. ‘I expect it’s my cousin. He died a few days ago.’

  He whistled and beckoned, saying, ‘Come on out, cousin! Come and say hello!’

  The six men put the coffin down and walked out. The boy opened the lid and looked at the dead man lying inside. He felt the dead face, but of course it was as cold as ice.

  ‘Never mind,’ he said, ‘I’ll warm you up.’

  He warmed his hands by the fire and held them to the dead man’s cheeks, but the face stayed cold.

  Then he took the body out, laid it by the fire with the dead man’s head on his lap, and rubbed his arms to get the circulation going. That didn’t work either.

  ‘I know!’ he said. ‘When two people lie together, they warm each other up. I’ll take you to bed with me, that’s what I’ll do.’

  So he put the dead man in his bed and got in beside him, pulling the covers over them both. After a few minutes the dead man began to move.

  ‘That’s it!’ said the boy, to encourage him. ‘Come on, cousin! You’re nearly alive again.’

  But the dead man suddenly sat up and roared out, ‘Who are you? Eh? I’ll strangle you, you dirty devil!’

  And he reached for the boy’s neck, but the boy was too quick for him, and after a struggle he soon had him back in his coffin.

  ‘Fine thanks I get from you,’ he said, banging in the nails to keep the lid down.

  As soon as the lid was fixed, the six men appeared again. They picked up the coffin and carried it slowly out.

  ‘Oh, it’s no good,’ said the boy, in despair. ‘I’m never going to learn about the shivers here.’

  As he said that, an old man stepped out of the darkness in the corner of the room. He was even bigger than the men who carried the coffin, and he had a long white beard and eyes that glowed with evil.

  ‘You miserable worm,’ he said. ‘You shall soon learn what the shivers are. Tonight you’re going to die.’

  ‘You think so? You’ll have to catch me first,’ said the boy.

  ‘You won’t get away from me, no matter how fast you run!’

  ‘I’m as strong as you are, and probably stronger,’ said the boy.

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ said the old man. ‘If you turn out to be stronger than me, I’ll let you go. But you won’t. Now come along this way.’

  The old man led the boy through the castle, along dark corridors and down dark stairways, till they came to a smithy deep in the bowels of the earth.

  ‘Now let’s see who’s stronger,’ he said, and he took an axe and with one blow drove an anvil into the ground.

  ‘I can do better than that,’ said the boy. He took the axe and struck the other anvil in such a way that it split wide open for a moment, and in that moment the boy seized the old man’s beard and wedged it in the anvil. The anvil closed up, and there was the old man, caught.

  ‘I’ve got you,’ said the boy. ‘Now you’ll see who’s going to die.’

  And he took an iron bar and beat the old man mercilessly, raining blows on him till he whimpered and moaned and cried, ‘All right! Stop! I give in!’

  And he promised to give the boy great riches if only he’d let him go. The boy twisted the axe in the crack and released his beard, and the old man led him to another cellar deep under the castle, and showed him three chests full of gold.

  ‘One of these is for the poor,’ he explained, ‘one is for the king, and the third is yours.’

  At that moment midnight struck, and the old man disappeared, leaving the boy in the dark.

  ‘Well, so much for that,’ he said. ‘I can find my own way back.’

  Groping along the walls, he made his way back to the bedroom and fell asleep by the fire.

  In the morning the king came in.

  ‘You must have learned how to shudder by now,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ said the boy. ‘I wonder what they can be, these shivers? I lay down with my dead cousin, and then an old man with a long beard came and showed me some treasure, but no one showed me how to shiver.’

  They brought the gold up and shared it out, and then the boy and the princess were married. In due course he inherited the kingdom. But no matter how much he loved his wife, or how happy he was, the young king kept on saying, ‘If only I could get the shivers! If only I knew what it meant to get the shivers!’

  In the end it got on the young queen’s nerves. She told her chambermaid, who said, ‘Leave it to me, your majesty. I’ll give him the shivers all right.’

  The maid went down to the brook and caught a bucketful of minnows. That night when the young king was sleeping, the maid told the queen to pull the covers off and pour the bucket over him.

  So that was what she did. The young king felt first the cold water and then the little fish wriggling and flipping about all over him.

  ‘Oh, oh, oh!’ he cried. ‘Ooh! What’s making me shiver? Ooh! Ow! Yes, I’m shivering! I’ve got the shivers at last! Bless you, dear wife! You did what no one else could do. I’ve got the shivers!’

  ***

  Tale type: ATU 326, ‘The Youth Who Wanted to Learn What Fear Is’

  Source: A shorter version of this was published in the G
rimms’ first edition of 1812, but the story as it is here was published in their second edition of 1819, following a written version sent to them by Ferdinand Siebert of Treysa, near Kassel.

  Similar stories: Alexander Afanasyev: ‘The Man Who Did Not Know Fear’ (Russian Fairy Tales); Katharine M. Briggs: ‘The Boy Who Feared Nothing’, ‘The Dauntless Girl’, ‘A Wager Won’ (Folk Tales of Britain); Italo Calvino: ‘Dauntless Little John’, ‘The Dead Man’s Arm’, ‘Fearless Simpleton’, ‘The Queen of the Three Mountains of Gold’ (Italian Folktales)

  A widespread tale, another version of which was included in the Grimms’ volume of annotations to the Children’s and Household Tales that they published in 1856. Calvino’s ‘The Dead Man’s Arm’ is the most lively and amusing of his four versions, but as its hero does not specifically set out to learn fear, he doesn’t need the final lesson from the bucket of minnows. Neither does the heroine of Briggs’s ‘The Dauntless Girl’, a fine story from Norfolk, which does share with this one the unfortunate fate of the sexton and the ghost’s revealing of the treasure in the cellar. I think the Grimms’ version is the best of all.

  High spirits colour most of the variants of this tale; the ghosts and dead men are comic rather than terrifying. Marina Warner, in From the Beast to the Blonde, suggests a sexual interpretation of the bucket of minnows.

  FOUR

  FAITHFUL JOHANNES

  Once upon a time there was an old king who fell ill, and as he was lying in pain he thought, ‘This bed I’m lying on will be my deathbed.’ And he said, ‘Send for Faithful Johannes – I want to speak to him.’

  Faithful Johannes was his favourite servant. He had that name because he’d been true and loyal to the king all his life long. When he came into the king’s bedroom the king beckoned him close to the bed, and said, ‘My good and faithful Johannes, I’m not long for this world. The only thing that troubles me is my son. He’s a good lad, but he’s young, and he doesn’t always know what’s best for him. I won’t be able to close my eyes in peace unless you promise to be like a foster father to him, and teach him all he ought to know.’

  Faithful Johannes said, ‘I’ll do that gladly. I won’t forsake him, and I’ll serve him faithfully even if it costs me my life.’