Fairy Tales from the Brothers Grimm: A New English Version

by Philip Pullman

  And to show her that he meant it, he had twelve coffins made. Each one was filled with wood shavings, and at the head of each one there was a feather pillow and a folded shroud. He had them put in a locked room and gave the key to the queen.

  ‘Tell no one about this,’ he said.

  The mother sat weeping all day long, until her youngest son, who was called Benjamin after the boy in the Bible, asked, ‘Mother, why are you so sad?’

  ‘My dear child,’ she said, ‘I can’t tell you.’

  But he wasn’t satisfied with that answer. He gave her no peace until she unlocked the room and showed him the twelve coffins all in a row, with the wood shavings and the pillows and the folded shrouds.

  Weeping as she spoke, she said, ‘My sweet Benjamin, these coffins are for you and your brothers. If this child I’m expecting is a girl, you will all be killed and buried in them.’

  Benjamin embraced her and said, ‘Don’t cry, mother. We’ll run away and look after ourselves.’

  ‘Yes!’ she said. ‘That’s a good idea. Go out into the forest, and find the highest tree you can. Keep watch on the castle tower. If I give birth to a little boy I’ll raise a white flag, but if it’s a girl I’ll raise a red one, and then you should escape as fast as you can. May God protect you! I’ll get up every night and pray for you all. In winter I’ll pray that you’ll always have a fire to warm yourselves at, and in summer I’ll pray that you won’t be oppressed by the heat.’

  When she had given them her blessing, the twelve brothers went out into the forest. They took turns to keep watch from a lofty oak tree, and after eleven days had passed and it was Benjamin’s turn, he saw the flutter of a flag being raised; but it wasn’t a white flag, it was a red one.

  He scrambled down the tree and told his brothers. They were furious.

  ‘Why should we suffer for the sake of a girl?’ they said. ‘We must take revenge for this! Any girl who crosses our path will regret it. Her red blood will flow!’

  They set off deeper into the forest, and in the deepest, darkest heart of it, they found a little cottage. Sitting outside it, with her suitcase packed, was an old woman.

  ‘Here you are at last!’ she said. ‘I’ve kept the cottage clean and warm for you. And I’ve planted twelve lilies here outside the window. As long as those lilies bloom, you will be safe. Now I must be going.’

  And she picked up her suitcase and disappeared down a dark path before they could say a word.

  ‘Well, let’s live here,’ they said. ‘It looks comfortable enough, and she did say it was intended for us. Benjamin, you’re the youngest and weakest, so you can stay at home and keep house. The rest of us will hunt for food.’

  So the older brothers went out into the forest every day and shot rabbits, deer, birds, whatever they could eat. They took it home to Benjamin, who cooked it and laid it on the table for them. They spent ten years in the little cottage, where they were safe, and the time passed quickly.

  Meanwhile the little daughter was growing. She turned out to have a kindly heart, a beautiful face, and a golden star on her forehead. One day when all the laundry had been done at the palace, she saw twelve linen shirts on the line, each one slightly smaller than the next, and said to her mother, ‘Whose are those shirts, mother? They are too small for father.’

  The queen answered with a heavy heart: ‘They belong to your twelve brothers, my dear.’

  ‘I didn’t know I had twelve brothers!’ said the girl. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘Only God knows. They went into the forest, and they might be anywhere now. Come with me, my dear, and I’ll tell you all about it.’

  And she took the girl to the locked room and showed her the twelve coffins with the wood shavings, and the pillows, and the shrouds.

  ‘These coffins were made for your brothers,’ she explained, ‘but they ran away before you were born.’ And she told her how everything had happened.

  The girl said, ‘Don’t cry, mother! I’ll go and look for my brothers. I’m sure I can find them.’

  And she ironed the twelve shirts and packed them neatly, and went out into the forest. She walked all day, and in the evening she came to the little cottage.

  She went inside and found a young boy. He said, ‘Who are you? Where have you come from?’

  He knew she was a princess, because of her fine dress, but he was astonished at how beautiful she was, and at the golden star on her forehead.

  ‘I am a princess,’ she said, ‘and I’m looking for my twelve brothers. I’ve vowed to walk on as far as the sky is blue till I’ve found them.’

  And she showed him the twelve shirts, each one slightly smaller than the next. Benjamin saw at once that this girl was his sister, and said, ‘You’ve found us! I’m your youngest brother, and my name is Benjamin.’

  She wept for joy, and so did he. They kissed and embraced lovingly.

  But then he remembered what his brothers had vowed, and said, ‘Sister dear, I have to warn you: my brothers have sworn that every girl they meet must die, since it was because of a girl that we had to leave our kingdom.’

  She said, ‘I’ll willingly give up my life, if I can free my brothers from their exile.’

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘you shan’t die. I won’t let it happen. Sit under this tub till our brothers come home, and I’ll make it all right.’

  So she did. When they came home from hunting at nightfall, they sat down to eat and said to Benjamin, ‘Any news?’

  ‘Don’t you know?’ he said.

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘You’ve been in the forest all day long, and I’ve been here at home, and yet I know more than you do.’

  ‘Know what? Tell us!’

  ‘I’ll tell you,’ he said, ‘as long as you promise that the next girl you meet shall not be killed.’

  By this time they were so curious that they all cried, ‘Yes! We promise! We’ll be merciful! Just tell us!’

  Then he said, ‘Here is our sister,’ and lifted up the tub.

  The princess came out in her royal clothes, looking so lovely, with the golden star on her forehead, and everything about her was delicate, and fine, and perfect.

  They all wept with joy, and embraced her and kissed her, and they loved her at once.

  From then on she stayed at home with Benjamin and helped with the housework. The eleven older brothers went out into the forest every day and shot game, deer and pigeons and wild boar, and the sister and Benjamin prepared it all for the table. They gathered wood for the fire and herbs for the pot so that supper was always ready as soon as the others came home, they kept the house in order and swept the floors and made the beds, and the sister always did the washing and hung up their shirts, each one slightly smaller than the next, to dry in the sunshine.

  One day they had prepared a fine meal, and they were all sitting down to eat when the sister thought that some parsley would taste very good sprinkled over the stew. So she went outside and gathered a bunch from their little herb garden, and then she saw twelve fine lilies growing by the window, and thought she would please the brothers by bringing them in to decorate the table.

  But the moment she cut the lilies the cottage disappeared, and the twelve brothers were changed into twelve ravens that flew away over the trees with a dismal cry and vanished. The poor girl was left standing in the little forest clearing all on her own.

  She looked around in dismay, and saw an old woman standing close by.

  ‘My child, what have you done?’ said the old woman. ‘Now your brothers have been changed into twelve ravens, and there’s no way of changing them back.’

  ‘No way at all?’ said the girl, trembling.

  ‘Well, there is one way,’ said the old woman, ‘but it’s so difficult that no one could ever do it.’

  ‘Tell me! Tell
me, please!’ said the girl.

  ‘You must remain silent for seven whole years, neither speaking nor laughing. If you speak a single word, even if it’s in the very last minute of the very last day of the very last year, it will all be for nothing, for your brothers will all be killed by that single word.’

  And the old woman hurried off down a dark path before the girl could say another word.

  But she said in her heart: ‘I can do it! I know I can do it! I’ll redeem my brothers, see if I don’t.’

  She chose a tall tree and climbed up high among the branches, where she sat spinning some thread, and thinking: ‘Don’t speak! Don’t laugh!’

  Now it happened that sometimes a king came hunting in that part of the forest. This king had a favourite greyhound, and as they were making their way along a path the hound suddenly ran to a tree and started barking and jumping up at it. The king followed, and when he saw the princess with the gold star on her forehead, he was so struck by her beauty that he fell in love at once. He called up and asked if she would be his wife.

  She didn’t say a word, but she nodded, and he knew she’d understood. He climbed up the tree to help her down, put her on his horse, and they went home together.

  The wedding was celebrated with great joy and festivity, but people remarked on the bride’s strange silence. Not only did she not speak, she didn’t laugh either.

  However, the marriage was a happy one. But after they had spent some years together, the king’s mother began to speak evil of the young queen. She would say to the king, ‘That wretch you brought home with you – she’s no better than a common beggar. Who can tell what wicked things she’s thinking of? And she might be a mute, but any decent person can laugh from time to time. Anyone who doesn’t laugh has something on their conscience, you can be sure of that.’

  At first the king didn’t want to listen to that sort of talk, but as time went by the old woman kept on and on, inventing all kinds of evil things to accuse the young queen of, and the king finally began to believe she must be right. The young queen was arraigned before a court packed with the old woman’s favourites, and they didn’t hesitate to sentence her to death.

  A great fire was built in the courtyard where she was to be burned to death. The king watched from an upstairs window, tears flowing down his cheeks, for he still loved her dearly. She was tied to the stake, and the red fire was already rising higher and licking at her dress, when the last moment of the seven years passed.

  And then twelve ravens flew down, the sound of their wingbeats filling the courtyard. As soon as their feet touched the ground they became her brothers again, and they rushed to the fire, kicking the burning logs this way and that, and untied their sister’s bonds and brushed off the sparks that were beginning to set her dress alight. They kissed and embraced her, carrying her away from the stake.

  And as for the young queen, she was laughing and talking as well as ever. The king was amazed. Now that she could speak, she told him why she had been silent so long. He rejoiced to hear she was innocent of all the terrible things his mother had accused her of.

  But then it was the old woman’s turn to be accused, and the court had no difficulty in finding her guilty. She was put into a barrel filled with poisonous snakes and boiling oil, and she didn’t last long after that.

  ***

  Tale type: ATU 451, ‘The Maiden Who Seeks Her Brothers’

  Source: a story told to the Grimm brothers by Julia and Charlotte Ramus

  Similar stories: Alexander Afanasyev: ‘The Magic Swan Geese’ (Russian Fairy Tales); Katharine M. Briggs: ‘The Seven Brothers’ (Folk Tales of Britain); Italo Calvino: ‘The Calf with the Golden Horns’, ‘The Twelve Oxen’ (Italian Folktales); Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm: ‘The Seven Ravens’ (Children’s and Household Tales)

  This tale has many cousins and it’s easy to see why. The charm of the chorus of nearly identical brothers, who are turned into birds; of the sister who unwittingly causes the transformation, and who is placed under a nearly impossible prohibition; of her fidelity and courage, and the terrible fate that seems about to engulf her, and the perfect timing of the brothers’ return and the sound of their wingbeats – it all makes a very pretty story.

  The version in Grimm deals clumsily with the matter of the magic cottage and the lilies. I introduce the old woman earlier than she appears in the original, for the sake of timing.

  One interesting detail is that the king’s mother is first called Mutter and then, a few sentences later, Stiefmutter, as if correcting an earlier slip of the tongue. Which is she, mother or stepmother? This is not the only time this question will come up. The storyteller has to decide; no one else can.

  SIX

  LITTLE BROTHER AND LITTLE SISTER

  Little Brother took Little Sister by the hand.

  ‘Listen,’ he whispered, ‘since our mother died we haven’t been happy for a single hour. The stepmother beats us every day, and her one-eyed daughter kicks us away whenever we try to go near her. What’s more, stale bread crusts are all we get to eat. The dog under the table eats better than we do; he often gets a tasty bit of meat. God knows, if our mother could see how we have to live! Let’s go away together into the wide world. We couldn’t live any worse if we were tramps.’

  Little Sister nodded, because every word her brother said was true.

  They waited till their stepmother was having a nap, and then they left the house, closing the door very quietly behind them, and they walked the whole day over meadows and fields, over pasture land and stony land. It began to rain, and Little Sister said, ‘God’s crying now, and our hearts are crying with him.’

  In the evening they came to the forest. They were so exhausted, so hungry and sorrowful, and so frightened of the dark that was gathering around them, that all they could do was climb into a hollow tree and fall asleep.

  When they awoke in the morning, the sun was already shining down into their tree.

  Little Brother said, ‘Sister, wake up! It’s warm and sunny and I’m thirsty. I think I can hear a spring – come and let’s drink!’

  Little Sister woke up too, and hand in hand they went to search for the spring they could hear among the trees.

  Now the trouble was that their stepmother was a witch. She could see through her eyelids, and she was watching the children all the time as they tiptoed out of the house. She crept after them, as witches do, flattening herself close to the ground, and she put a spell on all the springs in the forest before creeping back to the house.

  Soon Little Brother and Little Sister found the spring they’d heard, and saw the fresh cold water glistening as it ran over the stones. It looked so inviting that they both knelt down to drink.

  But Little Sister had learned how to listen to what running water was saying, and she could hear the spring talking. Just as little brother was raising his cupped hands to his dry mouth she cried out, ‘Don’t drink! The spring is bewitched. Anyone who drinks from it will become a tiger. Put it down, put it down! You’ll tear me to pieces!’

  Little Brother did as she said, thirsty as he was. They walked on and soon found another spring. This time she knelt first and put her head close to the water.

  ‘No, not this one either!’ she said. ‘It says, “Whoever drinks from me will become a wolf.” I think the stepmother must have put a spell on it.’

  ‘But I’m so thirsty!’ he said.

  ‘If you become a wolf, you’ll eat me up at once.’

  ‘I promise I won’t!’

  ‘Wolves don’t remember promises. There must be a spring she hasn’t bewitched. Let’s keep looking.’

  It wasn’t long before they found a third spring. This time Little Sister bent over and listened carefully and heard the water say, ‘Whoever drinks me will be turned into a deer. Whoever drinks me will be turned into a deer.’


  She turned to tell her brother – but it was too late. He was so thirsty that he’d thrown himself full length and plunged his face into the water. And at once his face changed, and lengthened, and became covered in fine hairs, and his limbs changed into a deer’s legs and he stood up, tottering uncertainly – and there he was, a young deer, a fawn.

  Little Sister saw him looking around nervously, about to flee, and she flung her arms around his neck.

  ‘Brother, it’s me! Your sister! Don’t flee away, or we’ll both be lost for ever! Oh, what have you done, my poor brother? What have you done?’

  She wept, and the fawn wept too. Finally Little Sister gathered herself and said, ‘Stop crying, my sweet little deer. I’ll never leave you, never. Come on, let’s make the best of this.’

  She took off the golden garter that she wore and put it around the fawn’s neck, and then she wove some rushes into a cord and tied it to the garter. Leading him along with this, she walked onwards, further and deeper into the forest.

  After they’d walked a long way they came to a clearing, and in the clearing there was a little house.

  Little Sister stopped and looked all around. It was very quiet. The garden was neatly kept, and the door of the house was open.

  ‘Is anyone at home?’ she called.

  There was no reply. She and the fawn went inside, and found the neatest and cleanest little home they’d ever seen. Their stepmother the witch didn’t care for housekeeping, and her house was always cold and dirty. But this one was delightful.

  ‘What we’ll do,’ she said to the fawn, ‘is we’ll look after this house really well and keep it nice and clean for whoever it belongs to. Then they won’t mind us staying here.’

  She spoke to the fawn all the time. He understood her well enough, and obeyed her when she said, ‘Don’t eat the plants in the garden, and when you want to do pee-pee or the other thing, you go outside.’

  She made him a bed on the hearth from soft moss and leaves. Every morning she went out and gathered food for herself: wild berries, or nuts, or sweet-tasting roots. There were carrots and beans and cabbages in the vegetable garden, and she always gathered plenty of fresh sweet grass for the deer, who ate it from her hand. He was happy to play around her, and in the evening, when Little Sister had washed and said her prayers, she lay down with her head on the deer’s back for a pillow. If only Little Brother had still been human, their life would have been perfect.