Fairy Tales from the Brothers Grimm: A New English Version

by Philip Pullman

  That evening the old woman was sitting in her little house, spinning with her spinning wheel. Night was falling, and the only light came from a pine log burning on the hearth. Suddenly there were loud cries from outside, as the geese came home from their pasture, and a moment later the daughter entered the house, but the old woman merely nodded and didn’t say a word.

  Her daughter sat down beside her and took up her own spinning, twisting the thread as deftly as any young girl. The two of them sat together for two hours without exchanging a word.

  Finally there came a rustling from the window, and they looked up to see two fiery red eyes glaring in at them. It was an old owl, who cried out, ‘Tu-whoo, tu-whoo,’ three times.

  The old woman said, ‘Well, my little daughter, it’s time for you to go outside and do your work.’

  The daughter stood up. Where did she go? Out across the meadow, and down towards the valley, until she came to three old oak trees next to a spring. The moon was full, and had just risen over the mountain; it was so bright that you could have found a pin on the ground.

  The daughter unfastened the skin at her neck, and pulled her face right over her head before kneeling down at the spring and washing herself. When she’d done that, she dipped the skin of her false face in the water, wrung it out, and laid it to dry and bleach on the grass. But what a change had come over her! You wouldn’t believe it! After the dull heavy face and the grey wig had come off, her hair flowed down like liquid sunlight. Her eyes sparkled like stars, and her cheeks were as pink as the freshest apple blossom.

  But this girl, so beautiful, was sad. She sat down by the spring and cried bitterly. Tear after tear rolled down her long hair and fell into the grass. There she sat, and she would have stayed there for a long time if she hadn’t heard a rustling among the branches of a tree nearby. Like a deer startled by the sound of a hunter’s rifle, she jumped up at once. At the same time a dark cloud passed over the face of the moon, and in the sudden darkness the maiden slipped into the old skin and vanished like a candle flame blown out by the wind.

  Shivering like an aspen leaf, she ran back to the little house, where the old woman was standing by the door.

  ‘Oh, mother, I—’

  ‘Hush, dear,’ said the old woman gently, ‘I know, I know.’

  She led the girl into the room and put another log on the fire. But she didn’t go back to the spinning wheel; she took a broom and began to sweep the floor.

  ‘We must make everything neat and clean,’ she said.

  ‘But, mother, what are you doing it now for? It’s late! What’s happening?’

  ‘Don’t you know what time it is?’

  ‘It’s not past midnight,’ said the girl, ‘but it must be past eleven.’

  ‘And don’t you remember that it was three years ago today when you came to me? Time’s up, my dear. We can’t stay together any longer.’

  The girl was frightened. ‘Oh, mother dear,’ she said, ‘you’re not really going to throw me out, are you? Where shall I go? I’ve got no friends, I’ve got no home to go to. I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me, you’ve always been satisfied with my work – please don’t send me away!’

  But the old woman wouldn’t give her an answer. ‘My own time here is up,’ she said. ‘But before I leave, the house must be spick and span. So don’t get in my way, and don’t worry too much either. You’ll find a roof to shelter you, and you’ll be quite satisfied with the wages I’m going to give you.’

  ‘But please tell me, what’s happening?’

  ‘I’ve told you once, and I’m telling you again: don’t interrupt my work. Go to your room, take the skin off your face, and put on the silk dress you were wearing when you first came here. Then wait there till I call you.’

  Meanwhile, the king and queen were continuing their search for the old woman who had given the count the emerald box. He had gone with them, but he’d become separated from them in the thick forest, and he’d had to go on alone. He thought he’d found the right path, but then as the daylight waned he thought he’d better not go any further in case he got really lost; so he climbed a tree, meaning to spend the night safely up among the branches.

  But when the moon came out he saw something moving down the meadow, and in its brilliant light he realized it was the goose girl he’d seen before at the old woman’s house. She was coming towards the trees, and he thought, ‘Aha! If I catch one of these witches, I’ll soon have my hands on the other.’

  But then she stopped at the spring, and removed her skin, and the count nearly fell out of the tree with astonishment; and when her golden hair fell down around her shoulders, and he saw her clearly in the moonlight, he knew that she was more beautiful than anyone he had ever seen. He hardly dared to breathe. But he couldn’t resist leaning forward to get a little closer, and in doing so he leaned too heavily on a dry branch, and it was the sound of it cracking that startled her. She leaped up at once and put on the other skin, and then the cloud passed in front of the moon; and in the sudden darkness she slipped away.

  The count climbed down from the tree at once and ran after her. He hadn’t gone very far up the meadow when he saw two figures making for the house. It was the king and queen, who’d seen the firelight in the window, and when the count caught up with them and told them about the miracle he’d seen at the spring, they were sure the girl must be their daughter.

  Full of joy and hope, they hurried on and soon arrived at the little house. The geese were all asleep with their heads tucked under their wings, and not one of them moved. The three searchers looked in at the window, and saw the old woman quietly sitting and spinning, nodding her head as she turned the wheel. Everything in the room was as clean as if the little fog men lived there, who carry no dust on their feet; but there was no sign of the princess.

  For a minute or two the king and queen just looked in, but then they plucked up their courage and knocked at the window.

  The old woman seemed to be expecting them. She stood up and called out in a friendly voice, ‘Come in. I know who you are.’

  When they were all inside the house, the old woman said, ‘You could have spared yourself this sorrow and this journey, you know, if you hadn’t banished your daughter so unjustly three years ago. But she hasn’t come to harm. She’s tended the geese for three years, and made a good job of it. She’s learned nothing evil and she’s kept a pure heart. But I think you’ve been punished enough by the unhappiness you’ve suffered.’

  Then she went to the door and said, ‘Come out, my little daughter.’

  The door opened, and the princess came into the room, wearing her silken dress, with her golden hair shining and her bright eyes sparkling. It was as if an angel had come down from heaven.

  The princess went straight to her mother and father and embraced them both, and kissed them. Both of them wept for joy; they couldn’t help it. The young count was standing nearby, and when she caught sight of him her cheeks became as red as a moss rose, and she herself didn’t know why.

  The king said, ‘My dear child, I gave my kingdom away. What can I give you?’

  ‘She needs nothing,’ said the old woman. ‘I shall give her the tears she shed because of you. Each one is a pearl more precious than any they find in the sea, and they’re worth more than your whole kingdom. And as a reward for looking after the geese, I shall give her my house.’

  And just as the old woman said that, she vanished. The walls of the house rumbled and shook, and when the king and queen and the princess and the count looked around, they saw that it had been changed into a beautiful palace. A table had been set with a feast fit for an emperor, and there were servants bustling everywhere to do their bidding.

  The story doesn’t end there. The trouble is that my grandmother, who told it to me, is losing her memory, and she’s forgotten the rest.

  Bu
t I think that the beautiful princess married the count, and they remained together and lived in happiness. As for the snow-white geese, some say that they were really girls that the old woman had taken into her care, and it’s likely that they regained their human form and stayed there to serve the young queen. I wouldn’t be surprised.

  As for the old woman, she can’t have been a witch, as people thought, but a wise woman who meant well. Why did she treat the young count like that when he first came across her? Well, who knows? She might have seen into his character and found a seed or two of arrogance there. If so, she knew how to deal with it.

  Finally, it’s almost certain that she was present at the birth of the princess, and gave her the gift of weeping pearls instead of tears. That doesn’t happen much any more. If it did, poor people would soon become rich.

  ***

  Tale type: ATU 923, ‘Love Like Salt’

  Source: ‘D’Ganshiadarin’, an Austrian dialect story by Andreas Schumacher (1833)

  Similar stories: Katharine M. Briggs: ‘Cap o’ Rushes’, ‘Sugar and Salt’ (Folk Tales of Britain); Italo Calvino: ‘Dear as Salt’, ‘The Old Woman’s Hide’ (Italian Folktales); William Shakespeare: King Lear

  This is one of the most sophisticated of all the tales. At the heart of it is the old story of the princess who told her father she loved him as much as salt, and was punished for her honesty. There are many variations on this tale, including King Lear.

  But look what this very literary telling does. Instead of beginning with the unfortunate honest princess, it hides her until much later in the story, and begins with another figure altogether, the witch or wise woman; and not with a single event, either, but with a sketch of what she usually did, what her habitual way of life led her to do, and the reaction that aroused in others. But is she a witch, or isn’t she? Fairy tales usually tell us directly; this one instead shows us what other people thought of her, and allows the question to remain equivocal, undetermined. The story-sprite here is flirting with modernism already, in which there is no voice with absolute authority, and we can have no view except one that passes through a particular pair of eyes (the father and his little son); but all human views are partial. The father might be right, or he might not.

  Then we meet the count, and the events of the story begin. The old woman treats the young man with what seems like high-handed and meaningless harshness; he meets another woman younger than the first, but ugly, dull; the old woman gives him the present of a box containing something which, when the queen opens the box in the next city he visits, causes her to faint. The storyteller has given us a tale full of mystery and suspense, and still we haven’t got to the heart of it.

  But now, in the words of the queen (the story-sprite again, making sure that we can only know something that someone in the story knows) comes the kernel of the tale, the story of the girl who told the truth about loving her father as much as salt. She wept tears that were pearls, says the queen, and in the box there is one of those very pearls. Now we can see the connections that the storyteller has established between these mysterious events, and from here the tale moves swiftly on towards the climax. The goose girl takes off her skin in the moonlight (and again, we can only see this because the count is observing it) and reveals her hidden beauty; the old woman, treating her with great tenderness, tells her to put on her silk dress; the participants come together, and the truth is revealed.

  And then there’s another reminder of the partiality of knowledge: the storyteller says that the story doesn’t end there, but the old woman who originally told it is losing her memory and has forgotten the rest. Nevertheless, it might happen that . . . and so on. This marvellous tale shows how complex a structure can be built on the simplest of bases, and still remain immediately comprehensible.

  FIFTY

  THE NIXIE OF THE MILLPOND

  There were once a miller and his wife who lived happily with enough money and a bit of land, comfortably getting a little richer every year. But misfortune comes even to people such as them, and they had one piece of bad luck after another, so that the wealth they had grew smaller and smaller until they barely owned the mill they lived in. The miller was in great distress; he couldn’t sleep, and all night long he tossed and turned while his anxieties grew and grew.

  One morning, after a night of ceaseless worry, he got up very early and went outside, hoping the fresh air would lift his heart a little. As he was walking across the mill dam the first rays of the sun touched his eyes, and at the same moment he heard something disturbing the water.

  He turned around to look, and saw a beautiful woman rising up out of the millpond. Her delicate hands were holding her hair away from her shoulders, but it was so long that it flowed down around her pale body like silk. He knew at once that she was the nixie of the pond. He was so frightened that he didn’t know whether to run away or to stay where he was, but then she spoke, and in a soft voice she called him by his name and asked him why he was so sad.

  At first the miller couldn’t find his voice, but when he heard her speaking so sweetly, he took heart and told her how he’d once been rich, but that his fortune had diminished little by little and now he was so poor he didn’t know what to do.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said the nixie. ‘I’ll make you happier and richer than you’ve ever been. All you have to do is promise me that you’ll give me what has just been born in your house.’

  That can only be a puppy or a kitten, thought the miller, and he promised to do what she asked.

  The nixie slipped back under the water, and the miller, feeling much better, hurried back to the mill; but he hadn’t even reached the door before the maid came out, smiling broadly, and said, ‘Congratulations! Your wife’s just given birth to a baby boy.’

  The miller stood there as if he’d been struck by lightning. He realized at once that the nixie had tricked him. With his head low and his heart heavy he went to his wife’s bed. She said, ‘Why are you looking so sad? Isn’t he beautiful, our little boy?’

  He told her what had happened, and how the nixie had deceived him.

  ‘I should have guessed!’ he said. ‘No good comes of trusting creatures like that. And what good is money, after all? What’s the use of gold and treasure, if we have to lose our child? But what can we do?’

  Even the relatives who came to celebrate the birth didn’t know what advice to give him.

  However, at exactly that time, the miller’s luck began to change. Every enterprise he undertook was successful; harvests were good, so there was plenty of grain to mill, and prices held up too; it seemed as if he could do nothing wrong, and his money-box filled up almost by itself, and his safe was full to bursting. Before long he was richer than he’d ever been.

  But he couldn’t enjoy it. His bargain with the nixie tormented him; he didn’t like walking by the millpond in case she came to the surface and reminded him of his debt. And of course he never let his little son go anywhere near the water.

  ‘If you find yourself close to the edge,’ he told him, ‘be careful, and come away at once. There’s a bad spirit in there. You only have to touch the water and she’ll grab hold and pull you under.’

  But the years passed, and there was no sign of the nixie, and little by little the miller began to relax.

  When the boy was old enough, he was apprenticed to a huntsman. He learned quickly and did well, and the lord of the village took him into his service. In the village there happened to live a beautiful, honest and kindly girl who had won the young huntsman’s heart, and when the lord realized this, he gave the young couple a small house as a wedding present. There they lived in peace and happiness, loving each other with all their hearts.

  One day the young huntsman was chasing a deer when it turned aside and ran out of the forest and into a meadow. As soon as he had a clear view, the huntsman fired and dropped it with one shot
. Exhilarated by that success, he didn’t at first realize where he was, and as soon as he’d skinned and gutted the animal, he went to wash his hands in the pool of water nearby.

  But it was his father’s millpond. And the moment he dipped his hands in the water, the nixie rose up laughing, embraced him with her dripping wet arms, and dragged him down so quickly that the waves all surged together overhead.

  When evening came, and the huntsman hadn’t returned home, his wife became anxious. She went out to look for him, and remembering how often he’d told her that he had to beware of the millpond, she guessed what had happened. She hurried there, and as soon as she found his game-bag lying on the grassy bank, she no longer had any doubt. She cried aloud and wrung her hands, she sobbed, she called his name again and again, but it was all in vain. She ran round to the other side of the millpond and called again from there, she cursed the nixie with all the passion in her heart, but there was no response. The surface of the water was as flat as a mirror in the twilight, and all she could see in it was the reflection of the half-moon.

  The poor woman didn’t leave the pond. She walked round and round the edge, sometimes quickly when she thought she saw something stirring on the other side, and sometimes going slowly and carefully to look down deep into the water right at her feet, but she never stopped for a moment. Some of the time she cried her husband’s name aloud, some of the time she whimpered; and when a good part of the night had gone and she was at the end of her strength, she sank down to the grass and fell asleep in a moment.

  And at once she found herself in a dream. She was climbing up the face of a rocky mountain, terrified. Thorns and brambles tore at her feet, rain hit her face like hail, and the wild wind lashed her hair to and fro. As soon as she reached the summit, though, everything changed. The sky was blue and the air was warm, and the ground sloped gently down towards a green meadow scattered with flowers, where there stood a neat little hut. She walked down to the hut and opened the door, and found a white-haired old woman who smiled at her in a friendly way – and at that point the poor young wife woke up.