Grimms' Fairy Tales

by Jacob Grimm

  There was a king who had twelve beautiful daughters. They slept in twelve beds all in one room; and when they went to bed, the doors were shut and locked up; but every morning their shoes were found to be quite worn through as if they had been danced in all night; and yet nobody could find out how it happened, or where they had been.

  JACOB AND WILHELM GRIMM

  INTRODUCED BY

  MATT HAIG

  Illustrations by GEORGE CRUIKSHANK

  PUFFIN

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

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  First published in 1823

  Published in Puffin Books 1948

  Reissued in this edition 2010

  Introduction copyright © Matt Haig, 2010

  Endnotes copyright © Penguin Books, 2010

  All rights reserved

  Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN: 978-0-141-96461-4

  INTRODUCTION BY

  MATT HAIG

  This book you are holding in your hands is a piece of magic.

  It is lots of little pieces of magic, in fact, collected by the brothers Grimm nearly two hundred years ago.

  They travelled around Germany, asking people to tell them their town or family’s favourite fairy tale. These were the stories grannies had been telling grandchildren, sisters had told their brothers, and mums and dads had been telling their kids for hundreds of years. Strange stories, funny stories, animal stories, love stories, lost-in-the-forest stories, oh-my-God-I’m-too-scared-to-sleep stories.

  They wrote the best stories down and you are holding them right now. Some you might have heard of: Snow White (or ‘Snow-Drop’), ‘Hansel and Grettel’, ‘Rumpel-Stilts-Kin’, ‘The Frog-Prince’. But the stories you haven’t heard of are just as good too, and some have a very wicked sense of humour.

  ‘King Grisly-Beard’ is my personal favourite; it’s about a stuck-up princess, who doesn’t like the look of any of the men her dad wants her to marry. They’re too fat, too tall, too short or too hunch-backed. She calls one of them ‘Wallface’ because he’s a bit too pale. Charming.

  The sight of one of the kings who fancies her causes her to laugh. She calls him ‘Grisly-beard’. And then her dad punishes her by saying she’s got to marry the next man who arrives at the door. That turns out to be a poor musician, who hasn’t had a wash in a long while. There’s a great twist in the tale and it’s fun watching the spoilt princess learning her lesson.

  ‘Old Sultan’ is another great tale for anyone who – like me – loves a good dog story.

  But I should add a bit of a warning.

  Don’t worry. I’m not going to tell you these fairy tales are sometimes too violent or scary.

  I mean, they are a bit scary in places, but the best stories always are, aren’t they? Some of the most evil and greedy and selfish characters ever in the history of stories live and breathe in the pages of this book you are holding. But you can’t just have a book full of nice people or they’d have nothing to do.

  No.

  The thing I’m going to warn you about is that these fairy tales aren’t anything like real life. I’m telling you this just in case you are like a teacher I once had. He told me off about a story I had written that had too many unrealistic things in it.

  I don’t think you are like that. I mean, if you were like that you’d be holding a book called The Boring Book of Realistic Facts That Happen Every Day, instead of one called Grimms’ Fairy Tales.

  Because here’s the truth.

  These stories aren’t realistic.

  They are far, far, far better than that. When you read them you will feel like you have shrunk down to the size of Tom Thumb, climbed into a giant’s ear, and sat down on a sofa in the giant’s brain to watch his dreams.

  Because dreams don’t always make sense. And giants’ dreams certainly never make sense. But they are always fascinating, if you are willing to get lost in them.

  And that’s what makes dreams – and these fairy tales – pieces of pure, totally unrealistic, and absolutely brilliant magic.

  Contents

  Hans in Luck

  The Travelling Musicians

  The Golden Bird

  The Fisherman and his Wife

  The Tom-Tit and the Bear

  The Twelve Dancing Princesses

  Rose-Bud

  Tom Thumb

  The Grateful Beasts

  Jorinda and Jorindel

  The Wonderful Musician

  The Queen Bee

  The Dog and the Sparrow

  Frederick and Catherine

  The Three Children of Fortune

  King Grisly-Beard

  The Adventures of Chanticleer and Partlet

  Snow-Drop

  The Elves and the Shoemaker

  The Turnip

  Old Sultan

  The Lady and the Lion

  The Miser in the Bush

  The King of the Golden Mountain

  The Golden Goose

  Mrs Fox

  Hansel and Grettel

  The Giant with the Three Golden Hairs

  The Frog-Prince

  The Fox and the Horse

  Rumpel-Stilts-Kin

  The Goose-Girl

  Faithful John

  The Blue Light

  Ashputtel

  The Young Giant and the Tailor

  The Crows and the Soldier

  Pee-Wit

  Hans and his Wife Grettel

  Cherry, or the Frog-Bride

  Mother Holle

  The Water of Life

  Peter the Goatherd

  The Four Clever Brothers

  The Elfin-Grove

  The Salad

  The Nose

  The Five Servants

  Cat-Skin

  The Robber-Bridegroom

  The Three Sluggards

  The Seven Ravens

  Roland and May-Bird

  The
Mouse, the Bird, and the Sausage

  The Juniper Tree

  Hans in Luck

  Hans had served his master seven years, and at last said to him, ‘Master, my time is up, I should like to go home and see my mother; so give me my wages.’ And the master said, ‘You have been a faithful and good servant, so your pay shall be handsome.’ Then he gave him a piece of silver that was as big as his head.

  Hans took out his pocket-handkerchief, put the piece of silver into it, threw it over his shoulder, and jogged off homewards. As he went lazily on, dragging one foot after another, a man came in sight, trotting along gaily on a capital horse. ‘Ah!’ said Hans aloud, ‘what a fine thing it is to ride on horseback! there he sits as if he was at home in his chair; he trips against no stones, spares his shoes, and yet gets on he hardly knows how.’ The horseman heard this, and said, ‘Well, Hans, why do you go on foot then?’ ‘Ah!’ said he, ‘I have this load to carry; to be sure it is silver, but it is so heavy that I can’t hold up my head, and it hurts my shoulder sadly.’ ‘What do you say to changing?’ said the horseman; ‘I will give you my horse, and you shall give me the silver.’ ‘With all my heart,’ said Hans: ‘but I tell you one thing, – you’ll have a weary task to drag it along.’ The horseman got off, took the silver, helped Hans up, gave him the bridle into his hand, and said, ‘When you want to go very fast, you must smack your lips loud, and cry “Jip”.’

  Hans was delighted as he sat on the horse, and rode merrily on. After a time he thought he should like to go a little faster, so he smacked his lips, and cried ‘Jip’. Away went the horse full gallop; and before Hans knew what he was about, he was thrown off, and lay in a ditch by the roadside; and his horse would have run off, if a shepherd who was coming by, driving a cow, had not stopped it. Hans soon came to himself, and got upon his legs again. He was sadly vexed, and said to the shepherd, ‘This riding is no joke when a man gets on a beast like this, that stumbles and flings him off as if he would break his neck. However, I’m off now once for all: I like your cow a great deal better; one can walk along at one’s leisure behind her, and have milk, butter, and cheese, every day into the bargain. What would I give to have such a cow!’ ‘Well,’ said the shepherd, ‘if you are so fond of her, I will change my cow for your horse.’ ‘Done!’ said Hans merrily. The shepherd jumped upon the horse, and away he rode.

  Hans drove off his cow quietly, and thought his bargain a very lucky one. ‘If I have only a piece of bread (and I certainly shall be able to get that), I can, whenever I like, eat my butter and cheese with it; and when I am thirsty I can milk my cow and drink the milk: what can I wish for more?’ When he came to an inn, he halted, ate up all his bread, and gave away his last penny for a glass of beer: then he drove his cow towards his mother’s village; and the heat grew greater as noon came on, till at last he found himself on a wide heath that would take him more than an hour to cross, and he began to be so hot and parched that his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth. ‘I can find a cure for this,’ thought he, ‘now will I milk my cow and quench my thirst;’ so he tied her to the stump of a tree, and held his leathern cap to milk into; but not a drop was to be had.

  While he was trying his luck and managing the matter very clumsily, the uneasy beast gave him a kick on the head that knocked him down, and there he lay a long while senseless. Luckily a butcher soon came by driving a pig in a wheel-barrow. ‘What is the matter with you?’ said the butcher as he helped him up. Hans told him what had happened, and the butcher gave him a flask, saying, ‘There, drink and refresh yourself; your cow will give you no milk, she is an old beast good for nothing but the slaughterhouse.’ ‘Alas, alas!’ said Hans, ‘who would have thought it? If I kill her, what will she be good for? I hate cow-beef, it is not tender enough for me. If it were a pig now, one could do something with it, it would at any rate make some sausages.’ ‘Well,’ said the butcher, ‘to please you, I’ll change, and give you the pig for the cow.’ ‘Heaven reward you for your kindness!’ said Hans as he gave the butcher the cow, and took the pig off the wheel-barrow, and drove it off, holding it by the string that was tied to its leg.

  So on he jogged, and all seemed now to go right with him; he had met with some misfortunes, to be sure; but he was now well repaid for all. The next person he met was a countryman carrying a fine white goose under his arm. The countryman stopped to ask what was o’clock; and Hans told him all his luck, and how he had made so many good bargains. The countryman said he was going to take the goose to a christening; ‘Feel,’ said he, ‘how heavy it is, and yet it is only eight weeks old. Whoever roasts and eats it may cut plenty of fat off it, it has lived so well!’ ‘You’re right,’ said Hans as he weighed it in his hand; ‘but my pig is no trifle.’ Meantime the countryman began to look grave, and shook his head. ‘Hark ye,’ said he, ‘my good friend; your pig may get you into a scrape; in the village I just come from, the squire has had a pig stolen out of his stye. I was dreadfully afraid, when I saw you, that you had got the squire’s pig; it will be a bad job if they catch you; the least they’ll do, will be to throw you into the horsepond.’

  Poor Hans was sadly frightened. ‘Good man,’ cried he, ‘pray get me out of this scrape; you know this country better than I, take my pig and give me the goose.’ ‘I ought to have something into the bargain,’ said the countryman; ‘however, I will not bear hard upon you, as you are in trouble.’ Then he took the string in his hand, and drove off the pig by a side path; while Hans went on the way homewards free from care. ‘After all,’ thought he, ‘I have the best of the bargain: first there will be a capital roast; then the fat will find me in goose grease for six months; and then there are all the beautiful white feathers; I will put them into my pillow, and then I am sure I shall sleep soundly without rocking. How happy my mother will be!’

  As he came to the last village, he saw a scissor-grinder, with his wheel, working away, and singing

  O’er hill and o’er dale so happy I roam,

  Work light and live well, all the world is my home;

  Who so blythe, so merry as I?

  Hans stood looking for a while, and at last said, ‘You must be well off, master grinder, you seem so happy at your work.’ ‘Yes,’ said the other, ‘mine is a golden trade; a good grinder never puts his hand in his pocket without finding money in it: – but where did you get that beautiful goose?’ ‘I did not buy it, but changed a pig for it.’ ‘And where did you get the pig?’ ‘I gave a cow for it.’ ‘And the cow?’ ‘I gave a horse for it.’ ‘And the horse?’ ‘I gave a piece of silver as big as my head for that.’ ‘And the silver?’ ‘Oh! I worked hard for that seven long years.’ ‘You have thriven well in the world hitherto,’ said the grinder; ‘now if you could find money in your pocket whenever you put your hand into it, your fortune would be made.’ ‘Very true: but how is that to be managed?’ ‘You must turn grinder like me,’ said the other; ‘you only want a grindstone; the rest will come of itself. Here is one that is a little the worse for wear: I would not ask more than the value of your goose for it; – will you buy?’ ‘How can you ask such a question?’ replied Hans; ‘I should be the happiest man in the world, if I could have money whenever I put my hand in my pocket; what could I want more? there’s the goose!’ ‘Now,’ said the grinder, as he gave him a common rough stone that lay by his side, ‘this is a most capital stone; do but manage it cleverly, and you can make an old nail cut with it.’

  Hans took the stone and went off with a light heart: his eyes sparkled for joy, and he said to himself, ‘I must have been born in a lucky hour; every thing that I want or wish for comes to me of itself.’

  Meantime he began to be tired, for he had been travelling ever since daybreak; he was hungry too, for he had given away his last penny in his joy at getting the cow. At last he could go no farther, and the stone tired him terribly; he dragged himself to the side of a pond, that he might drink some water, and rest a while; so he laid the stone carefully by
his side on the bank: but as he stooped down to drink, he forgot it, pushed it a little, and down it went plump into the pond. For a while he watched it sinking in the deep clear water, then sprang up for joy, and again fell upon his knees, and thanked heaven with tears in his eyes for its kindness in taking away his only plague, the ugly heavy stone. ‘How happy am I!’ cried he: ‘no mortal was ever so lucky as I am.’ Then up he got with a light and merry heart and walked on free from all his troubles, till he reached his mother’s house.

  The Travelling Musicians

  An honest farmer had once an ass, that had been a faithful servant to him a great many years, but was now growing old and every day more and more unfit for work. His master therefore was tired of keeping him and began to think of putting an end to him; but the ass, who saw that some mischief was in the wind, took himself slyly off, and began his journey towards the great city, ‘for there,’ thought he, ‘I may turn musician.’

  After he had travelled a little way, he spied a dog lying by the road side and panting as if he were very tired. ‘What makes you pant so, my friend?’ said the ass. ‘Alas!’ said the dog, ‘my master was going to knock me on the head, because I am old and weak, and can no longer make myself useful to him in hunting; so I ran away: but what can I do to earn my livelihood?’ ‘Hark ye!’ said the ass, ‘I am going to the great city to turn musician: suppose you go with me, and try what you can do in the same way?’ The dog said he was willing, and they jogged on together.

  They had not gone far before they saw a cat sitting in the middle of the road and making a most rueful face. ‘Pray, my good lady,’ said the ass, ‘what’s the matter with you? you look quite out of spirits!’ ‘Ah me!’ said the cat, ‘how can one be in good spirits when one’s life is in danger? Because I am beginning to grow old, and had rather lie at my ease by the fire than run about the house after the mice, my mistress laid hold of me, and was going to drown me; and though I have been lucky enough to get away from her, I do not know what I am to live upon.’ ‘O!’ said the ass, ‘by all means go with us to the great city; you are a good night singer, and may make your fortune as a musician.’ The cat was pleased with the thought, and joined the party.