Grimms' Fairy Tales
standing by this window and looking down into the garden, when she saw a
bed which was planted with the most beautiful rampion (rapunzel), and it
looked so fresh and green that she longed for it, she quite pined away,
and began to look pale and miserable. Then her husband was alarmed, and
asked: ‘What ails you, dear wife?’ ‘Ah,’ she replied, ‘if I can’t eat
some of the rampion, which is in the garden behind our house, I shall
die.’ The man, who loved her, thought: ‘Sooner than let your wife die,
bring her some of the rampion yourself, let it cost what it will.’
At twilight, he clambered down over the wall into the garden of the
enchantress, hastily clutched a handful of rampion, and took it to his
wife. She at once made herself a salad of it, and ate it greedily. It
tasted so good to her--so very good, that the next day she longed for it
three times as much as before. If he was to have any rest, her husband
must once more descend into the garden. In the gloom of evening
therefore, he let himself down again; but when he had clambered down the
wall he was terribly afraid, for he saw the enchantress standing before
him. ‘How can you dare,’ said she with angry look, ‘descend into my
garden and steal my rampion like a thief? You shall suffer for it!’
‘Ah,’ answered he, ‘let mercy take the place of justice, I only made
up my mind to do it out of necessity. My wife saw your rampion from the
window, and felt such a longing for it that she would have died if she
had not got some to eat.’ Then the enchantress allowed her anger to be
softened, and said to him: ‘If the case be as you say, I will allow
you to take away with you as much rampion as you will, only I make one
condition, you must give me the child which your wife will bring into
the world; it shall be well treated, and I will care for it like a
mother.’ The man in his terror consented to everything, and when the
woman was brought to bed, the enchantress appeared at once, gave the
child the name of Rapunzel, and took it away with her.
Rapunzel grew into the most beautiful child under the sun. When she was
twelve years old, the enchantress shut her into a tower, which lay in
a forest, and had neither stairs nor door, but quite at the top was a
little window. When the enchantress wanted to go in, she placed herself
beneath it and cried:
‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your hair to me.’
Rapunzel had magnificent long hair, fine as spun gold, and when she
heard the voice of the enchantress she unfastened her braided tresses,
wound them round one of the hooks of the window above, and then the hair
fell twenty ells down, and the enchantress climbed up by it.
After a year or two, it came to pass that the king’s son rode through
the forest and passed by the tower. Then he heard a song, which was so
charming that he stood still and listened. This was Rapunzel, who in her
solitude passed her time in letting her sweet voice resound. The king’s
son wanted to climb up to her, and looked for the door of the tower,
but none was to be found. He rode home, but the singing had so deeply
touched his heart, that every day he went out into the forest and
listened to it. Once when he was thus standing behind a tree, he saw
that an enchantress came there, and he heard how she cried:
‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your hair to me.’
Then Rapunzel let down the braids of her hair, and the enchantress
climbed up to her. ‘If that is the ladder by which one mounts, I too
will try my fortune,’ said he, and the next day when it began to grow
dark, he went to the tower and cried:
‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your hair to me.’
Immediately the hair fell down and the king’s son climbed up.
At first Rapunzel was terribly frightened when a man, such as her eyes
had never yet beheld, came to her; but the king’s son began to talk to
her quite like a friend, and told her that his heart had been so stirred
that it had let him have no rest, and he had been forced to see her.
Then Rapunzel lost her fear, and when he asked her if she would take
him for her husband, and she saw that he was young and handsome, she
thought: ‘He will love me more than old Dame Gothel does’; and she said
yes, and laid her hand in his. She said: ‘I will willingly go away with
you, but I do not know how to get down. Bring with you a skein of silk
every time that you come, and I will weave a ladder with it, and when
that is ready I will descend, and you will take me on your horse.’ They
agreed that until that time he should come to her every evening, for the
old woman came by day. The enchantress remarked nothing of this, until
once Rapunzel said to her: ‘Tell me, Dame Gothel, how it happens that
you are so much heavier for me to draw up than the young king’s son--he
is with me in a moment.’ ‘Ah! you wicked child,’ cried the enchantress.
‘What do I hear you say! I thought I had separated you from all
the world, and yet you have deceived me!’ In her anger she clutched
Rapunzel’s beautiful tresses, wrapped them twice round her left hand,
seized a pair of scissors with the right, and snip, snap, they were cut
off, and the lovely braids lay on the ground. And she was so pitiless
that she took poor Rapunzel into a desert where she had to live in great
grief and misery.
On the same day that she cast out Rapunzel, however, the enchantress
fastened the braids of hair, which she had cut off, to the hook of the
window, and when the king’s son came and cried:
‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your hair to me.’
she let the hair down. The king’s son ascended, but instead of finding
his dearest Rapunzel, he found the enchantress, who gazed at him with
wicked and venomous looks. ‘Aha!’ she cried mockingly, ‘you would fetch
your dearest, but the beautiful bird sits no longer singing in the nest;
the cat has got it, and will scratch out your eyes as well. Rapunzel is
lost to you; you will never see her again.’ The king’s son was beside
himself with pain, and in his despair he leapt down from the tower. He
escaped with his life, but the thorns into which he fell pierced his
eyes. Then he wandered quite blind about the forest, ate nothing but
roots and berries, and did naught but lament and weep over the loss of
his dearest wife. Thus he roamed about in misery for some years, and at
length came to the desert where Rapunzel, with the twins to which she
had given birth, a boy and a girl, lived in wretchedness. He heard a
voice, and it seemed so familiar to him that he went towards it, and
when he approached, Rapunzel knew him and fell on his neck and wept. Two
of her tears wetted his eyes and they grew clear again, and he could
see with them as before. He led her to his kingdom where he was
joyfully received, and they lived for a long time afterwards, happy and
contented.
FUNDEVOGEL
There was once a forester who went into the forest to hunt, and as
he entered it he heard a sound of screaming as if a little child were
there. He followed the sound, and at last came to a high tree, and at
the top of this a little child was sitting, for the mother had fallen
asleep under the tree with the child, and a bird of prey had seen it in
her arms, had flown down, snatched it away, and set it on the high tree.
The forester climbed up, brought the child down, and thought to himself:
‘You will take him home with you, and bring him up with your Lina.’ He
took it home, therefore, and the two children grew up together. And the
one, which he had found on a tree was called Fundevogel, because a bird
had carried it away. Fundevogel and Lina loved each other so dearly that
when they did not see each other they were sad.
Now the forester had an old cook, who one evening took two pails and
began to fetch water, and did not go once only, but many times, out
to the spring. Lina saw this and said, ‘Listen, old Sanna, why are you
fetching so much water?’ ‘If you will never repeat it to anyone, I will
tell you why.’ So Lina said, no, she would never repeat it to anyone,
and then the cook said: ‘Early tomorrow morning, when the forester
is out hunting, I will heat the water, and when it is boiling in the
kettle, I will throw in Fundevogel, and will boil him in it.’
Early next morning the forester got up and went out hunting, and when he
was gone the children were still in bed. Then Lina said to Fundevogel:
‘If you will never leave me, I too will never leave you.’ Fundevogel
said: ‘Neither now, nor ever will I leave you.’ Then said Lina: ‘Then
will I tell you. Last night, old Sanna carried so many buckets of water
into the house that I asked her why she was doing that, and she said
that if I would promise not to tell anyone, and she said that early
tomorrow morning when father was out hunting, she would set the kettle
full of water, throw you into it and boil you; but we will get up
quickly, dress ourselves, and go away together.’
The two children therefore got up, dressed themselves quickly, and went
away. When the water in the kettle was boiling, the cook went into the
bedroom to fetch Fundevogel and throw him into it. But when she came in,
and went to the beds, both the children were gone. Then she was terribly
alarmed, and she said to herself: ‘What shall I say now when the
forester comes home and sees that the children are gone? They must be
followed instantly to get them back again.’
Then the cook sent three servants after them, who were to run and
overtake the children. The children, however, were sitting outside the
forest, and when they saw from afar the three servants running, Lina
said to Fundevogel: ‘Never leave me, and I will never leave you.’
Fundevogel said: ‘Neither now, nor ever.’ Then said Lina: ‘Do you become
a rose-tree, and I the rose upon it.’ When the three servants came to
the forest, nothing was there but a rose-tree and one rose on it, but
the children were nowhere. Then said they: ‘There is nothing to be done
here,’ and they went home and told the cook that they had seen nothing
in the forest but a little rose-bush with one rose on it. Then the
old cook scolded and said: ‘You simpletons, you should have cut the
rose-bush in two, and have broken off the rose and brought it home with
you; go, and do it at once.’ They had therefore to go out and look for
the second time. The children, however, saw them coming from a distance.
Then Lina said: ‘Fundevogel, never leave me, and I will never leave
you.’ Fundevogel said: ‘Neither now; nor ever.’ Said Lina: ‘Then do you
become a church, and I’ll be the chandelier in it.’ So when the three
servants came, nothing was there but a church, with a chandelier in
it. They said therefore to each other: ‘What can we do here, let us go
home.’ When they got home, the cook asked if they had not found them;
so they said no, they had found nothing but a church, and there was a
chandelier in it. And the cook scolded them and said: ‘You fools! why
did you not pull the church to pieces, and bring the chandelier home
with you?’ And now the old cook herself got on her legs, and went with
the three servants in pursuit of the children. The children, however,
saw from afar that the three servants were coming, and the cook waddling
after them. Then said Lina: ‘Fundevogel, never leave me, and I will
never leave you.’ Then said Fundevogel: ‘Neither now, nor ever.’
Said Lina: ‘Be a fishpond, and I will be the duck upon it.’ The cook,
however, came up to them, and when she saw the pond she lay down by it,
and was about to drink it up. But the duck swam quickly to her, seized
her head in its beak and drew her into the water, and there the old
witch had to drown. Then the children went home together, and were
heartily delighted, and if they have not died, they are living still.
THE VALIANT LITTLE TAILOR