Wednesday's Good Reading; “Jorinda and Joringel” by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm (translated into English by Margaret Raine Hunt).

 

There was once an old castle in the midst of a large and thick forest, and in it an old woman who was a witch dwelt all alone. In the day-time she changed herself into a cat or a screech-owl, but in the evening she took her proper shape again as a human being. She could lure wild beasts and birds to her, and then she killed and boiled and roasted them. If any one came within one hundred paces of the castle he was obliged to stand still, and could not stir from the place until she bade him be free. But whenever an innocent maiden came within this circle, she changed her into a bird, and shut her up in a wicker-work cage, and carried the cage into a room in the castle. She had about seven thousand cages of rare birds in the castle.

Now, there was once a maiden who was called Jorinda, who was fairer than all other girls. She and a handsome youth named Joringel had promised to marry each other. They were still in the days of betrothal, and their greatest happiness was being together. One day in order that they might be able to talk together in quiet they went for a walk in the forest. "Take care," said Joringel, "that you do not go too near the castle."

It was a beautiful evening; the sun shone brightly between the trunks of the trees into the dark green of the forest, and the turtle-doves sang mournfully upon the young boughs of the birch-trees.

Jorinda wept now and then: she sat down in the sunshine and was sorrowful. Joringel was sorrowful too; they were as sad as if they were about to die. Then they looked around them, and were quite at a loss, for they did not know by which way they should go home. The sun was still half above the mountain and half set.

Joringel looked through the bushes, and saw the old walls of the castle close at hand. He was horror-stricken and filled with deadly fear. Jorinda was singing—

 

"My little bird, with the necklace red,

   Sings sorrow, sorrow, sorrow,

He sings that the dove must soon be dead,

   Sings sorrow, sor——— jug, jug, jug."

 

Joringel looked for Jorinda. She was changed into a nightingale, and sang "jug, jug, jug." A screech-owl with glowing eyes flew three times round about her, and three times cried "to-whoo, to-whoo, to-whoo!"

Joringel could not move: he stood there like a stone, and could neither weep nor speak, nor move hand or foot.

The sun had now set. The owl flew into the thicket, and directly afterwards there came out of it a crooked old woman, yellow and lean, with large red eyes and a hooked nose, the point of which reached to her chin. She muttered to herself, caught the nightingale, and took it away in her hand.

Joringel could neither speak nor move from the spot; the nightingale was gone. At last the woman came back, and said in a hollow voice, "Greet thee, Zachiel. If the moon shines on the cage, Zachiel, let him loose at once." Then Joringel was freed. He fell on his knees before the woman and begged that she would give him back his Jorinda, but she said that he should never have her again, and went away. He called, he wept, he lamented, but all in vain, "Ah, what is to become of me?"

Joringel went away, and at last came to a strange village; there he kept sheep for a long time. He often walked round and round the castle, but not too near to it. At last he dreamt one night that he found a blood-red flower, in the middle of which was a beautiful large pearl; that he picked the flower and went with it to the castle, and that everything he touched with the flower was freed from enchantment; he also dreamt that by means of it he recovered his Jorinda.

In the morning, when he awoke, he began to seek over hill and dale if he could find such a flower. He sought until the ninth day, and then, early in the morning, he found the blood-red flower. In the middle of it there was a large dew-drop, as big as the finest pearl.

Day and night he journeyed with this flower to the castle. When he was within a hundred paces of it he was not held fast, but walked on to the door. Joringel was full of joy; he touched the door with the flower, and it sprang open. He walked in through the courtyard, and listened for the sound of the birds. At last he heard it. He went on and found the room from whence it came, and there the witch was feeding the birds in the seven thousand cages.

When she saw Joringel she was angry, very angry, and scolded and spat poison and gall at him, but she could not come within two paces of him. He did not take any notice of her, but went and looked at the cages with the birds; but there were many hundred nightingales, how was he to find his Jorinda again?

Just then he saw the old woman quietly take away a cage with a bird in it, and go towards the door.

Swifty he sprang towards her, touched the cage with the flower, and also the old woman. She could now no longer bewitch any one; and Jorinda was standing there, clasping him round the neck, and she was as beautiful as ever!

Saturday's Good Reading: “Puss in Boots” by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm (translated into English by D. L. Ashliman).

 

A miller had three sons, his mill, a donkey, and a cat. The sons worked the mill, the donkey fetched the grain and carried away the flour, and the cat caught mice.

When the miller died the three sons divided the inheritance: The oldest received the mill, the second the donkey, and the third the cat, for nothing else was left for him.

Sadly he said to himself, "I got the worst of everything. My oldest brother can grind grain, my second one can ride his donkey, but what can I do with the cat? If I have a pair of fur gloves made from his pelt, then there'll be nothing left."

"Listen," said the cat, who had understood everything that he had said. "Don't kill me just to get a pair of inferior gloves from my pelt. Instead, have a pair of boots made for me so that I can go out and been seen by the people. Then I can come to your aid."

The miller's son was amazed that the cat could thusly speak. Now the cobbler was just passing by, so he called him in and had him measure the cat for a pair of boots. When they were finished the cat pulled them on, took a sack with a some grain in the bottom and a string with which it could be tied shut, threw it over his shoulder, and walked out the door on two legs, just like a human.

The ruler in the land at that time was a king who loved partridges. However, none were to be had. The woods were full of them, but they were so wary that no hunter could get to them. The cat knew this, and worked out a solution. Arriving in the woods he opened the sack, spread out the grain inside it, then laid the string in the grass, leading it behind a thicket. Then he hid himself, crept into the thicket and watched.

The partridges soon came by, found the grain, and one after the other hopped into the sack. When a good number were inside, the cat pulled the string shut, ran up and wrung the partridges' necks, then threw the sack over his shoulder and went straightaway to the king's palace.

The guard shouted, "Stop! Where to?"

"To the king," answered the cat.

"Are you crazy? A cat going to the king?"

"Just let him go," said another guard. "The king is often bored. Perhaps the cat can entertain him with his tricks."

The cat approached the king, bowed politely, and said, "My master, Count (and here he said a long and very distinguished name) extends his greetings to his majesty the king and sends him these partridges which he captured with snares."

The king was amazed to see such fine, fat partridges and hardly knew how to contain his joy. He ordered the cat to take as much gold from the treasury as he could carry in his sack, then said, "Take it to you master and thank him many times for his gift."

The poor miller's son was at home sitting at the window with his head in his hands. He had given everything he had for the cat's boots, and now he wondered what he might get in return.

Just then the cat stepped inside, threw the sack from his back, untied the string, and spread the gold out in front of the miller.

"Here is something for the boots. The king sends you his greetings and his thanks."

The miller was delighted with the wealth, although he could not understand where it had come from.

While taking off his boots, the cat explained everything to him, then added, "You now have plenty of money, but that's not enough. Tomorrow I'll pull my boots on again, and you shall become even more wealthy. I told the king that you are a count."

The next day, just as he said he would, the cat, appropriately booted, went hunting again and took the captured game to the king. Thus it continued every day, and every day the cat returned home with more gold. He was now so favored by the king that he was allowed to come and go as he pleased and to prowl around the palace wherever he wanted to.

One time the cat was warming himself by the fire in the king's birchen when the coachman came in cursing, "To the devil with the king and the princess! I wanted to go to the tavern for a drink and some card playing, but now I have to drive them to the lake."

After hearing this, the cat sneaked home and said to his master, "If you want to become a wealthy count, come with me to the lake and go bathing there."

The miller did not know what he should say to this, but he obeyed the cat, went with him to the lake, took off all his clothes, and jumped into the water. The cat picked up the clothes, carried them away, and hid them. He had scarcely done so when the king came riding by.

The cat cried out pitifully, "Oh, your majesty! My master was bathing here in the lake when a thief came and stole his clothes that were lying here on the shore. Now the count cannot come out of the water. If he stays there any longer he will catch a cold and die."

Hearing this, the king came to a stop and sent one of his people back to fetch some of the king's clothes. The count then put on these splendid clothes. Because the king already favored him because of the partridges, he invited him into the royal carriage and spoke to him in familiar terms. The princess had nothing against this, for the count was young and good looking, and she quite liked him.

Now the cat had run on ahead and had arrived at a great meadow where more than a hundred people were making hay.

"Whose meadow is this?" asked the cat.

"It belongs to the great sorcerer."

"Listen, the king will soon come this way, and when he asks whose meadow this is, you must answer, 'It belongs to the count.' If you do not do this, you'll all be killed."

With that the cat went on further, coming to a field of grain so large that no one could see its end. More than two hundred people were there cutting the grain.

"Who owns this grain, you people?"

"The sorcerer."

"Listen, the king will soon come this way, and when he asks whose grain this is, you must answer, 'It belongs to the count.' If you do not do this, you'll all be killed."

Finally the cat came to a magnificent forest. More than three hundred people were there felling the great oak trees and making lumber.

"Who owns this forest, you people?"

"The sorcerer."

"Listen, the king will soon come this way, and when he asks whose forest this is, you must answer, 'It belongs to the count.' If you do not do this, you'll all be killed."

The cat continued on further. Everyone stared at him because he looked so unusual, walking along in boots like a human. And they were afraid of him.

Soon he arrived at the sorcerer's place. He stepped boldly inside and walked up to the sorcerer, who looked at him scornfully.

"What do you want?"

The cat bowed politely and said, "I have heard that you can transform yourself any way that you please. I can well believe that you could transform yourself into an animal such as a dog, a fox, or even a wolf, but it seems to me that to transform yourself into an elephant would be quite impossible. I have come to see if you can do so."

The sorcerer said proudly, "That's nothing for me," and he instantly transformed himself into an elephant.

The cat pretended to be frightened and said, "That is unbelievable and unheard of. I would never have dreamed that you could do this. But even more difficult would be to transform yourself into a small animal, such as a mouse. You are certainly more powerful than any other sorcerer in the world, but that would be too much for you."

The sweet talk turned the sorcerer very friendly, and he said, "Oh yes, my dear little cat, I can do that too," then suddenly he was jumping around in the room as a mouse. The cat ran after him, caught him with one leap, and ate him up.

Meanwhile, the king had ridden along further with the count and the princess, coming to the great meadow.

"Who owns this hay?" he asked.

"The count," they all shouted. "You have a beautiful piece of land here, Lord Count," just as the cat had order them to do.

Then they came to the great field of grain.

"Who owns this grain, you people?"

"The Lord Count. Yes, Lord Count, you have a wonderful farm here!"

Then they came to the forest.

"Who owns this forest, you people?"

"The Lord Count."

The king was all the more amazed, and said, "Lord Count, you must be a very wealthy man. I do not believe that I myself have such a magnificent forest."

Finally they arrived at the palace. The cat was standing on the steps, and when the carriage came to a stop he jumped down, opened the door, and said, "Your majesty, you have arrived at the palace of my master, the count, and this honor will make him happy as long as he lives."

The king climbed out of the carriage and marveled at the magnificent building. It was almost larger and more beautiful than his own castle. The count then led the princess up the stairway and into the main hall, that shimmered with gold and precious stones.

Then the princess and the count were married, and when the king died the count became king with cat-in-boots as his prime minister.

Saturday's Good Reading: “Foundling-Bird” by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm (translated into English by Margaret Hunt.)

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, "Thou wilt take him home with thee, and bring him up with thy Lina." He took it home, therefore, and the two children grew up together. The one, however, 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.

The forester, however, 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, "Hark you, old Sanna, why are you fetching so much water?" "If thou wilt never repeat it to anyone, I will tell thee why." So Lina said, no, she would never repeat it to anyone, and then the cook said, "Early to-morrow 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."

Betimes 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 thou wilt never leave me, I too will never leave thee." Fundevogel said, "Neither now, nor ever will I leave thee." Then said Lina, "Then I will tell thee. 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 any one she would tell me, and I said I would be sure not to tell any one, and she said that early to-morrow morning when father was out hunting, she would set the kettle full of water, throw thee into it and boil thee; 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 bed-room 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 thee." Fundevogel said, "Neither now, nor ever." Then said Lina, "Do thou 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 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 thee." Fundevogel said, "Neither now, nor ever." Said Lina, "Then do thou 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 that 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 thee." 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 are not dead, they are living still.

Saturday's Good Reading: “Ashenputtel” by the Brothers Grimm (translated into English by Alice Lucas)

 

The wife of a rich man fell ill, and when she felt that she was nearing her end, she called her only daughter to her bedside, and said:

‘Dear child, continue devout and good, then God will always help you, and I will look down upon you from heaven, and watch over you.’

Thereupon she closed her eyes, and breathed her last.

The maiden went to her mother’s grave every day and wept, and she continued to be devout and good. When the winter came, the snow spread a white covering on the grave, and when the sun of spring had unveiled it again, the husband took another wife. The new wife brought home with her two daughters, who were fair and beautiful to look upon, but base and black at heart.

Then began a sad time for the unfortunate step-child.

‘Is this stupid goose to sit with us in the parlour?’ they said.

‘Whoever wants to eat bread must earn it; go and sit with the kitchenmaid.’

They took away her pretty clothes, and made her put on an old grey frock, and gave her wooden clogs.

‘Just look at the proud Princess, how well she’s dressed,’ they laughed, as they led her to the kitchen. There, the girl was obliged to do hard work from morning till night, to get up at daybreak, carry water, light the fire, cook, and wash. Not content with that, the sisters inflicted on her every vexation they could think of; they made fun of her, and tossed the peas and lentils among the ashes, so that she had to sit down and pick them out again. In the evening, when she was worn out with work, she had no bed to go to, but had to lie on the hearth among the cinders. And because, on account of that, she always looked dusty and dirty, they called her Ashenputtel.

It happened one day that the Father had a mind to go to the Fair. So he asked both his step-daughters what he should bring home for them.

‘Fine clothes,’ said one.

‘Pearls and jewels,’ said the other.

‘But you, Ashenputtel?’ said he, ‘what will you have?’

‘Father, break off for me the first twig which brushes against your hat on your way home.’

Well, for his two step-daughters he brought beautiful clothes, pearls and jewels, and on his way home, as he was riding through a green copse, a hazel twig grazed against him and knocked his hat off. Then he broke off the branch and took it with him.

When he got home he gave his step-daughters what they had asked for, and to Ashenputtel he gave the twig from the hazel bush.

Ashenputtel thanked him, and went to her mother’s grave and planted the twig upon it; she wept so much that her tears fell and watered it. And it took root and became a fine tree.

Ashenputtel went to the grave three times every day, wept and prayed, and every time a little white bird came and perched upon the tree, and when she uttered a wish, the little bird threw down to her what she had wished for.

Now it happened that the King proclaimed a festival, which was to last three days, and to which all the beautiful maidens in the country were invited, in order that his son might choose a bride.

When the two step-daughters heard that they were also to be present, they were in high spirits, called Ashenputtel, and said: ‘Brush our hair and clean our shoes, and fasten our buckles, for we are going to the feast at the King’s palace.’

Ashenputtel obeyed, but wept, for she also would gladly have gone to the ball with them, and begged her step-mother to give her leave to go.

‘You, Ashenputtel!’ she said. ‘Why, you are covered with dust and dirt. You go to the festival! Besides you have no clothes or shoes, and yet you want to go to the ball.’

As she, however, went on asking, her Step-mother said:

‘Well, I have thrown a dishful of lentils into the cinders, if you have picked them all out in two hours you shall go with us.’

The girl went through the back door into the garden, and cried, ‘Ye gentle doves, ye turtle doves, and all ye little birds under heaven, come and help me,

 

‘The good into a dish to throw,

The bad into your crops can go.’

 

Then two white doves came in by the kitchen window, and were followed by the turtle doves, and finally all the little birds under heaven flocked in, chirping, and settled down among the ashes. And the doves gave a nod with their little heads, peck, peck, peck; and then the rest began also, peck, peck, peck, and collected all the good beans into the dish. Scarcely had an hour passed before they had finished, and all flown out again.

Then the girl brought the dish to her Step-mother, and was delighted to think that now she would be able to go to the feast with them.

But she said, ‘No, Ashenputtel, you have no clothes, and cannot dance; you will only be laughed at.’

But when she began to cry, the Step-mother said:

‘If you can pick out two whole dishes of lentils from the ashes in an hour, you shall go with us.’

And she thought, ‘She will never be able to do that.’

When her Step-mother had thrown the dishes of lentils

Ashenputtel goes to the ball

among the ashes, the girl went out through the back door, and cried, ‘Ye gentle doves, ye turtle doves, and all ye little birds under heaven, come and help me,

 

‘The good into a dish to throw,

The bad into your crops can go.’

 

Then two white doves came in by the kitchen window, and were followed by the turtle doves, and all the other little birds under heaven, and in less than an hour the whole had been picked up, and they had all flown away.

Then the girl carried the dish to her Step-mother, and was delighted to think that she would now be able to go to the ball.

But she said, ‘It’s not a bit of good. You can’t go with us, for you’ve got no clothes, and you can’t dance. We should be quite ashamed of you.’

Thereupon she turned her back upon her, and hurried off with her two proud daughters.

As soon as every one had left the house, Ashenputtel went out to her mother’s grave under the hazel-tree, and cried:

 

‘Shiver and shake, dear little tree,

Gold and silver shower on me.’

 

Then the bird threw down to her a gold and silver robe, and a pair of slippers embroidered with silk and silver. With all speed she put on the robe and went to the feast. But her step-sisters and their mother did not recognise her, and supposed that she was some foreign Princess, so beautiful did she appear in her golden dress. They never gave a thought to Ashenputtel, but imagined that she was sitting at home in the dirt picking the lentils out of the cinders.

The Prince came up to the stranger, took her by the hand, and danced with her. In fact, he would not dance with any one else, and never left go of her hand. If any one came up to ask her to dance, he said, ‘This is my partner.’

She danced until nightfall, and then wanted to go home; but the Prince said, ‘I will go with you and escort you.’

For he wanted to see to whom the beautiful maiden belonged. But she slipped out of his way and sprang into the pigeon-house.

Then the Prince waited till her Father came, and told him that the unknown maiden had vanished into the pigeon-house.

The old man thought, ‘Could it be Ashenputtel?’ And he had an axe brought to him, so that he might break down the pigeon-house, but there was no one inside.

When they went home, there lay Ashenputtel in her dirty clothes among the cinders, and a dismal oil lamp was burning in the chimney corner. For Ashenputtel had quietly jumped down out of the pigeon-house and ran back to the hazel-tree. There she had taken off her beautiful clothes and laid them on the grave, and the bird had taken them away again. Then she had settled herself among the ashes on the hearth in her old grey frock.

On the second day, when the festival was renewed, and her parents and step-sisters had started forth again, Ashenputtel went to the hazel-tree, and said:

 

‘Shiver and shake, dear little tree,

Gold and silver shower on me.’

 

Then the bird threw down a still more gorgeous robe than on the previous day. And when she appeared at the festival in this robe, every one was astounded by her beauty.

The King’s son had waited till she came, and at once took her hand, and she danced with no one but him. When others came forward and invited her to dance, he said, ‘This is my partner.’

At nightfall she wished to leave; but the Prince went after her, hoping to see into what house she went, but she sprang out into the garden behind the house. There stood a fine big tree on which the most delicious pears hung. She climbed up among the branches as nimbly as a squirrel, and the Prince could not make out what had become of her.

But he waited till her Father came, and then said to him, ‘The unknown maiden has slipped away from me, and I think that she has jumped into the pear-tree.’

The Father thought, ‘Can it be Ashenputtel?’ And he had the axe brought to cut down the tree, but there was no one on it. When they went home and looked into the kitchen, there lay Ashenputtel among the cinders as usual; for she had jumped down on the other side of the tree, taken back the beautiful clothes to the bird on the hazel-tree, and put on her old grey frock.

On the third day, when her parents and sisters had started, Ashenputtel went again to her mother’s grave, and said:

 

‘Shiver and shake, dear little tree,

Gold and silver shower on me.’

 

Then the bird threw down a dress which was so magnificent that no one had ever seen the like before, and the slippers were entirely of gold. When she appeared at the festival in this attire, they were all speechless with astonishment. The Prince danced only with her, and if any one else asked her to dance, he said, ‘This is my partner.’

When night fell and she wanted to leave, the Prince was more desirous than ever to accompany her, but she darted away from him so quickly that he could not keep up with her. But the Prince had used a stratagem, and had caused the steps to be covered with cobbler’s wax. The consequence was, that as the maiden sprang down them, her left slipper remained sticking there. The Prince took it up. It was small and dainty, and entirely made of gold.

The next morning he went with it to Ashenputtel’s Father, and said to him, ‘No other shall become my wife but she whose foot this golden slipper fits.’

The two sisters were delighted at that, for they both had beautiful feet. The eldest went into the room intending to try on the slipper, and her Mother stood beside her. But her great toe prevented her getting it on, her foot was too long.

Then her Mother handed her a knife, and said, ‘Cut off the toe; when you are Queen you won’t have to walk any more.’

The girl cut off her toe, forced her foot into the slipper, stifled her pain, and went out to the Prince. Then he took her up on his horse as his Bride, and rode away with her.

However, they had to pass the grave on the way, and there sat the two Doves on the hazel-tree, and cried:

 

‘Prithee, look back, prithee, look back,

There’s blood on the track,

The shoe is too small,

At home the true

Bride is waiting thy call.’

 

Then he looked at her foot and saw how the blood was streaming from it. So he turned his horse round and carried the false Bride back to her home, and said that she was not the right one; the second sister must try the shoe.

Then she went into the room, and succeeded in getting her toes into the shoe, but her heel was too big.

Then her Mother handed her a knife, and said, ‘Cut a bit off your heel; when you are Queen you won’t have to walk any more.’

The maiden cut a bit off her heel, forced her foot into the shoe, stifled her pain, and went out to the Prince.

Then he took her up on his horse as his Bride, and rode off with her.

As they passed the grave, the two Doves were sitting on the hazel-tree, and crying:

 

Prithee, look back, prithee, look back,

There’s blood on the track,

The shoe is too small,

At home the true

Bride is waiting thy call.’

 

He looked down at her foot and saw that it was streaming with blood, and there were deep red spots on her stockings. Then he turned his horse and brought the false Bride back to her home.

‘This is not the right one either,’ he said. ‘Have you no other daughter?’

‘No,’ said the man. ‘There is only a daughter of my late wife’s, a puny, stunted drudge, but she cannot possibly be the Bride.’

The Prince said that she must be sent for.

But the Mother answered, ‘Oh no, she is much too dirty; she mustn’t be seen on any account.’

He was, however, absolutely determined to have his way, and they were obliged to summon Ashenputtel.

When she had washed her hands and face, she went up and curtsied to the Prince, who handed her the golden slipper.

Then she sat down on a bench, pulled off her wooden clog and put on the slipper, which fitted to a nicety.

And when she stood up and the Prince looked into her face, he recognised the beautiful maiden that he had danced with, and cried: ‘This is the true Bride!’

The Stepmother and the two sisters were dismayed and turned white with rage; but he took Ashenputtel on his horse and rode off with her.

As they rode past the hazel-tree the two White Doves cried:

 

‘Prithee, look back, prithee, look back,

No blood’s on the track,

The shoe’s not too small,

You carry the true

Bride home to your hall.’

 

And when they had said this they both came flying down, and settled on Ashenputtel’s shoulders, one on the right, and one on the left, and remained perched there.

When the wedding was going to take place, the two false sisters came and wanted to curry favour with her, and take part in her good fortune. As the bridal party was going to the church, the eldest was on the right side, the youngest on the left, and the Doves picked out one of the eyes of each of them.

Afterwards, when they were coming out of the church, the elder was on the left, the younger on the right, and the Doves picked out the other eye of each of them. And so for their wickedness and falseness they were punished with blindness for the rest of their days.