Andrew Lang_Fairy Book 03 (35 page)

'Little Three eyes, are you awake?'

but instead of singing as she ought to have done,

'Little Three-eyes, are you asleep?'

she sang, without thinking,

'Little
Two-eyes
, are you asleep?'

She went on singing,

'Little Three-eyes, are you awake? Little
Two-eyes
, are you
asleep?'

so that the two eyes of Little Three-eyes fell asleep, but the
third, which was not spoken to in the little rhyme, did not fall
asleep. Of course Little Three-eyes shut that eye also out of
cunning, to look as if she were asleep, but it was blinking and
could see everything quite well.

And when Little Two-eyes thought that Little Three-eyes was sound
asleep, she said her rhyme,

'Little goat, bleat, Little table, appear,'

and ate and drank to her heart's content, and then made the table
go away again, by saying,

'Little goat, bleat, Little table, away.'

But Little Three-eyes had seen everything. Then Little Two-eyes
came to her, and woke her and said, 'Well, Little Three-eyes, have
you been asleep? You watch well! Come, we will go home.' When they
reached home, Little Two-eyes did not eat again, and Little Three-
eyes said to the mother, 'I know now why that proud thing eats
nothing. When she says to the goat in the field,

"Little goat, bleat, Little table, appear,"

a table stands before her, spread with the best food, much better
than we have; and when she has had enough, she says,

"Little goat, bleat, Little table, away,"

and everything disappears again. I saw it all exactly. She made
two of my eyes go to sleep with a little rhyme, but the one in my
forehead remained awake, luckily!'

Then the envious mother cried out, 'Will you fare better than we
do? you shall not have the chance to do so again!' and she fetched
a knife, and killed the goat.

When Little Two-eyes saw this, she went out full of grief, and sat
down in the meadow and wept bitter tears. Then again the wise
woman stood before her, and said, 'Little Two-eyes, what are you
crying for?' 'Have I not reason to cry?' she answered, 'the goat,
which when I said the little rhyme, spread the table so
beautifully, my mother has killed, and now I must suffer hunger
and want again.' The wise woman said, 'Little Two-eyes, I will
give you a good piece of advice. Ask your sisters to give you the
heart of the dead goat, and bury it in the earth before the house-
door; that will bring you good luck.' Then she disappeared, and
Little Two-eyes went home, and said to her sisters, 'Dear sisters,
do give me something of my goat; I ask nothing better than its
heart.' Then they laughed and said, 'You can have that if you want
nothing more.' And Little Two-eyes took the heart and buried it in
the evening when all was quiet, as the wise woman had told her,
before the house-door. The next morning when they all awoke and
came to the house-door, there stood a most wonderful tree, which
had leaves of silver and fruit of gold growing on it—you never
saw anything more lovely and gorgeous in your life! But they did
not know how the tree had grown up in the night; only Little Two-
eyes knew that it had sprung from the heart of the goat, for it
was standing just where she had buried it in the ground. Then the
mother said to Little One-eye, 'Climb up, my child, and break us
off the fruit from the tree.' Little One-eye climbed up, but just
when she was going to take hold of one of the golden apples the
bough sprang out of her hands; and this happened every time, so
that she could not break off a single apple, however hard she
tried. Then the mother said, 'Little Three-eyes, do you climb up;
you with your three eyes can see round better than Little One-
eye.' So Little One-eye slid down, and Little Three-eyes climbed
up; but she was not any more successful; look round as she might,
the golden apples bent themselves back. At last the mother got
impatient and climbed up herself, but she was even less successful
than Little One-eye and Little Three-eyes in catching hold of the
fruit, and only grasped at the empty air. Then Little Two-eyes
said, 'I will just try once, perhaps I shall succeed better.' The
sisters called out, 'You with your two eyes will no doubt
succeed!' But Little Two-eyes climbed up, and the golden apples
did not jump away from her, but behaved quite properly, so that
she could pluck them off, one after the other, and brought a whole
apron-full down with her. The mother took them from her, and,
instead of behaving better to poor Little Two-eyes, as they ought
to have done, they were jealous that she only could reach the
fruit and behaved still more unkindly to her.

It happened one day that when they were all standing together by
the tree that a young knight came riding along. 'Be quick, Little
Two-eyes,' cried the two sisters, 'creep under this, so that you
shall not disgrace us,' and they put over poor Little Two-eyes as
quickly as possible an empty cask, which was standing close to the
tree, and they pushed the golden apples which she had broken off
under with her. When the knight, who was a very handsome young
man, rode up, he wondered to see the marvellous tree of gold and
silver, and said to the two sisters, 'Whose is this beautiful
tree? Whoever will give me a twig of it shall have whatever she
wants.' Then Little One-eye and Little Three-eyes answered that
the tree belonged to them, and that they would certainly break him
off a twig. They gave themselves a great deal of trouble, but in
vain; the twigs and fruit bent back every time from their hands.
Then the knight said, 'It is very strange that the tree should
belong to you, and yet that you have not the power to break
anything from it!' But they would have that the tree was theirs;
and while they were saying this, Little Two-eyes rolled a couple
of golden apples from under the cask, so that they lay at the
knight's feet, for she was angry with Little One-eye and Little
Three-eyes for not speaking the truth. When the knight saw the
apples he was astonished, and asked where they came from. Little
One-eye and Little Three-eyes answered that they had another
sister, but she could not be seen because she had only two eyes,
like ordinary people. But the knight demanded to see her, and
called out, 'Little Two-eyes, come forth.' Then Little Two-eyes
came out from under the cask quite happily, and the knight was
astonished at her great beauty, and said, 'Little Two-eyes, I am
sure you can break me off a twig from the tree.' 'Yes,' answered
Little Two-eyes, 'I can, for the tree is mine.' So she climbed up
and broke off a small branch with its silver leaves and golden
fruit without any trouble, and gave it to the knight. Then he
said, 'Little Two-eyes, what shall I give you for this?' 'Ah,'
answered Little Two-eyes, 'I suffer hunger and thirst, want and
sorrow, from early morning till late in the evening; if you would
take me with you, and free me from this, I should be happy!' Then
the knight lifted Little Two-eyes on his horse, and took her home
to his father's castle. There he gave her beautiful clothes, and
food and drink, and because he loved her so much he married her,
and the wedding was celebrated with great joy.

When the handsome knight carried Little Two-eyes away with him,
the two sisters envied her good luck at first. 'But the wonderful
tree is still with us, after all,' they thought, 'and although we
cannot break any fruit from it, everyone will stop and look at it,
and will come to us and praise it; who knows whether
we
may
not reap a harvest from it?' But the next morning the tree had
flown, and their hopes with it; and when Little Two-eyes looked
out of her window there it stood underneath, to her great delight.
Little Two-eyes lived happily for a long time. Once two poor women
came to the castle to beg alms. Then Little Two-eyes looked at
then and recognised both her sisters, Little One-eye and Little
Three-eyes, who had become so poor that they came to beg bread at
her door. But Little Two-eyes bade them welcome, and was so good
to them that they both repented from their hearts of having been
so unkind to their sister.

Grimm.

There was once upon a time a castle in the middle of a thick wood
where lived an old woman quite alone, for she was an enchantress.
In the day-time she changed herself into a cat or a night-owl, but
in the evening she became like an ordinary woman again. She could
entice animals and birds to come to her, and then she would kill
and cook them. If any youth came within a hundred paces of the
castle, he was obliged to stand still, and could not stir from the
spot till she set him free; but if a pretty girl came within this
boundary, the old enchantress changed her into a bird, and shut
her up in a wicker cage, which she put in one of the rooms in the
castle. She had quite seven thousand of such cages in the castle
with very rare birds in them.

Now, there was once a maiden called Jorinde, who was more
beautiful than other maidens. She and a youth named Joringel, who
was just as good-looking as she was, were betrothed to one
another. Their greatest delight was to be together, and so that
they might get a good long talk, they went one evening for a walk
in the wood. 'Take care,' said Joringel, 'not to come too close to
the castle.' It was a beautiful evening; the sun shone brightly
between the stems of the trees among the dark green leaves of the
forest, and the turtle-dove sang clearly on the old maybushes.

Jorinde wept from time to time, and she sat herself down in the
sunshine and lamented, and Joringel lamented too. They felt as sad
as if they had been condemned to die; they looked round and got
quite confused, and did not remember which was their way home.
Half the sun was still above the mountain and half was behind it
when Joringel looked through the trees and saw the old wall of the
castle quite near them. He was terrified and half dead with
fright. Jorinde sang:

'My little bird with throat so red
Sings sorrow, sorrow, sorrow;
He sings to the little dove that's dead,
Sings sorrow, sor—jug, jug, jug.'

Joringel looked up at Jorinde. She had been changed into a
nightingale, who was singing 'jug, jug.' A night-owl with glowing
eyes flew three times round her, and screeched three times 'tu-
whit, tu-whit, tu-whoo.' Joringel could not stir; he stood there
like a stone; he could not weep, or speak, or move hand or foot.
Now the sun set; the owl flew into a bush, and immediately an old,
bent woman came out of it; she was yellow-skinned and thin, and
had large red eyes and a hooked nose, which met her chin. She
muttered to herself, caught the nightingale, and carried her away
in her hand. Joringel could say nothing; he could not move from
the spot, and the nightingale was gone. At last the woman came
back again, and said in a gruff voice, 'Good evening, Zachiel;
when the young moon shines in the basket, you are freed early,
Zachiel.' Then Joringel was free. He fell on his knees before the
old woman and implored her to give him back his Jorinde, but she
said he should never have her again, and then went away. He called
after her, he wept and lamented, but all in vain. 'What is to
become of me!' he thought. Then he went away, and came at last to
a strange village, where he kept sheep for a long time. He often
went round the castle while he was there, but never too close. At
last he dreamt one night that he had found a blood-red flower,
which had in its centre a beautiful large pearl. He plucked this
flower and went with it to the castle; and there everything which
he touched with the flower was freed from the enchantment, and he
got his Jorinde back again through it. When he awoke in the
morning he began to seek mountain and valley to find such a
flower. He sought it for eight days, and on the ninth early in the
morning he found the blood-red flower. In its centre was a large
dew-drop, as big as the most lovely pearl. He travelled day and
night with this flower till he arrived at the castle. When he came
within a hundred paces of it he did not cease to be able to move,
but he went on till he reached the gate. He was delighted at his
success, touched the great gate with the flower, and it sprung
open. He entered, passed through the courtyard, and then stopped
to listen for the singing of the birds; at last he heard it. He
went in and found the hall in which was the enchantress, and with
her seven thousand birds in their wicker cages. When she saw
Joringel she was furious, and breathed out poison and gall at him,
but she could not move a step towards him. He took no notice of
her, and went and looked over the cages of birds; but there were
many hundred nightingales, and how was he to find his Jorinde from
among them? Whilst he was considering, he observed the old witch
take up a cage secretly and go with it towards the door. Instantly
he sprang after her, touched the cage with the flower, and the old
woman as well. Now she could no longer work enchantments, and
there stood Jorinde before him, with her arms round his neck, and
more beautiful than ever. Then he turned all the other birds again
into maidens, and he went home with his Jorinde, and they lived a
long and happy life.

Grimm.

There was once upon a time a King who had a wife with golden hair,
and she was so beautiful that you couldn't find anyone like her in
the world. It happened that she fell ill, and when she felt that
she must soon die, she sent for the King, and said, 'If you want
to marry after my death, make no one queen unless she is just as
beautiful as I am, and has just such golden hair as I have.
Promise me this.' After the King had promised her this, she closed
her eyes and died.

For a long time the King was not to be comforted, and he did not
even think of taking a second wife. At last his councillors said,
'The King
must
marry again, so that we may have a queen.'
So messengers were sent far and wide to seek for a bride equal to
the late Queen in beauty. But there was no one in the wide world,
and if there had been she could not have had such golden hair.
Then the messengers came home again, not having been able to find
a queen.