Fairy Tales from the Brothers Grimm: A New English Version (18 page)

TWENTY-THREE

GODFATHER DEATH

A poor man had twelve children, and had to work day and night just to get them a little food to eat. So when his wife gave birth to a thirteenth, he didn’t know what to do, and he ran out into the road, thinking he might as well ask the first person he met to stand godfather.

The first person who came along was God himself. Since he knew everything, he didn’t have to ask what was in the man’s mind.

‘My poor man,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry for you. I’d be glad to hold your child at his baptism. I’ll look after him, don’t you worry about that.’

‘Who are you?’ said the man.

‘I am God.’

‘Well, be on your way. I don’t want you for a godfather. You give to the rich who don’t need it, and you let the poor starve.’

Of course, he only said that because he didn’t know God’s purpose in being so kind to the rich and so cruel to the poor.

He went on his way, and the next person he met was a gentleman dressed in the finest clothes.

‘I’d be glad to help,’ he said. ‘Make me your child’s godfather and I’ll give him all the riches of the world, and I’ll make sure he has a good time, too.’

‘And who are you?’

‘I’m the Devil.’

‘What! I don’t want you for a godfather. You deceive people and lead them into sin – I’ve heard all about you.’

So he went on, and the next person he met was an old man tottering towards him on withered legs.

‘Take me as your child’s godfather,’ the old man said.

‘Who are you?’

‘I’m Death, and I make everyone equal.’

‘Then you’re the one,’ said the poor man. ‘You take away the poor, and you take away the rich. You shall be godfather to my child.’

‘That’s a wise decision,’ said Death. ‘I’ll make your child rich and famous. Anyone who has me for a friend can’t fail.’

‘Next Sunday, then,’ said the man. ‘Make sure you turn up on time.’

Death appeared at the baptism just as he’d promised, and swore all the vows, and behaved with perfect propriety.

So the boy grew up, and when he became of age his godfather came to the house and said, ‘Come with me, young man.’

The boy followed his godfather out into the forest, where the old man showed him a particular herb.

‘This is a present from your godfather,’ he said. ‘I’m going to make you a famous physician. Whenever you’re called to the bed of a sick person, just look around and you’ll see me. If I’m standing by the patient’s head, you can tell his family that all will be well. Then give him a little of this herb, any way you like – give him a leaf to chew, make some tea from the flowers, grind the roots up into a paste and make pills, doesn’t make any difference: in a day or so he’ll be perfectly well again. But if I’m standing at the foot of the bed, he belongs to me, remember? You have to say there’s no help for him, no doctor in the world could save him. Now this will always work, but watch out: if you give the herb to anyone who belongs to me, something very bad will happen to you.’

The young man did as his godfather said, and it wasn’t long before he was the most famous doctor in the world. People were amazed by his ability to know at once whether the patient would live or die, and they came from every country in the world to consult him, and gave him so much money that he soon became a very wealthy man.

Now it so happened that the king of that country fell ill. The famous physician was sent for, and the courtiers asked him to say whether the royal patient was likely to survive. However, when the young man entered the bedroom, he saw his godfather standing at the foot of the bed. The king was doomed. That wasn’t what the king’s family wanted to hear, of course.

‘If only I could contradict my godfather, just once!’ thought the physician. ‘He’ll be angry, no doubt, but I am his godson, after all. Maybe he’ll overlook it. I’ll risk it, anyway.’

So he turned the patient round so that Death was standing at his head, and gave him a decoction of the leaves to drink, and pretty soon the king was sitting up and feeling much better.

However, immediately the young man was alone Death came to him, frowning darkly and shaking his finger.

‘You tricked me!’ he said. ‘I take a very dim view of that. I’ll overlook it this time because you’re my godson, but try it just once again and you’ll be sorry, because I’ll take
you
away with me when I go.’

Not long afterwards the king’s daughter fell gravely ill. She was his only child, and the king wept day and night until his eyes were so swollen he could barely see. He announced far and wide that whoever could cure her would marry her and inherit the kingdom.

Naturally, the young man was among those who came to try. And once again, when he entered the sick room, there was Death standing at the patient’s feet. This time, though, the young man hardly saw his godfather, because after one look at the princess’s face he was lost: she was so beautiful that he could think of nothing else. Death was frowning and snarling and shaking his fist, and the young man hardly noticed: he turned the princess round, gave her two pills, and presently she was sitting up with the colour returning to her cheeks.

But Death, having been cheated for a second time, was in no mood to wait. He seized the physician with his bony hand and said, ‘Right, my boy, you’re done for now.’

And he pulled him away from the princess’s bedside, and away from the palace, and away from the town, and his ice-cold grasp was so firm that the young man couldn’t pull free, no matter how hard he tried. Death led him to a great cavern under the mountains, where thousands and thousands of candles were burning, some of them tall, some of them medium-sized, and others so short they were on the point of going out. In fact at every moment some candles did go out, and others elsewhere suddenly came alight, so that the little flames seemed to be leaping about from one spot to another in constant movement.

‘See these candles?’ said godfather Death. ‘Everyone alive on earth has a candle burning down here. The tall ones belong to children, the middle-sized ones to married people in the prime of life, and the little ones to old people. Mostly, that is. Some people who are only young have a very short candle.’

‘Which is mine?’ said the young man, thinking that his candle was bound to have a long way to burn down yet.

Death pointed to a little stump where the flame was already guttering. The young man was horrified.

‘Oh, godfather, dear godfather, light another one for me, I beg you! I long to marry the princess – you know why I had to turn her round – I fell in love with her at once – I couldn’t help it! Please, dear godfather, let me live my life!’

‘That’s impossible,’ said Death. ‘I can’t light another one without letting the first go out.’

‘Oh, I beg you – please – put this one on top of a new one so it can carry on burning when the first one’s finished!’

Death pretended that he was going to do that, and he took a new long candle and set it upright before taking the little stump that was nearly out; but he was determined to have his revenge, and in tipping it over to light the new one, he let the old flame go out. The physician fell to the ground at once, for he was equal to everyone else: he had fallen into the hands of Death.

***

Tale type:
ATU 332, ‘Godfather Death’

Source:
a story told to the Grimm brothers by Marie Elisabeth Wild

Similar stories:
Italo Calvino: ‘The Land Where No One Ever Dies’ (
Italian Folktales
); Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm: ‘The Godfather’, ‘The Messengers of Death’ (
Children’s and Household Tales
)

The other Grimm tale of this type, ‘The Godfather’, is short and facetious, with little of this story’s power. The story in Calvino is similar only in its conclusion – that no one can escape falling into the hands of death. Of course, there are innumerable variations on that idea, Geoffrey Chaucer’s ‘The Pardoner’s Tale’ being one of the best known.

TWENTY-FOUR

THE JUNIPER TREE

Two thousand years ago, or a very long time anyway, there lived a rich man and his good and beautiful wife. They loved each other dearly. There was only one thing needed to complete their happiness, and that was children, but as much as they longed for a child, and as much as the woman prayed both day and night, no child came, and no child came.

Now in front of their house was a courtyard, where there grew a juniper tree. One winter’s day the woman stood under the tree peeling an apple, and as she did so she cut her finger, and a drop of blood fell into the snow.

‘Oh,’ she sighed, ‘if only I had a child as red as blood and as white as snow!’

As she said that her heart lifted, and she felt happy. She went back into the house, feeling sure everything would end well.

One month went by, and the snow vanished.

Two months went by, and the world turned green.

Three months went by, and flowers bloomed out of the earth.

Four months went by, and all the twigs on all the trees in the forest grew stronger and pressed themselves together, and the birds sang so loud that the woods resounded, and the blossom fell from the trees.

Five months went by, and the woman stood under the juniper tree. It smelled so sweet that her heart leaped in her breast, and she fell to her knees with joy.

Six months went by, and the fruit grew firm and heavy, and the woman fell still.

When seven months had gone by, she plucked the juniper berries and ate so many that she felt sick and sorrowful.

After the eighth month had gone, she called her husband and said to him, weeping, ‘If I die, bury me under the juniper tree.’

She felt comforted by his promise, and then one more month went by, and she had a child as red as blood and as white as snow; when she saw the baby her heart could not contain her joy, and she died.

Her husband buried her under the juniper tree, weeping bitterly. After a little time his first anguish ebbed away, and although he still wept, it was less bitterly than before. And after a little more time had gone by, he took a second wife.

He had a daughter by the second wife, but his first wife’s child, as red as blood and as white as snow, was a son. The second wife loved her daughter, but whenever she looked at the little boy she felt her heart twist with hatred, because she knew he would inherit her husband’s wealth, and she feared her daughter would get nothing. Seeing this, the Devil got into her and let her think of nothing else, and from then on she never left the little boy alone: she slapped him and cuffed him, she shouted at him and made him stand in the corner, until the poor child was so afraid he hardly dared come home from school, for there was nowhere he could find any peace.

One day the woman had gone into the pantry when her little daughter Marleenken came in after her and said, ‘Mama, can I have an apple?’

‘Of course, my dear,’ said the woman, and gave her a fine red apple from the chest. This chest had a heavy lid with a sharp iron lock.

‘Mama, can my brother have one too?’ said Marleenken.

Mention of the little boy made the woman angry, but she contained herself and said, ‘Yes, of course, when he comes home from school.’

Just then she happened to look out of the window and saw the little boy coming home. And it was as if the Devil himself entered her head, because she seized the apple from the girl and said, ‘You’re not going to have one before your brother.’ She threw the apple into the chest and shut it, and Marleenken went up to her room.

Then the little boy came in, and the Devil made the woman say sweetly, ‘My son, would you like an apple?’

But her eyes were fierce.

‘Mama,’ said the little boy, ‘you look so angry! Yes, I’d like an apple.’

She couldn’t stop. She had to go on.

‘Come with me,’ she said, opening the lid of the chest. ‘Choose an apple for yourself. Lean right in – that’s it – the best ones are at the back . . .’

And while the little boy was leaning in, the Evil One nudged her, and bam! She slammed down the lid, and his head fell off and rolled in among the red apples.

Then she felt horribly afraid, and she thought, ‘What can I do? But maybe there’s a way . . .’ And she ran upstairs to her chest of drawers and took a white scarf, and then she sat the little boy in a chair by the kitchen door and set his head on his neck again, and tied the scarf around it so nothing could be seen. Then she put an apple in his hand, and went into the kitchen to put some water on the stove to boil.

And Marleenken came into the kitchen and said, ‘Mama, brother is sitting by the door, and he’s got an apple in his hand, and his face is so white! I asked him to give me the apple, but he didn’t answer me, and I was frightened.’

‘Well, you go back out there and speak to him again,’ said the mother, ‘and if he won’t answer you this time, smack his face.’

So Marleenken went to the little boy and said, ‘Brother, give me the apple.’

But he sat still and said nothing, so she smacked his face, and his head fell off. Poor Marleenken was terrified. She screamed and ran to her mother and cried, ‘Oh mother, mother, I’ve knocked my brother’s head off!’ She sobbed and cried and nothing would comfort her.

‘Oh, Marleenken, you bad girl,’ said her mother, ‘what have you done? But be quiet, hush, don’t say a word about it. It can’t be helped. We won’t tell anyone. We’ll put him in the stew.’

So she took the little boy and chopped him into pieces and put them in the pot. Marleenken couldn’t stop crying; in fact so many tears fell in the water that there was no need for salt.

Presently the father came home and sat down at the table. He looked around and said, ‘Where’s my little boy?’

The woman put a large dish of stew on the table. Marleenken was crying and crying helplessly.

The father said again, ‘Where’s my son? Why isn’t he here at the table?’

‘Oh,’ the woman said, ‘he’s gone away to visit his mother’s great-uncle’s family. He’s going to stay with them for a while.’

‘But why? He didn’t even say goodbye.’

‘He wanted to go. He said he was going to stay for six weeks. Don’t worry, they’ll look after him.’

‘Well, I’m upset about that,’ said the father. ‘He shouldn’t have gone like that without asking me. I’m sorry he’s not here. He should have said goodbye.’ And he began to eat, and he said, ‘Marleenken dear, why are you crying? Your brother will come back, don’t worry.’

And he ate some more stew, and then he said, ‘Wife, this is the best stew I’ve ever tasted. It’s delicious! Give me some more. You two aren’t having any. I’ve got a feeling that this is all for me.’ And he ate the whole dish, every scrap, and threw the bones under the table.

Marleenken went to her chest of drawers and took out her best silk scarf. Then she gathered up all the bones from under the table, tied them up in the scarf, and took them outside. Her poor eyes had wept so much they had no tears left, and she could only cry blood.

She laid the bones down on the green grass under the juniper tree, and as she did so she felt her heart lighten, and she stopped crying.

And the juniper tree began to move. First the branches moved apart, and then they moved together again, like someone clapping their hands. As that happened a golden mist gathered among the branches and then rose up like a flame, and at the heart of the flame there was a beautiful bird that flew high into the air singing and chirping merrily. And when the bird was gone, the juniper tree was just as it had been before, but the scarf and the bones had vanished. Marleenken felt happy again, just as happy as if her brother was still alive, and she ran into the house and sat down to eat her supper.

Meanwhile the bird was flying far away. He flew to a town and settled on the roof of a goldsmith’s house and began to sing:

‘My mother cut my head off,

My father swallowed me,

My sister buried all my bones

Under the juniper tree.

Keewitt! Keewitt! You’ll never find

A prettier bird than me!’

Inside his workshop the goldsmith was making a golden chain. He heard the bird singing overhead and thought how lovely it sounded, so he stood up to run outside and see what sort of bird it could be. He left the house in such a hurry one of his slippers fell off on the way, and he stood in the middle of the street in his leather apron and one slipper, with his pincers in one hand and the golden chain in the other, and he looked up to see the bird and shaded his eyes from the bright sun and called out: ‘Hey, bird! That’s a lovely song you’re singing! Sing it again for me!’

‘Oh, no,’ said the bird, ‘I don’t sing twice for nothing. Give me that golden chain and I’ll sing it again for you.’

‘Here you are, and welcome,’ said the goldsmith. ‘Come and take it, but do sing that song again!’

The bird flew down and took the golden chain in his right claw, and perched on the garden fence and sang:

‘My mother cut my head off,

My father swallowed me,

My sister buried all my bones

Under the juniper tree.

Keewitt! Keewitt! You’ll never find

A prettier bird than me!’

Then the bird flew away and found a shoemaker’s house, and he perched on the roof and sang:

‘My mother cut my head off,

My father swallowed me,

My sister buried all my bones

Under the juniper tree.

Keewitt! Keewitt! You’ll never find

A prettier bird than me!’

The shoemaker was tapping away at his last, but his hammer fell still as he heard the song, and he ran out of doors and looked up at the roof. He had to shade his eyes because the sun was so bright.

‘Bird,’ he called out, ‘you’re a wonderful singer! I’ve never heard a song like it!’ He ran back inside and called, ‘Wife, come out and listen to this bird! He’s a marvel!’

He called his daughter and her children, and his apprentices, and the maid, and they all came out into the street and gazed up in amazement. The bird’s red and green feathers were shining, and the golden feathers of his neck were dazzling in the sunlight, and his eyes sparkled like stars.

‘Bird,’ the shoemaker called up, ‘sing that song again!’

‘Oh, no,’ said the bird, ‘I don’t sing twice for nothing. Give me those red slippers I can see on your bench.’

The wife ran into the shop and brought out the slippers, and the bird flew down and seized them in his left claw. Then he flew around their heads, singing:

‘My mother cut my head off,

My father swallowed me,

My sister buried all my bones

Under the juniper tree.

Keewitt! Keewitt! You’ll never find

A prettier bird than me!’

Then he flew away, out of the town and along the river, and in his right claw he had the golden chain and in his left he had the slippers. He flew and he flew till he came to a mill, and the mill wheel was going
clippety-clap, clippety-clap, clippety-clap
. Outside the mill twenty apprentices were sitting down chiselling a new millstone,
hick-hack, hick-hack,
hick-hack,
and the mill went
clippety-clap, clippety-clap, clippety-clap.

The bird flew round and perched on a linden tree that stood in front of the mill, and began to sing:

‘My mother cut my head off—’

And one of the apprentices stopped working and looked up.

‘My father swallowed me—’

Two more stopped working and listened.

‘My sister buried all my bones—’

Four of them stopped.

‘Under the juniper tree—’

And eight put their chisels down.

‘Keewitt! Keewitt! You’ll never find—’

And now four more looked all around.

‘A prettier bird than me!’

Finally the last apprentice heard, and dropped his chisel, and then all twenty burst into cheers and clapped and threw their hats in the air.

‘Bird,’ cried the last apprentice, ‘that’s the best song I’ve ever heard! But I only heard the last line. Sing it again for me!’

‘Oh, no,’ said the bird, ‘I don’t sing twice for nothing. Give me that millstone you’re all working on, and I’ll sing you the song again.’

‘If it only belonged to me, you could have it like a shot!’ he said. ‘But . . .’

‘Oh, come on,’ said the others. ‘If he sings again, he can have it and welcome.’

So the twenty apprentices took a long beam and laid the end under the edge of the millstone and heaved it up: Heave-
hup
! Heave-
hup
! Heave-
hup
!

The bird flew down and put his head through the hole in the middle, and wearing it like a collar he flew back up to the tree and sang again:

‘My mother cut my head off,

My father swallowed me,

My sister buried all my bones

Under the juniper tree.

Keewitt! Keewitt! You’ll never find

A prettier bird than me!’

When he’d finished the song he spread his wings and flew up in the air. In his right claw he had the golden chain, in his left claw he had the shoes, and around his neck was the millstone. He flew and he flew all the way back to his father’s house.

Inside the house, father and mother and Marleenken were sitting at the table.

Father said, ‘You know, I feel happy for some reason. I feel better than I’ve done for days.’

‘It’s all very well for you,’ said the wife. ‘I don’t feel well at all. I feel as if a bad storm were coming.’

As for Marleenken, she just sat and wept.

At that moment, the bird arrived. He flew around the house and settled on the roof, and as he did that, father said, ‘No, I don’t think I’ve ever felt so well. The sun’s shining outside, and I feel as if I’m going to see an old friend.’

‘Well, I feel terrible!’ said the woman. ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I feel cold and hot all over. My teeth are chattering and my veins are filled with fire.’