The Juniper Tree and Other Tales (13 page)

O
NCE UPON A TIME
there was a soldier who had served the King faithfully for many years, but when the war was over and the soldier couldn’t fight any more because of all the wounds he had suffered, the King told him, “You can go home now, I don’t need you any longer, and there’ll be no more money for you, because no one gets paid unless he can do something for me in return.”

With no idea how he could survive, the soldier went away weighed down by care. He walked all day until in the evening he came to a forest. When darkness fell he saw a light, and on approaching it he came to a house where a witch lived. “Give me a bed for the night and a little food and drink,” he asked her, “or I shall pine away and die.”

“What?” said she. “Who gives anything to a soldier on the run? But I will be charitable and take you in if you do as I ask.”

“What do you ask?” said the soldier.

“I’d like you to dig my garden tomorrow.”

Well, the soldier agreed, and he worked with all his might next day, but he couldn’t finish digging the garden
before evening. “I can see you can’t do any more today,” said the witch. “I’ll keep you here one more night, and in return you can split me a cartload of wood tomorrow and chop it up.”

That took the soldier all day, and in the evening the witch said he could stay for another night. “I have only an easy task for you tomorrow. There’s an old well behind my house, it’s run dry now, and my lamp fell into it. The lamp burns with a blue flame and never goes out. I want you to fetch it up again.”

So next day the old witch led him to the well and let him down in a basket. He found the lamp and signalled to the witch to pull him up again. And she did pull him up, but when he was near the rim of the well she reached down her hand to take the lamp from him. “Oh no, you don’t,” said the soldier, guessing her evil intentions. “I’m not giving you this lamp until I have both feet on solid ground.” The witch fell into a rage, dropped him into the well again and went away.

The poor soldier fell to the damp bottom of the well, although without doing himself any harm, and the blue light of the lamp was still burning, but what good did that do him? He saw that he could not escape death. He sat there sadly for a while, and then by chance he put his hand in his pocket and found his pipe still half full of tobacco. I’ll smoke it as my last pleasure in life, he thought, and he took it out, lit it by the light of the
blue lamp, and began to puff at it. But when smoke surrounded him in the shaft of the well, he saw a little man standing in front of him all of a sudden, asking, “Master, what are your orders?”

“Why would I be giving you orders?” asked the surprised soldier.

“Because I must do everything you say,” said the little man.

“Very well,” said the soldier. “Then help me out of this well first.”

The little man took his hand and led him along an underground passage, but he didn’t forget to take the blue lamp with him. On the way, its light showed him the treasures that the witch had accumulated and hidden down here, and the soldier took as much gold as he could carry. When he was above ground again, he said to the little man, “Now go and tie up the old witch and take her before the law courts.” It wasn’t long before she came riding a wild cat past him, screeching horribly, and again it wasn’t long after that before the little man came back.

“That’s all done,” said the little man, “and the witch is hanging from the gallows already. What other orders do you have for me, master?”

“None at the moment,” said the soldier. “You can go home, but come to me at once when I call you.”

“There’s no need for any calling,” said the little man. “Whenever you light your pipe from the blue lamp, I’ll
be there in front of you.” And so saying he disappeared before the soldier’s eyes.

The soldier went back to the city he had come from. He went to the best inn, had fine clothes made for him and then he told the landlord to get a room furnished for him with all possible magnificence. When it was ready, and the soldier had moved in, he called for the little man and said, “I served the King faithfully, but he sent me away to starve, and now I’ll have my revenge.”

“What do you want me to do?” asked the little man.

“Late at night, when the King’s daughter is in bed, bring her to me still asleep, and she shall be my maidservant.”

“That’s easy for me, but dangerous for you,” said the little man. “If the whole story comes out, you’ll suffer for it.”

When the clock had struck twelve, the door opened, and the little man carried in the King’s daughter. “Aha, so there you are!” the soldier said to her. “Get down to work now, take the broom and sweep this room.” When she had finished he told her to come over to the chair where he was sitting, stretched out his legs and said, “Take my boots off.” Then he threw them in her face, and she had to pick them up, clean them and polish them until they shone. She did all he said without resistance, silently and with her eyes half-closed. When the first rooster crowed, the little man carried her back to the royal palace again and laid her in her bed.

Next morning, when the King’s daughter was up and about, she went to her father and told him the strange dream she had had. “I was carried at lightning speed through the streets, and taken to the lodgings of a soldier whom I had to serve as his maid, waiting on him and doing all kinds of common work, sweeping the room and cleaning his boots. It was only a dream, and yet I’m as tired as if I had really done all that.”

“Your dream could have some truth in it,” said the King. “I advise you to fill your pocket with peas, and make a little hole in the pocket so that the peas will fall out and leave a trail along the street.”

But while the King said this, the little man, invisible, was standing by, and he heard it all. That night, when he carried the King’s daughter through the streets again, some peas did fall out of her pocket, but they couldn’t leave her trail because the cunning little man had already scattered peas along all the streets. However, the King’s daughter had to work as a common maidservant again until the first rooster crowed.

Next morning the King sent his men out to search for the trail, but it was useless, because poor children were sitting in all the streets picking up the peas, saying that it had been raining peas in the night.

“We must think of something else,” said the King. “Keep your shoes on when you go to bed, and before you come back hide one shoe, and I’ll soon find it.”

The little man heard this, and when the soldier told him that evening to go and fetch the King’s daughter again, he advised against it, saying that he knew no way around the difficulty this time. If the shoe was found in this room, it would be the worse for the soldier.

“Do as I say,” said the soldier, and the King’s daughter had to work as a maidservant for a third night, but before she was taken back she hid one of her shoes under the bed.

Next morning the King had the whole city searched for his daughter’s shoe. It was found in the soldier’s room, and the soldier himself, who had gone out on the little man’s advice, was soon captured and thrown into prison. He had left behind the best things he had as he fled, the blue lamp and his gold, and all he had left was one ducat in his pocket. When he looked out of the prison window, laden with chains as he was, he saw one of his old comrades passing by. He knocked on the pane, and when his comrade came over he said, “Be kind enough to bring me the little bundle that I’ve left behind at my inn, and I will give you a ducat.” So off went his old comrade, and brought him what he wanted.

As soon as the soldier was alone, he lit his pipe and summoned the little man. “Never fear,” the little man told his master, “go wherever they take you, and let them do whatever they like, but take the blue lamp with you.”

Next morning the soldier was tried in court, and although he had committed no crime the judge condemned him to death. When he was taken out for execution, he asked the King for one last favour.

“What is it?” asked the King.

“Let me smoke a last pipe of tobacco on my way.”

“You can smoke three,” said the King, “but don’t think I’m letting you off with your life.”

At that the soldier took out his pipe and lit it at the blue lamp. When a few smoke rings had risen, there stood the little man with a small cudgel in his hand.

“What are my master’s orders?” he said.

“Strike down the false judges and their officers,” said the soldier, “and don’t spare the King, who has treated me so badly.”

Then the little man went thwick-thwack with his cudgel, striking out back and forth like lightning, and anyone he so much as touched with it fell to the ground and dared not move. The King was afraid, and begged for mercy, and just to save his life he gave the soldier his kingdom and his daughter as his wife.

T
HERE WAS A WOMAN
who had three daughters, and the eldest was called One-Eye, because she had only one eye in the middle of her forehead, while the second was called Two-Eyes, because she had two eyes like other people, and the third was called Three-Eyes, because she had an extra eye that, like her eldest sister’s, was also in the middle of her forehead. However, as Two-Eyes looked just like most human beings, her mother and sisters hated her, and told her, “With your two eyes you look no better than common folk. You don’t belong with us.” And they pushed her about, and threw her shabby old clothes to wear, and gave her only their left-over scraps to eat, making her life as much of a misery as they could.

It so happened that Two-Eyes was sent out into the fields to look after the goat, still feeling very hungry because her sisters had given her so little to eat. She sat down at the side of a field and began weeping and weeping so bitterly that two little streams of tears flowed out of her eyes. And when she happened to look up, there was a woman standing beside her, and she was a wise
woman. “Two-Eyes, why are you so unhappy?” asked the woman.

“Why wouldn’t I be unhappy?” said Two-Eyes. “My mother and sisters hate me just because I have two eyes like other people. They push me about, throw me shabby old clothes to wear and give me nothing but their leftover scraps to eat. Today they gave me almost nothing, so I’m still very hungry.”

“Two-Eyes, dry your tears,” said the wise woman. “I will tell you something that will keep you from suffering from hunger ever again. Just say to your goat:

and a neatly laid little table will appear in front of you with the best of food, so that you can eat as much as you want. And when you have had enough and you don’t need the little table any more, just say:

and it will disappear before your eyes.”

With these words the wise woman went away, and Two-Eyes thought: I must see if what she said is true at once, I’m so hungry. So she said:

No sooner had she said those words than a nicely laid little table appeared, covered with a white cloth, and a plate with a knife, fork and spoon. The most delicious dishes stood on the table, still hot, as if they had just come from the kitchen. Then Two-Eyes said the shortest grace that she knew: “Dear God, be a guest at our table for ever, amen!” And she set to and ate her fill. When she had had enough, she said what the wise woman had taught her:

At once the little table and everything on it disappeared again. What a wonderful way to keep house, thought Two-Eyes, and she was very happy and cheerful. That evening she drove the goat home, and didn’t even touch the scraps of food that her sisters had left for her in an earthenware pot. Next day she went out with the goat again, and once more she left the few scraps offered to her. The first time and the second time this happened, her sisters didn’t notice, but when things went on like this they began to wonder what had happened, and said, “Something is wrong with Two-Eyes. She never touches her food, and she always used to wolf down everything we
gave her. She must be getting food on the sly somehow.” And to discover the truth, they decided that One-Eye would go out to the pasture with Two-Eyes, pay attention to what she was doing and see whether someone might be bringing her food and drink.

When Two-Eyes drove the goat out to pasture again, One-Eye went to her and said, “I’m coming with you to make sure that you look after the goat well and drive her to find fodder.” But Two-Eyes saw what One-Eye had in mind, and she drove the goat out into the tall grass and said, “Come along, One-Eye, let’s sit down, and I will sing you something.” One-Eye sat down, feeling tired after walking all that way, which was not her habit, in the summer heat, and Two-Eyes kept on singing:

Then One-Eye closed her single eye, and fell asleep. When Two-Eyes saw that One-Eye was fast asleep, and couldn’t give her secret away, she said:

and sat down at her little table and ate and drank until she had had enough. Then she cried again:

and it all disappeared. Then Two-Eyes woke One-Eye and said, “Dear me, One-Eye, you come out to herd the goat and fall asleep! Why, the goat could have run away to goodness knows where. Come along, let’s go home.” So they went home, and once again Two-Eyes left her dish of scraps untouched. One-Eye couldn’t tell her mother why her sister didn’t want to eat, and confessed, “I fell asleep out there.”

Next day the mother said to Three-Eyes, “You go out with Two-Eyes, and mind you notice whether she is eating and drinking out in the pasture, and whether anyone brings her food and drink, for she has to eat and drink some time or other.” So Three-Eyes went to Two-Eyes and said, “I’m coming with you to make sure that you look after the goat well and drive her to find fodder.” But Two-Eyes saw what Three-Eyes had in mind, and she drove the goat out into the tall grass and said, “Come along, Three-Eyes, let’s sit down, and I will sing you something.” Three-Eyes sat down, feeling tired after walking all that way in the summer heat, and Two-Eyes struck up the same song as before, this time singing:

And next she meant to sing:

But she was careless, and sang instead:

So she kept singing:

Then two of her sister’s three eyes closed and went to sleep, but the third eye, which wasn’t mentioned in the song, did not sleep. However, out of cunning Three-Eyes closed it and pretended that it was sleeping, but it was really awake and noticed all that went on. When Two-Eyes thought that Three-Eyes was asleep, she said her little verse:

ate and drank to her heart’s content, and then sent the table away again, saying:

But Three-Eyes had seen it all. Then Two-Eyes went over to her and said, “Dear me, Three-Eyes, you’ve been asleep! You’re a fine one for herding goats! Come along, let’s go home.” Once they were home, Two-Eyes didn’t touch the scraps left for her, and Three-Eyes told her mother, “Now I know why that proud creature doesn’t eat. When she is out in the pasture and says to the goat:

a little table appears in front of her, laden with good food, much better than we eat here, and when she has had enough she says:

and it disappears again. I saw it all; she put two of my eyes to sleep with a little verse, but luckily the one in the middle of my forehead stayed awake.”

The mother cried furiously, “Would you set yourself up as better than us, Two-Eyes? Well, we’ll soon teach you what’s what!” And then she fetched a slaughterer’s
knife and plunged it into the heart of the goat, which fell down dead.

When Two-Eyes saw that, she went out to the edge of the field in great grief, and sat down to shed bitter tears again. Suddenly there was the wise woman in front of her once more, saying, “Two-Eyes, why are you weeping?”

“Why wouldn’t I weep?” said the girl. “My mother has killed the goat who spread such good food in front of me every day when I said your little verse, and now I must suffer hunger and grief again.”

But the wise woman said, “I will give you a piece of good advice, Two-Eyes; ask your sisters to give you the entrails of the slaughtered goat, bury them outside the door of the house, and good luck will be yours.”

Then she disappeared, and Two-Eyes went home and said to her sisters, “Dear sisters, give me a part of my goat. I’m not asking for the best of it, just let me have the entrails.” They laughed at her, and said, “If that’s all you want, you can have them and welcome.” So Two-Eyes took the goat’s entrails and buried them quietly outside the door of the house that evening, as the wise woman had advised.

Next morning, when they all woke up and went out of the house, there was a wonderful, stately tree growing there, with leaves of silver and golden fruit hanging among them. Nothing more beautiful and delicious was ever seen. But they didn’t know how this tree had
suddenly grown in the night. Only Two-Eyes saw that it must have sprouted directly from the entrails of the goat, for it stood exactly where she had buried them.

The girls’ mother said to One-Eye, “Climb up this tree, my child, and pick the fruit.” One-Eye climbed the tree, but when she was about to pick one of the golden apples the branch drew back from her hands, and the same thing happened every time she tried. Whatever she did, she couldn’t pick any of the golden apples. Then her mother said, “Three-Eyes, you climb the tree. With your three eyes, you can see better than One-Eye.” One-Eye slid down the tree and Three-Eyes climbed up it, but she was no more skilful, and longingly as she might look at them, the golden apples always drew back from her. Finally the mother climbed the tree herself, but she was no better than One-Eye and Three-Eyes at grasping the fruit, and kept seizing empty air.

Then Two-Eyes said, “I’ll climb the tree. Perhaps I shall have better luck.”

“What do you think you can do, with your two eyes?” cried her sisters, but Two-Eyes climbed the tree, and the golden apples did not retreat from her, but you might have thought they were hurrying to reach her hands. She picked apple after apple, and came down with her apron full of them. Her mother took them from her, and instead of treating poor Two-Eyes better for that, she and One-Eye and Three-Eyes were envious because
only she had been able to pick the fruits, and they were harder on her than ever.

It so happened that one day, when she was standing alone by the tree, a young knight came that way. “Quick, Two-Eyes,” cried her sisters, “get out of sight to spare us being ashamed of you.” And they pushed poor Two-Eyes under an empty cask that was standing near the tree, stuffing the golden apples that she had picked under it too. When the knight came closer, they saw that he was a handsome man. He admired the fine gold-and-silver tree, and asked the two sisters, “Whose is this beautiful tree? If the owners would give me a branch of it, they could ask what they liked of me in return.”

One-Eye and Three-Eyes replied that the tree was theirs, and said they would be happy to give him a branch of it. But hard as they both tried, they couldn’t do it, for the branches and fruit drew back from them all the time. “It’s a strange thing,” said the knight, “that you say the tree belongs to you, and yet you’re unable to break anything off it!”

They still insisted that the tree was theirs, but as they were talking Two-Eyes, who was angry to hear One-Eye and Three-Eyes telling lies, rolled two golden apples out from under the cask and they stopped at the knight’s feet. When the knight saw the apples, he was amazed, and asked where they came from. One-Eye and Three-Eyes said that they had another sister, but she wasn’t fit to be
seen, because she had two eyes like other folk. But the knight said he wanted to see her, and he cried, “Come out, Two-Eyes.” Then Two-Eyes, feeling more confident, came out from under the cask, and the knight was astonished to see her beauty. “I am sure, Two-Eyes,” he said, “that you can break off a branch of the tree for me.”

“Yes, indeed, sir,” said Two-Eyes. “I am sure I can, for the tree is mine.” And she climbed it and easily broke off a branch bearing silver leaves and golden fruit, and gave it to the knight.

Then the knight said, “Two-Eyes, what shall I give you in return?”

“Oh, sir,” replied Two-Eyes, “I suffer from hunger and thirst, grief and want here from morning to evening. If you would take me with you and free me from such a life I would be happy.” Then the knight lifted Two-Eyes up on his horse and took her home to his father’s castle, where he gave her fine clothes, all the food and drink she could wish for, and because he had fallen in love with her, he found a priest to marry them, and their wedding was held with great rejoicing.

When Two-Eyes had been taken away by the handsome knight, her two sisters were very envious of her good fortune. Well, they thought, at least the wonderful tree will stay with us, and even if we can’t pick its fruit everyone who comes this way will stop to marvel at it and praise it, so who knows what luck that may yet
bring us? But next morning the tree had disappeared, and when Two-Eyes looked out of the castle window, there it was standing outside, so she knew that it had followed her.

Two-Eyes had been living happily with the knight for a long time when two poor women came to the castle one day, asking for charity. Then Two-Eyes looked at them, and recognized her sisters One-Eye and Three-Eyes, who had become so poor that they went around begging their bread from door to door. But Two-Eyes welcomed them in, and was so kind to them, and treated them so well, that they were heartily sorry for all their unkindness to their sister.