The Juniper Tree and Other Tales Page 9

  One day the woman had gone into the storeroom, and her little daughter followed her. “Mother, give me an apple,” she said.

  “Yes, my dear,” said the woman, and she gave her a beautiful apple out of the chest where they were stored. This chest had a large, heavy lid, with a great sharp iron lock on it.

  “Mother,” said the little girl, “can my brother have an apple too?”

  The woman didn’t like that idea, but she said, “Yes, when he comes home from school.”

  And when she looked out of the window and saw the boy on his way, it was as if the Evil One came into her. She put out her hand and took the apple away from her daughter again, saying, “Wait until your brother has one as well.” Then she laid the apple back in the chest, and closed the lid.

  Soon the little boy came through the door, and the Evil One put it into her mind to speak kindly to him, saying, “Would you like an apple, my dear?” But she looked at him with hatred in her eyes.

  “Oh, Mother, how fierce you look!” said the little boy. “But yes, do give me an apple!”

  Then she thought she ought to speak kindly to him. “Come along with me,” she said, opening the lid of the chest. “There now, choose an apple!” And when the little boy bent down the Evil One told her what to do next. Crash! She slammed the lid down so hard that the lock cut off the child’s head, and it flew through the air and fell among the red apples.

  Then the woman was terrified, and wondered how she could avoid being blamed. She went into her own room, took a white scarf from the top drawer of her dressing table, propped the boy’s head back on his neck and tied it in place with the scarf, so that no one could see anything wrong. Then she sat the boy on a chair outside the door and put the apple in his hand.

  Soon the little girl, whose name was Marlene, went into the kitchen where her mother was standing by the fire with a pan of hot water in front of her, stirring away. “Mother,” said Marlene, “my brother’s sitting there outside the door. He looks so pale, and he has an apple in his hand. I asked him to give me the apple, but he wouldn’t answer. It made me feel very strange.”

  “Go back to him,” said her mother, “and if he still won’t answer then tap him on the cheek.”

  So little Marlene went back and said, “Give me the apple, please, brother!” But still he said nothing, so she tapped him on the cheek, and his head fell off. The little girl was terrified, and began to cry and scream. She ran to her mother and said, “Oh, Mother, I’ve knocked my brother’s head off!” And she wept and wept and wouldn’t be comforted.

  “Oh, Marlene,” said her mother, “whatever have you done? But just keep quiet about it, so that no one knows what’s happened. It can’t be helped now. We’d better cook him in a stew.”

  Then the mother took the little boy, chopped him up, put the pieces in the pan and cooked them in a stew. Poor little Marlene stood there weeping bitterly. All her tears fell in the pan, and there was no need to add any salt.

  Soon the children’s father came home, sat down at the table and said, “Where’s my son?”

  “Oh,” said the mother, “he’s gone into the country to visit his mother’s great-uncle. He wanted to stay there for a while.”

  “Why would he do a thing like that, without even saying goodbye to me?”

  “Oh, he wanted to go so much, and he asked me if he could stay there for six weeks or so. They’ll look after him well there in the country.”

  “Dear me,” said the man, “I feel so heavy-hearted. It’s not right; he could have said goodbye.” Then he began eating, and asked, “Why are you crying, Marlene? Your brother will soon be back.” After a while, he said, “This is a very good dinner, wife! I’ll have another helping.” And the more he ate the more he wanted, saying, “Let me have another plateful. I don’t want you two to eat any of this. I feel as if it were all meant for me.” And he ate and ate, throwing all the bones under the table, until he had finished the whole stew.

  Poor little Marlene went to her own chest of drawers, and took her best silk scarf out of the bottom drawer. She picked up all the little bones from under the table, tied them up in the silk cloth and carried them out of doors, weeping tears of blood all the time. She laid them down on the green grass under the juniper tree in the yard, and when she had done that she suddenly felt comforted, and she stopped crying.

  Then the juniper tree began to wave its branches in the air. They kept moving away from one another and then back together again, just like someone clapping his hands for joy. At the same time a mist came out of the tree, with flames like a burning fire in the middle of the mist, and a beautiful bird flew out of the fire. It sang so sweetly as it soared high into the air, and when it was out of sight the juniper tree looked the same as usual, but the cloth with the bones in it was gone. As for Marlene, she felt happy and her mind was eased, as if her brother were still alive. She went home again, sat down at the table and ate her dinner.

  Meanwhile the bird flew away and settled on the roof of a goldsmith’s house, where it began to sing this song:

  “Peewit, peewee,

  My mother murdered me.

  My father ate me in a stew,

  On the floor my bones he threw.

  My little sister carried them out

  All wrapped up in a silken clout,

  Under the juniper tree to lie.

  Oh, what a pretty bird am I!”

  The goldsmith was sitting in his workshop making a golden chain. When he heard the bird on his roof singing, he thought its song was very beautiful. He quickly stood up, and as he went through the doorway he lost a slipper. But he went straight out into the street as he was, with only one slipper and his other foot in just a stocking; he was wearing his apron, and he had the golden chain in one hand and his pincers in the other. The sun was shining brightly in the street, and he stood there and looked up at the bird.

  “Birdie,” he said, “how beautifully you sing! Sing me that song again!”

  “No,” said the bird, “I don’t sing twice for nothing. Give me that golden chain, and then I’ll sing it again for you.”

  “Here you are,” said the goldsmith, “here’s the golden chain. Now sing me the song once more!”

  So the bird flew down and took the golden chain in its right claw, settled on the ground in front of the goldsmith and sang:

  “Peewit, peewee,

  My mother murdered me.

  My father ate me in a stew,

  On the floor my bones he threw.

  My little sister carried them out

  All wrapped up in a silken clout,

  Under the juniper tree to lie.

  Oh, what a pretty bird am I!”

  Then the bird flew away to a shoemaker’s house, settled on the roof and sang:

  “Peewit, peewee,

  My mother murdered me.

  My father ate me in a stew,

  On the floor my bones he threw.

  My little sister carried them out

  All wrapped up in a silken clout,

  Under the juniper tree to lie.

  Oh, what a pretty bird am I!”

  The shoemaker heard the song, ran out of doors in his shirtsleeves and looked up at his roof. He had to shield his eyes with his hand to keep the sun from dazzling him.

  “Birdie,” he said, “how beautifully you sing.” Then he called back through the doorway. “Wife, come out a moment, there’s a bird here. Just see the bird that sings so sweetly.”

  He called out his daughter and his smaller children too, his journeymen and his apprentices and his maidservants, and they all came out into the street and looked at the beautiful bird. It had lovely red and green feathers, there seemed to be a ring of pure gold around its neck, and the eyes in its head shone like stars.

  “Birdie,” said the shoemaker, “sing me that song again!”

  “No,” said the bird, “I don’t sing twice for nothing. You must give me something in return.”

  “Wife,” said the man, “g
o up to the attic, look on the top shelf along the wall, and you’ll find a pair of red shoes. Bring them out to me.”

  So his wife went and fetched the shoes.

  “Here you are, birdie,” said the man. “Now sing me that song again!”

  At that the bird flew down, took the shoes in its left claw, flew back up to the roof and sang:

  “Peewit, peewee,

  My mother murdered me.

  My father ate me in a stew,

  On the floor my bones he threw.

  My little sister carried them out

  All wrapped up in a silken clout,

  Under the juniper tree to lie.

  Oh, what a pretty bird am I!”

  When the song was over the bird flew off with the golden chain in its right claw and the shoes in its left claw. It flew far, far away, to a mill, which was going clickety clack, clickety clack, clickety clack. There were twenty miller’s men there, chiselling away at a new millstone to cut it into shape. Hickety hack, they went, hickety hack, hickety hack. And still the mill went clickety clack, clickety clack, clickety clack.

  Then the bird settled on a linden tree outside the mill and sang:

  “Peewit, peewee, my mother murdered me.”

  One of the miller’s men stopped work.

  “My father ate me in a stew.”

  Two more men stopped work to listen to the bird.

  “On the floor my bones he threw.”

  Another four men stopped work.

  “My little sister carried them out.”

  More men stopped, and there were only eight left working now.

  “All wrapped up in a silken clout.”

  And now there were just five at work.

  “Under the juniper tree to lie.”

  Only one man was still working.

  “Oh, what a pretty bird am I!”

  At that the last man stopped work. All he had heard was the last line. “Birdie,” he said, “how beautifully you sing! Let me hear the whole song too. Sing it again for me!”

  “No,” said the bird, “I don’t sing twice for nothing. Give me that millstone and I’ll sing it again.”

  “Oh,” said the man, “if it were mine to give away, you could have it and welcome!”

  “But we say yes,” cried all the others. “Let the bird have the millstone if it will sing again.”

  So the bird came down, and all twenty millers set to work with stout wooden poles to raise the millstone. Heave ho, heave ho, heave ho, they went. The bird put its head through the hole in the millstone, lifted it up as lightly as a collar, flew back to the tree and sang:

  “Peewit, peewee,

  My mother murdered me.

  My father ate me in a stew,

  On the floor my bones he threw.

  My little sister carried them out

  All wrapped up in a silken clout,

  Under the juniper tree to lie.

  Oh, what a pretty bird am I!”

  When the song was over, the bird spread its wings. It had the golden chain in its right claw, the red shoes in its left claw and the millstone around its neck, and it flew far, far away, back to its father’s house.

  There sat the father and mother and little Marlene at table, and the father said, “I’m so light at heart! Oh, how happy I am today.”

  “I’m not,” said the mother, “I feel sad and sorry, as if a thunderstorm were on the way.”

  As for little Marlene, she sat there weeping bitterly.

  Then the bird came flying up, and when it settled on the roof the father said, “I’m so cheerful, and the sun is shining so brightly. I feel as if I were going to see an old friend again!”

  “I don’t,” said his wife. “I’m afraid, and the teeth are chattering in my head. It’s as if I had fire in my veins.” And she tore open the neck of her dress to get more air.

  But still little Marlene sat in the corner weeping, with her apron in front of her eyes, crying and crying until the apron was drenched with her tears.

  Then the bird settled on the juniper tree and sang again:

  “Peewit, peewee, my mother murdered me.”

  At that the mother put her hands over her ears and closed her eyes tight, so as not to see or hear, but there was a roaring in her ears like a mighty storm, and her eyes burnt and saw flashes like lightning.

  “My father ate me in a stew,

  On the floor my bones he threw.”

  “Oh, Mother,” said the man, “see the lovely bird out there singing so sweetly! The sun shines so warmly, and there’s a smell in the air like pure cinnamon.”

  “My little sister carried them out.”

  Now Marlene had her head down on her knees and was weeping more bitterly than ever. But her father said, “I’m going outside. I must get a closer look at that bird.”

  “Don’t go, don’t go,” cried his wife. “I feel as if the whole house were shaking and going up in flames.”

  But her husband went out and looked up at the bird.

  “All wrapped up in a silken clout,

  Under the juniper tree to lie.

  Oh, what a pretty bird am I!”

  Then the bird dropped the golden chain, which fell neatly around the man’s neck and suited him very well. He went indoors and said, “What a beautiful bird it is! It looks so handsome, and it gave me this fine golden chain too.”

  But his wife was so frightened that she fell down on the floor and her cap came off.

  Then the bird sang again:

  “Peewit, peewee, my mother murdered me.”

  “Oh,” said the woman, “I wish I were a thousand leagues underground, and then I need not hear that song.”

  “My father ate me in a stew,

  On the floor my bones he threw.”

  The woman fell down as if she were dead.

  “My little sister carried them out.”

  “Oh,” said Marlene, “I want to go and see if the bird will give me something too!” And out she went.

  “All wrapped up in a silken clout.”

  With those words the bird threw the shoes down to her.

  “Under the juniper tree to lie.

  Oh, what a pretty bird am I!”

  How happy and light-hearted the little girl was then! She put on the new red shoes, danced around and ran back indoors wearing them. “Oh,” she said, “I felt so sad when I went out, and now I’m glad at heart. There’s a beautiful bird out there, and it gave me this pair of red shoes.”

  “No, no!” cried the woman, jumping up, and her hair stood on end like flames of fire. “I feel as if the world were ending—I must go out if I’m to feel any better.”

  And when she went out of the door, crash! The bird dropped the millstone on her head, and she was crushed to death. The father and little Marlene heard it, and went out too. Then there came a mist, and fiery flames, and when the flames and the mist had gone away again, there stood the little boy. He took his father and little Marlene by the hand, and they were all three very happy. They went into the house, sat down and ate their dinner.

  KING THROSTLEBEARD

  KING THROSTLEBEARD

  ONCE UPON A TIME there was a King who had a very beautiful daughter, but she was so proud and arrogant that she thought none of the suitors who came asking for her hand in marriage was good enough for her. She sent them all away, one after another, and mocked them as well. One day the King held a great banquet, and he invited all the eligible men from far and wide who wanted to get married. They were all lined up by rank and status, first the Kings, then the Princes, the Dukes, Counts and Barons, and finally the noblemen. The King’s daughter was led along the line, and she had some objection to every one of them. One was too fat for her – “What a great vat of wine!” she said. Another was too tall – “Long and tall won’t do at all!” she said. A third was too small – “The size of a flea, he’s not for me!” said the King’s daughter. The fourth was too pale – “Pale as death!” said she. The fifth was too red in the face – “What
a turkey-cock!” she said. The sixth didn’t stand straight enough for her liking – “Green timber dried off behind the stove!” She had some fault to find with every one of them, but most of all she laughed at a good King who was one of the highest in rank, and whose chin was a little crooked. “Dear me!” she cried, laughing heartily. “He has a chin like a throstle’s beak!” And after that, he was known as King Throstlebeard.

  But when the old King saw that his daughter did nothing but mock people, and despised all the suitors assembled there, he was angry, and he swore that she should marry the first beggar who came to his door.

  A few days later a minstrel began singing under the castle windows, hoping to earn a little money as alms. When the King heard him, he said, “Let that minstrel come up.” So the minstrel came before the King in his ragged, dirty clothes, sang for the King and his daughter, and when he had finished asked for a little gift as charity.

  “I liked your singing so much,” said the King, “that I will give you my daughter as your wife.”

  The King’s daughter was horrified, but the King said, “I swore an oath to marry you to the first beggar who came to my door, and I will keep that oath.” So there was no help for it, the King sent for a priest, and his daughter was married to the minstrel. When the wedding was over, the King said, “It’s not fitting for you to stay in my castle any longer, now that you are a beggar woman, so all you can do is go away with your husband.”