The Goose-Girl at the Well
There was once upon a time a very, very old Lady, who dwelt with her flock of geese in a waste place between two hills, where she had a small cottage. The common was surrounded by a large forest, into which this old Woman hobbled every morning on crutches. There she was very active, more than one could have believed considering her great age, in collecting grass for her geese; she gathered also all the wild fruit she could reach, and carried it home on her back. One would have thought so heavy a burden would have bowed her down to the ground, but she always reached home safe and sound. If any one met her, she greeted him kindly, and would say, “Good day to you, my dear countryman; what beautiful weather it is! Ah! you wonder how I get over the ground, but every one must bear his own burden!” People at last, however, grew afraid to meet her, and took a by-path; and if a father passed near with his children, he would say to them, “Take care of that old Woman; she has mischief behind her ears; she is a witch.”
One morning a lively young fellow passed through the wood. The sun was shining brightly, the birds were singing, and a gentle breeze was blowing among the trees and made everything seem gay and pleasant. Still he had met nobody, till he suddenly perceived the old Woman kneeling on the ground, and cutting grass with a sickle. She had already placed a large heap in her handkerchief, and by her side stood two baskets, filled with apples and wild berries. “Ah! my good Woman,” exclaimed the youth, “how will you carry all that?” “I must carry it, my good master,” she replied, “but rich people’s children do not want to do such things. Will you not help me?” she continued, as the youth remained by her; “you have a straight back yet, and young legs, it will be easy for you. My house is not far from here; it stands on the common behind yon hill. How soon your legs could jump there!”
The youth took compassion on the old Woman, and replied to her, “Certainly; my father is no peasant, but a rich Count; still that you may see it is not only the peasants who carry burdens, I will take your bundle.”
“If you will try it,” said the old Woman, “I shall be much obliged to you; but there are the apples and berries which you must carry too. It is but an hour’s walk which you will have to take, but it will seem much less to you.”
The youth became a little thoughtful when he heard of an hour’s journey, but the old Woman now would not let him off, but packed the handkerchief of grass on his back, and hung the two baskets on his arms. “See you, how light it is,” she said. “No, it is not at all light,” answered the young Count, making a rueful face; “the bundle weighs heavily as if it were full of big stones, and the apples and berries seem like lead; I can scarcely breathe!”
So saying he would have liked to lay the bundle down again, but the old Woman would not permit it. “Just see,” cried she in scorn; “the young Lord cannot convey what an old Woman like me has so often borne. You people are very ready with your fair words, but when it comes to working, you are equally ready with your excuses. Why do you stand trembling there?” she continued; “come, pick up your legs; nobody will take your bundle off again.”
Now so long as the young Count walked on level ground, he managed pretty well, but when he came to the hill and began to ascend it, and the stones rolled under his feet as if they were alive, his strength began to fail. Drops of sweat stood upon his brow, and ran down his back, now hot and now cold. “My good Woman,” he exclaimed, “I can go no further till I have rested a while.” “Not here, not here,” answered the old Woman; “when we arrive at our destination you can rest, but now we must keep on; who knows what good it may do you!”
“You are shameless, you old Woman!” cried the Youth, trying to throw away the bundle, but he wearied himself in vain; it stuck as fast to his back as if it had grown there. He turned and twisted himself, but with no effect; he could not get rid of the bundle, and the old Woman only laughed at his exertions, and danced around him on her crutches. “Don’t put yourself in a passion, my dear Lord,” she said; “you are getting as red in the face as a turkey-cock. Bear your burden patiently; when we arrive at home, I will give you a good draught to refresh you.” What could he do? He was obliged to bear his fate and follow patiently behind the old Woman, who appeared to become more and more active as his burden grew heavier. All at once she made a spring and jumped on the top of the bundle, where she sat down; and thin and withered as she was, her weight was yet more than that of the stoutest farm servant. The Youth’s knees trembled and shook, but if he did not keep onwards, the old Woman beat him with a strap and stinging nettles about the legs. Under this continual goading, he at last ascended the hill, and arrived at the old Woman’s cottage, just when he was ready to drop. As soon as the geese perceived the old Woman, they stretched out their wings and their necks, and ran towards her crying “Wulle! wulle!” Behind the flock walked a middle-aged Woman with a stick in her hand, who was big and strong, but as ugly as night. “My mother,” said she to the old Woman, “has something happened, that you have remained out so long?” “Never fear, my dear daughter,” replied the old Woman; “nothing evil has met me, but in fact the young Count there has carried my bundle for me: only think, when I was tired, he took me also on his back. The road has not been too long either, for we have been merry, and made jokes on one another.” At length the old Woman ceased talking, and took the bundle off the youth’s back, and the baskets from his arms, and then looking at him cheerfully she said to him, “Sit down on the bench by the door and rest yourself, you have honestly earned your reward, and it shall not be overlooked;” and turning to the Goose-Girl she continued, “Go into the house, my daughter; it is not correct that you should be alone with this young man; one ought not to pour oil on the fire, and he might fall into love with you.”
The young Count did not know whether to laugh or cry. “Such a treasure!” he thought to himself. “Why, even if she were thirty years younger, my heart would not be touched!” Meanwhile the old Woman caressed and stroked her geese, as if they were children, and at last went into the house with her daughter. The youth stretched himself on the bench beneath an apple tree, where the breeze blew softly and gently; while around him was spread a green meadow, covered with primroses, wild thyme, and a thousand other flowers. In the middle of it flowed a clear stream, on which the sun shone; and the white geese kept passing up and down, or paddling in the water. “It is quite lovely here,” he said to himself; “but I am so tired that I cannot keep my eyes open: so I will sleep a while, provided that no wind comes and blows away my legs from my body, for they are as tender as tinder!”
After he had slept some time, the old Woman came and shook him till he awoke. “Stand up,” she said; “you cannot stop here. Certainly I did treat you rather shabbily, but it has not cost you your life. Now I will give you your reward; it will be neither money nor property, but something better.” With these words she placed in his hands a small book, cut out of a single emerald, saying, “Keep it well, and it will bring you good luck.”
The Count thereupon jumped up, and felt himself quite strong and refreshed; so he thanked the old Woman for her present, and set off on his journey, without once looking back for the beautiful daughter. And when he had walked a considerable way he could still hear the loud cackling of the geese in the distance.
The young Count had to wander three days in the wilderness before he could find his way out, and then he came to a large city, where, because nobody knew him, he was led to the royal palace, where the King and Queen sat on their thrones. There the Count sank on one knee, and drawing forth the emerald-book, laid it at the feet of the Queen. She bade him arise and hand the book to her; but scarcely had she opened it and looked at its contents, than she fell as if dead upon the ground. Thereupon the Count was seized by the King’s servants, and would have been led off to prison, had not the Queen soon opened her eyes and begged him to be set at liberty, for she must speak with him privately, and therefore every one must leave the room.
As soon as the Queen was left alone, she began to weep bitterly, and to say, “What avails all this honour and pageantry which surrounds me, when every morning I give way to grief and sorrow! I once had three daughters, the youngest of whom was so beautiful that all the world thought her a wonder. She was as white as snow, as red as the bloom of an apple, and her hair was like the shining of a sunbeam. If she cried, her tears were like the shining of a sunbeam. If she cried, her tears were like pearls and gems falling from her eyes. When she was fifteen, her father caused her and her sisters to come before his throne; and you should have seen how the people opened their eyes when she came in, for it was like the appearance of the sun. The King then said to them, ‘My daughters, I know not when my last day will arrive, and therefore to-day I will appoint what each shall do at my death. You all love me, but whoever of you loves me best shall have the best portion.’ They each of them said they loved him best; and the King then asked them whether they could not express in words how much they loved him, and then he should be able to judge. So the eldest said she loved him as the sweetest sugar; the second that she loved her father as her smartest dress; but the youngest was silent. ‘My dear child, how do you love me?’ asked the King. ‘I know not,’ she replied; ‘and I can compare my love with nothing.’ Her father, however, pressed her to say something, and at length she said, ‘The most delicate food is tasteless to me without salt, and therefore I love you, father, like salt.’ At this reply, the King became very angry; and exclaimed, ‘If you love me like salt, you shall be rewarded with salt.’ Thereupon he divided the kingdom between the two eldest daughters; but he caused a sack of salt to be bound on the shoulders of his youngest child, and two slaves had to lead her into the wild forest. We all wept and prayed for her to the King, but his anger was not to be turned away. How did she not weep when she left us, so that the whole path was strewn with the pearls which fell from her eyes! However, afterwards, the King did repent of his great harshness, and caused a search to be made in the forest for the poor child, but without success. And now, when I think how, perhaps, the wild beasts devoured her, I know not what to do for grief; but many a time I try to comfort myself with the idea that haply she is living still, concealed in some cave, or under the hospitable protection of some one who found her. But imagine my feelings when, on opening your emerald-book, I saw lying therein a pearl of the same kind as used to drop from my daughter’s eyes, and then you may also conceive how my heart was moved at the sight. But now you shall tell me how you came by the pearl.”
The young Count then told the Queen that he had received it from an old Woman, living in a wood which seemed to be haunted, and who appeared to be a witch; but of the Queen’s child he had neither seen nor heard anything. The King and Queen came to the resolution to seek out this old Woman, for they thought where the pearl had been, there they should also obtain news of their daughter.
The old Woman sat in her house in the wilderness spinning at her wheel. It was dark already, and a log, which burnt on the hearth below, gave a feeble light. All at once there was a noise outside; the geese were coming home from the meadow, and they cackled with all their might. Soon afterwards the daughter stepped in, but the old Woman scarcely thanked her, and only shook her head. The daughter sat down, and taking her wheel spun the thread as quickly as a young girl. Thus they sat for two hours, without speaking to one another, till at length something rattled at the window, and two fiery eyes glared in from the outside. It was an old night-owl, which screeched thrice; and then the old Woman, looking up from her work, said, “Now is the time, my daughter, for you to go out, and do your work.”
The daughter got up and went away over the meadows deep into a valley beyond. By-and-by, she came to a brook near which stood three oak trees; and at the same time the moon arose round and full above the mountain, and shone so brightly, that one might have picked up a needle by its light. She drew off the mask which covered her face, and then bathing in the brook began to wash herself. As soon as she had done that, she dipped the mask also in the water, and then laid it again on the meadow to dry and bleach in the moonshine. But how was the Maiden changed! So much as you could never have fancied. Her golden hair fell down like sunbeams, and when she removed the cap which confined it, it covered her whole form. Only her eyes could be seen peeping through the tresses like the stars in heaven, and her cheeks blooming like the soft red of the apple-blossoms.
But the fair Maiden was nevertheless sad; and she sat down and wept bitterly. One tear after another flowed from her eyes, and rolled to the ground between her locks; and thus sitting she would have remained for a long time had she not been disturbed by a rustling noise in the branches of one of the trees. She jumped up and sprang away like a fawn disturbed by the gun of the hunter; and at the same moment a black cloud obscured the moon, under cover of which the Maiden slipped on her old mask and disappeared like a light blown out by the wind. She ran home trembling like an aspen-leaf, and found the old Woman standing before the door; but when she was about to relate what had happened to her, the old Woman laughed, and said she knew already all about it. The old mother then led the Maiden into the room and lighted a fresh log; but instead of sitting down to her wheel, she fetched a broom and began to sweep and dust. “It must all be clean and respectable,” said she to the Maiden. “But, mother,” replied she, “why do you begin at this late hour? what is the matter?”
“Do you then know what hour it is?” inquired the old Mother.
“Not quite midnight, but past eleven,” returned the daughter.
“Do you not remember then,” continued the old Woman, “that to-day you have been with me three years? Your time is now expired; we can remain together no longer!”
“Alas! dear mother you will not drive me out,” said the Maiden in an alarmed tone; “where shall I go? I have neither home nor friends, and whither could I turn? I have ever done all you desired, and you have been satisfied with me; send me not away!” The old Woman would not however tell the Maiden what was coming, but said, instead, “My dwelling is no longer here, but since the house and this room must be clean when I leave, hinder me not in my work, and cease to care on your own account, you shall find a roof under which to dwell, and with the reward which I will give you, you will also be contented.”
“But do tell me what is coming,” entreated the Maiden.
“I tell you a second time, do not disturb me in my work. Speak not a word more, but go into your own room and pull off the mask from your face, and put on the beautiful dress which you wore when you came to me, and then remain where you are till I call you.”
And now I must tell you what befell the King and Queen, who were preparing, when we last heard of them, to go in search of the old Woman in the wilderness. The Count was first of all despatched by night to the forest alone, and for two days he wandered before he found the right road. Along this he went till darkness overtook him, and then he climbed a tree to pass the night, for he feared he might lose his way in the dark. As soon as the moon rose he perceived a figure coming across the mountain, and although she had no rod in her hand he could not doubt but that it was the Goose-Girl, whom he had seen before at home with the old Woman. “Oho!” he exclaimed to himself; “here comes one witch, and when I have got her, I will soon catch the other!” But how astonished he was, when on stepping up to the brook she laid aside her mask and washed herself, and he saw her golden hair fall down and cover her whole figure, and render her more beautiful than any one he had ever before seen! He scarcely ventured to breathe, but he stretched out his neck as far as he could from the foliage and looked at her with fixed eyes. Unfortunately he bent over too far and the bough cracked beneath his weight, and at the same instant the Maiden disappeared, favoured by a dark cloud, and when the moon appeared again, she was out of sight.
The young Count, however, made haste down from the tree and pursued the Maiden with hasty strides; but before he had gone very far, he perceived two figures wandering over the meadows in the twilight. They were the King and Queen, who had perceived at a distance the light in the old Woman’s cottage and were hastening towards it. The Count told them what marvellous things he had witnessed by the brook, and they felt no doubt but that he had seen their lost daughter. Full of joy they journeyed on till they came to the cottage, around which lay the geese, with their heads under their wings, and none stirred at their approach. The three peeped in at the window and saw the old Woman spinning silently, without raising her eyes from her work, but simply nodding her head now and then. The room was as perfectly clean as if it had been inhabited by the Cloud-Men, who carry no dust on their feet; and for some minutes they observed the whole scene in silence; but at last plucking up courage they knocked at the window lightly. Thereupon the old Woman got up, and looking at them kindly as if she had expected them, called out, “Come in; I know who you are.”
As soon as the King, Queen, and Count had entered the room the old Woman said, “You might have spared yourselves this long journey if you had not driven out, for three long years in the forest, your child who was so affectionate and so beautiful. She has come to no harm, and for these three years past she has tended my geese; neither has she learnt any evil, but kept her heart pure and spotless. But you have been righteously punished by the sorrow and trouble which you have suffered.” With these words she went to the chamber-door and called to the daughter to come out, and as soon as the Princess made her appearance, dressed in her silk gown, with her golden hair and bright eyes, it seemed like the entrance of an angel into the room.
She went up to her father and mother and fell on their necks and kissed them, which made them both cry with joy. But when she perceived the young Count standing by them, she blushed as red as a moss rose without knowing wherefore.
“My dear child,” said the King to her, “what shall I give you, for I have parted my kingdom already?”
“She needs nothing,” said the old Woman, “for I present her with the tears which she has wept, which are in reality pearls more beautiful than any that can be found in the sea, and of more value than your entire kingdom. And for a further reward for her services to me I give her this house.” As soon as the old Woman had said these words she disappeared, and immediately after a little knocking at the walls, the house became a noble palace, and the room in which they stood a hall, in the midst of which a princely table was set out, with many servants hastening to and fro.
This story ends here, for my grandmother, who related it to me, had partly lost her memory, and so she had forgotten its conclusion. I believe, however, that the beautiful Princess was married to the young Count, and that they remained in the palace, and lived happily so long as God suffered them to remain on earth. But whether the snow-white geese whom the Princess had tended were really men (nobody needs to be offended), whom the old Woman had taken to herself, and then restored to their natural form to wait as servants upon the young Queen, I cannot say, though I suspect it was so. Thus much is certain, that the Old Woman was no witch as people believed, but a wise woman, who had good intentions. Apparently, too, it was she who at the birth of the Princess had endowed her with the power to weep pearls instead of tears.
At this day, however, that does not happen, else would the poor soon become rich!