KING THRUSHBEARD
Project Gutenberg EPUB3 edition
Grimm, Jacob, Grimm, Wilhelm, Olcott, Frances Jenkins, and Cramer, Rie
A King had a daughter who was beautiful beyond all measure, but so proud and haughty withal that no suitor was good enough for her. She sent away one after the other, and made fun of them as well.
Once the King gave a great feast and invited thereto, from far and near, all the young men likely to marry. They were marshalled in a row according to their rank and standing. First came the Kings, then the Grand-dukes, then the Princes, the Earls, the Barons, and the gentry.
Then the King’s Daughter was led through the ranks, but to every one she had some objection to make. One was too fat, “The wine-cask,” she said. Another was too tall, “Long and thin has little in.” The third was too short, “Short and thick is never quick.” The fourth was too pale, “As pale as death.” The fifth too red, “A fighting-cock.” The sixth was not straight enough, “A green log dried behind the stove.”
So she had something to say against every one. But she made herself especially merry over a good King, who stood quite high up in the row, and whose chin had grown a little crooked. “Well,” she cried and laughed, “he has a chin like a thrush’s beak!” and from that time he got the name of King Thrushbeard.
But the old King, when he saw that his daughter did nothing but mock people, and despised all the suitors who were gathered there, was very angry, and swore that she should have for her husband the very first beggar that came to his doors.
A few days afterward, a fiddler came and sang beneath the windows, trying to earn a small alms. When the King heard him, he said, “Let him come up.”
So the fiddler came up, in his dirty, ragged clothes, and sang before the King and his daughter. When he had ended he asked for a trifling gift.
The King said, “Your song has pleased me so well that I will give you my daughter there, to wife.”
The King’s Daughter shuddered, but the King said, “I have taken an oath to give you to the very first beggar man, and I will keep it.”
All she could say was in vain; the priest was brought, and she had to let herself be wedded to the fiddler on the spot.
When that was done the King said, “Now it is not proper for you, a beggar woman, to stay any longer in my palace, you may go away with your husband.”
The beggar man led her out by the hand, and she was obliged to go away on foot with him. When they came to a large forest she asked, “To whom does that beautiful forest belong?”
“It belongs to King Thrushbeard. If you had taken him, it would have been yours.”
“WELL,” SHE LAUGHED, “HE HAS A CHIN LIKE A THRUSH’S BEAK”
“Ah, unhappy girl that I am! If I had but taken King Thrushbeard!”
Afterward, they came to a meadow, and she asked again, “To whom does this beautiful green meadow belong?”
“It belongs to King Thrushbeard. If you had taken him, it would have been yours.”
“Ah, unhappy girl that I am! If I had but taken King Thrushbeard!”
Then they came to a large town, and she asked again, “To whom does this fine large town belong?”
“It belongs to King Thrushbeard. If you had taken him, it would have been yours.”
“Ah, unhappy girl that I am! If I had but taken King Thrushbeard!”
“It does not please me,” said the fiddler, “to hear you always wishing for another husband. Am I not good enough for you?”
At last they came to a very little hut, and she said, “Oh, goodness! what a small house! To whom does this miserable, mean hovel belong?”
The fiddler answered, “That is my house and yours, where we shall live together.”
She had to stoop in order to go in at the low door. “Where are the servants?” said the King’s Daughter.
“What servants?” answered the beggar man. “You must do what you wish to have done. Just make a fire at once, and set on water to cook my supper. I am quite tired.”
But the King’s Daughter knew nothing about lighting fires or cooking, and the beggar man had to lend a hand himself to get anything fairly done. When they had finished their scanty meal they went to bed; but he forced her to get up quite early in the morning in order to look after the house.
For a few days, they lived in this way as well as might be, and ate up all the food in the house.
Then the man said, “Wife, we cannot go on any longer eating and drinking here and earning nothing. You must weave baskets.”
He went out, cut some willows, and brought them home. Then she began to weave, but the tough willows wounded her delicate hands.
“I see that this will not do,” said the man; “you had better spin; perhaps you can do that.”
She sat down and tried to spin, but the hard thread soon cut her soft fingers so that the blood ran down.
“See,” said the man, “you are fit for no sort of work. I have made a bad bargain with you. Now, I will try to earn a living by selling pots and earthenware. You must sit in the market-place and sell the ware.”
“Alas,” thought she, “if any of the people from my father’s kingdom come to the market and see me sitting there, selling, how they will mock me!” But it was of no use, she had to yield unless she chose to die of hunger.
For the first time, she succeeded well, for the people were glad to buy the woman’s wares because she was good-looking, and they paid her what she asked. Many even gave her the money and left the pots with her as well. So they lived on what she had earned as long as it lasted.
Then the husband bought a lot of new crockery. With this she sat down at the corner of the market-place, and set it around her ready for sale. But suddenly there came a drunken soldier galloping along, and he rode right amongst the pots, so that they were all broken into a thousand bits.
She began to weep, and did not know what to do for fear. “Alas! what will happen to me?” cried she; “what will my husband say to this?” She ran home and told him of the misfortune.
“Who would seat herself at a corner of the market-place with crockery?” said the man. “Leave off crying. I see very well that you cannot do ordinary work, so I have been to our King’s palace and have asked whether they cannot find a place for a kitchen-maid. They have promised me to take you. In that way, you will get your food for nothing.”
The King’s Daughter was now a kitchen-maid, and had to be at the cook’s beck and call, and do the dirtiest work. In each of her pockets she fastened a little jar, in which she took home her share of the leavings, and upon this they lived.
It happened that the wedding of the King’s eldest son was to be celebrated. So the poor woman went up and placed herself by the door of the hall to look on. When all the candles were lit, and people, each more beautiful than the other, entered, and all was full of pomp and splendor, she thought of her lot with a sad heart, and cursed the pride and haughtiness which had humbled her, and brought her to so great poverty.