Brother and Sister

BROTHER AND SISTER

Brother took sister by the hand and said: ‘Look here; we haven’t had

one single happy hour since our mother died. That stepmother of ours

beats us regularly every day, and if we dare go near her she kicks us

away. We never get anything but hard dry crusts to eat—why, the dog

under the table is better off than we are. She does throw him a good

morsel or two now and then. Oh dear! if our own dear mother only knew

all about it! Come along, and let us go forth into the wide world

together.’

So off they started through fields and meadows, over hedges and

ditches, and walked the whole day long, and when it rained sister said:

‘Heaven and our hearts are weeping together.’

Towards evening they came to a large forest, and were so tired out with

hunger and their long walk, as well as all their trouble, that they

crept into a hollow tree and soon fell fast asleep.

Next morning, when they woke up, the sun was already high in the

heavens and was shining down bright and warm into the tree. Then said

brother:

‘I’m so thirsty, sister; if I did but know where to find a little

stream, I’d go and have a drink. I do believe I hear one.’ He jumped

up, took sister by the hand, and they set off to hunt for the brook.

Now their cruel stepmother was in reality a witch, and she knew

perfectly well that the two children had run away. She had crept

secretly after them, and had cast her spells over all the streams in

the forest.

Presently the children found a little brook dancing and glittering over

the stones, and brother was eager to drink of it, but as it rushed past

sister heard it murmuring:

‘Who drinks of me will be a tiger! who drinks of me will be a tiger!’

So she cried out, ‘Oh! dear brother, pray don’t drink, or you’ll be

turned into a wild beast and tear me to pieces.’

Brother was dreadfully thirsty, but he did not drink.

‘Very well,’ said he, ‘I’ll wait till we come to the next spring.’

When they came to the second brook, sister heard it repeating too:

‘Who drinks of me will be a wolf! who drinks of me will be a wolf!’

And she cried, ‘Oh! brother, pray don’t drink here either, or you’ll be

turned into a wolf and eat me up.’

Again brother did not drink, but he said:

‘Well, I’ll wait a little longer till we reach the next stream, but

then, whatever you may say, I really must drink, for I can bear this

thirst no longer.’

And when they got to the third brook, sister heard it say as it rushed

past:

‘Who drinks of me will be a roe! who drinks of me will be a roe!’

And she begged, ‘Ah! brother, don’t drink yet, or you’ll become a roe

and run away from me.’

But her brother was already kneeling by the brook and bending over it

to drink, and, sure enough, no sooner had his lips touched the water

than he fell on the grass transformed into a little Roebuck.

Sister cried bitterly over her poor bewitched brother, and the little

Roe wept too, and sat sadly by her side. At last the girl said:

‘Never mind, dear little fawn, I will never forsake you,’ and she took

off her golden garter and tied it round the Roe’s neck.

Then she plucked rushes and plaited a soft cord of them, which she

fastened to the collar. When she had done this she led the Roe farther

and farther, right into the depths of the forest.

After they had gone a long, long way they came to a little house, and

when the girl looked into it she found it was quite empty, and she

thought ‘perhaps we might stay and live here.’

So she hunted up leaves and moss to make a soft bed for the little Roe,

and every morning and evening she went out and gathered roots, nuts,

and berries for herself, and tender young grass for the fawn. And he

fed from her hand, and played round her and seemed quite happy. In the

evening, when sister was tired, she said her prayers and then laid her

head on the fawn’s back and fell sound asleep with it as a pillow. And

if brother had but kept his natural form, really it would have been a

most delightful kind of life.

They had been living for some time in the forest in this way, when it

came to pass that the King of that country had a great hunt through the

woods. Then the whole forest rang with such a blowing of horns, baying

of dogs, and joyful cries of huntsmen, that the little Roe heard it and

longed to join in too.

‘Ah!’ said he to sister, ‘do let me go off to the hunt! I can’t keep

still any longer.’

And he begged and prayed till at last she consented.

‘But,’ said she, ‘mind you come back in the evening. I shall lock my

door fast for fear of those wild huntsmen; so, to make sure of my

knowing you, knock at the door and say, “My sister dear, open; I’m

here.” If you don’t speak I shan’t open the door.’

So off sprang the little Roe, and he felt quite well and happy in the

free open air.

The King and his huntsmen soon saw the beautiful creature and started

in pursuit, but they could not come up with it, and whenever they

thought they were sure to catch it, it bounded off to one side into the

bushes and disappeared. When night came on it ran home, and knocking at

the door of the little house cried:

‘My sister dear, open; I’m here.’ The door opened, and he ran in and

rested all night on his soft mossy bed.

Next morning the hunt began again, and as soon as the little Roe heard

the horns and the ‘Ho! ho!’ of the huntsmen, he could not rest another

moment, and said:

‘Sister, open the door, I must get out.’

So sister opened the door and said, ‘Now mind and get back by

nightfall, and say your little rhyme.’

As soon as the King and his huntsmen saw the Roe with the golden collar

they all rode off after it, but it was far too quick and nimble for

them. This went on all day, but as evening came on the huntsmen had

gradually encircled the Roe, and one of them wounded it slightly in the

foot, so that it limped and ran off slowly.

Then the huntsman stole after it as far as the little house, and heard

it call out, ‘My sister dear, open; I’m here,’ and he saw the door open

and close immediately the fawn had run in.

The huntsman remembered all this carefully, and went off straight to

the King and told him all he had seen and heard.

‘To-morrow we will hunt again,’ said the King.

Poor sister was terribly frightened when she saw how her little Fawn

had been wounded. She washed off the blood, bound up the injured foot

with herbs, and said: ‘Now, dear, go and lie down and rest, so that

your wound may heal.’

The wound was really so slight that it was quite well next day, and the

little Roe did not feel it at all. No sooner did it hear the sounds of

hunting in the forest than it cried:

‘I can’t stand this, I must be there too; I’ll take care they shan’t

catch me.’

Sister began to cry, and said, ‘They are certain to kill you, and then

I shall be left all alone in the forest and forsaken by everyone. I

can’t and won’t let you out.’

‘Then I shall die of grief,’ replied the Roe, ‘for when I hear that

horn I feel as if I must jump right out of my skin.’

So at last, when sister found there was nothing else to be done, she

opened the door with a heavy heart, and the Roe darted forth full of

glee and health into the forest.

As soon as the King saw the Roe, he said to his huntsman, ‘Now then,

give chase to it all day till evening, but mind and be careful not to

hurt it.’

When the sun had set the King said to his huntsman, ‘Now come and show

me the little house in the wood.’

And when he got to the house he knocked at the door and said, ‘My

sister dear, open; I’m here.’ Then the door opened and the King walked

in, and there stood the loveliest maiden he had ever seen.

The girl was much startled when instead of the little Roe she expected

she saw a man with a gold crown on his head walk in. But the King

looked kindly at her, held out his hand, and said, ‘Will you come with

me to my castle and be my dear wife?’

‘Oh yes!’ replied the maiden, ‘but you must let my Roe come too. I

could not possibly forsake it.’

‘It shall stay with you as long as you live, and shall want for

nothing,’ the King promised.

In the meantime the Roe came bounding in, and sister tied the rush cord

once more to its collar, took the end in her hand, and so they left the

little house in the forest together.

The King lifted the lonely maiden on to his horse, and led her to his

castle, where the wedding was celebrated with the greatest splendour.

The Roe was petted and caressed, and ran about at will in the palace

gardens.

Now all this time the wicked stepmother, who had been the cause of

these poor children’s misfortunes and trying adventures, was feeling

fully persuaded that sister had been torn to pieces by wild beasts, and

brother shot to death in the shape of a Roe. When she heard how happy

and prosperous they were, her heart was filled with envy and hatred,

and she could think of nothing but how to bring some fresh misfortune

on them. Her own daughter, who was as hideous as night and had only one

eye, reproached her by saying, ‘It is I who ought to have had this good

luck and been Queen.’

‘Be quiet, will you,’ said the old woman; ‘when the time comes I shall

be at hand.’

Now after some time it happened one day when the King was out hunting

that the Queen gave birth to a beautiful little boy. The old witch

thought here was a good chance for her; so she took the form of the

lady in waiting, and, hurrying into the room where the Queen lay in her

bed, called out, ‘The bath is quite ready; it will help to make you

strong again. Come, let us be quick, for fear the water should get

cold.’ Her daughter was at hand, too, and between them they carried the

Queen, who was still very weak, into the bath-room and laid her in the

bath; then they locked the door and ran away.

They took care beforehand to make a blazing hot fire under the bath, so

that the lovely young Queen might be suffocated.

As soon as they were sure this was the case, the old witch tied a cap

on her daughter’s head and laid her in the Queen’s bed. She managed,

too, to make her figure and general appearance look like the Queen’s,

but even her power could not restore the eye she had lost; so she made

her lie on the side of the missing eye, in order to prevent the King’s

noticing anything.

In the evening, when the King came home and heard the news of his son’s

birth, he was full of delight, and insisted on going at once to his

dear wife’s bedside to see how she was getting on. But the old witch

cried out, ‘Take care and keep the curtains drawn; don’t let the light

get into the Queen’s eyes; she must be kept perfectly quiet.’ So the

King went away and never knew that it was a false Queen who lay in the

bed.

When midnight came and everyone in the palace was sound asleep, the

nurse who alone watched by the baby’s cradle in the nursery saw the

door open gently, and who should come in but the real Queen. She lifted

the child from its cradle, laid it on her arm, and nursed it for some

time. Then she carefully shook up the pillows of the little bed, laid

the baby down and tucked the coverlet in all round him. She did not

forget the little Roe either, but went to the corner where it lay, and

gently stroked its back. Then she silently left the room, and next

morning when the nurse asked the sentries if they had seen any one go

into the castle that night, they all said, ‘No, we saw no one at all.’

For many nights the Queen came in the same way, but she never spoke a

word, and the nurse was too frightened to say anything about her

visits.

After some little time had elapsed the Queen spoke one night, and said:

‘Is my child well? Is my Roe well?

I’ll come back twice and then farewell.’

The nurse made no answer, but as soon as the Queen had disappeared she

went to the King and told him all. The King exclaimed, ‘Good heavens!

what do you say? I will watch myself to-night by the child’s bed.’

When the evening came he went to the nursery, and at midnight the Queen

appeared and said:

‘Is my child well? Is my Roe well?

I’ll come back once and then farewell.’

And she nursed and petted the child as usual before she disappeared.

The King dared not trust himself to speak to her, but the following

night he kept watch again.

That night when the Queen came she said:

‘Is my child well? Is my Roe well?

I’ve come this once, and now farewell.’

Then the King could restrain himself no longer, but sprang to her side

and cried, ‘You can be no one but my dear wife!’

‘Yes,’ said she, ‘I am your dear wife!’ and in the same moment she was

restored to life, and was as fresh and well and rosy as ever. Then she

told the King all the cruel things the wicked witch and her daughter

had done. The King had them both arrested at once and brought to trial,

and they were condemned to death. The daughter was led into the forest,

where the wild beasts tore her to pieces, and the old witch was burnt

at the stake.

As soon as she reduced to ashes the spell was taken off the little Roe,

and he was restored to his natural shape once more, and so brother and

sister lived happily ever after.[6]

[6] Grimm.