The Seven Foals

THE SEVEN FOALS

There was once upon a time a couple of poor folks who lived in a

wretched hut, far away from everyone else, in a wood. They only just

managed to live from hand to mouth, and had great difficulty in doing

even so much as that, but they had three sons, and the youngest of them

was called Cinderlad, for he did nothing else but lie and poke about

among the ashes.

One day the eldest lad said that he would go out to earn his living; he

soon got leave to do that, and set out on his way into the world. He

walked on and on for the whole day, and when night was beginning to

fall he came to a royal palace. The King was standing outside on the

steps, and asked where he was going.

‘Oh, I am going about seeking a place, my father,’ said the youth.

‘Wilt thou serve me, and watch my seven foals?’ asked the King. ‘If

thou canst watch them for a whole day and tell me at night what they

eat and drink, thou shalt have the Princess and half my kingdom, but if

thou canst not, I will cut three red stripes on thy back.’

The youth thought that it was very easy work to watch the foals, and

that he could do it well enough.

Next morning, when day was beginning to dawn, the King’s Master of the

Horse let out the seven foals; and they ran away, and the youth after

them just as it chanced, over hill and dale, through woods end bogs.

When the youth had run thus for a long time he began to be tired, and

when he had held on a little longer he was heartily weary of watching

at all, and at the same moment he came to a cleft in a rock where an

old woman was sitting spinning with her distaff in her hand.

As soon as she caught sight of the youth, who was running after the

foals till the perspiration streamed down his face, she cried:

‘Come hither, come hither, my handsome son, and let me comb your hair

for you.’

The lad was willing enough, so he sat down in the cleft of the rock

beside the old hag, and laid his head on her knees, and she combed his

hair all day while he lay there and gave himself up to idleness.

When evening was drawing near, the youth wanted to go.

‘I may just as well go straight home again,’ said he, ‘for it is no use

to go to the King’s palace.’

‘Wait till it is dusk,’ said the old hag, ‘and then the King’s foals

will pass by this place again, and you can run home with them; no one

will ever know that you have been lying here all day instead of

watching the foals.’

So when they came she gave the lad a bottle of water and a bit of moss,

and told him to show these to the King and say that this was what his

seven foals ate and drank.

‘Hast thou watched faithfully and well the whole day long?’ said the

King, when the lad came into his presence in the evening.

‘Yes, that I have!’ said the youth.

‘Then you are able to tell me what it is that my seven foals eat and

drink,’ said the King.

So the youth produced the bottle of water and the bit of moss which he

had got from the old woman, saying:

‘Here you see their meat, and here you see their drink.’

Then the King knew how his watching had been done, and fell into such a

rage that he ordered his people to chase the youth back to his own home

at once; but first they were to cut three red stripes in his back, and

rub salt into them.

When the youth reached home again, anyone can imagine what a state of

mind he was in. He had gone out once to seek a place, he said, but

never would he do such a thing again.

Next day the second son said that he would now go out into the world to

seek his fortune. His father and mother said ‘No,’ and bade him look at

his brother’s back, but the youth would not give up his design, and

stuck to it, and after a long, long time he got leave to go, and set

forth on his way. When he had walked all day he too came to the King’s

palace, and the King was standing outside on the steps, and asked where

he was going; and when the youth replied that he was going about in

search of a place, the King said that he might enter into his service

and watch his seven foals. Then the King promised him the same

punishment and the same reward that he had promised his brother.

The youth at once consented to this and entered into the King’s

service, for he thought he could easily watch the foals and inform the

King what they ate and drank.

In the grey light of dawn the Master of the Horse let out the seven

foals, and off they went again over hill and dale, and off went the lad

after them. But all went with him as it had gone with his brother. When

he had run after the foals for a long, long time and was hot and tired,

he passed by a cleft in the rock where an old woman was sitting

spinning with a distaff, and she called to him:

‘Come hither, come hither, my handsome son, and let me comb your hair.’

The youth liked the thought of this, let the foals run where they

chose, and seated himself in the cleft of the rock by the side of the

old hag. So there he sat with his head on her lap, taking his ease the

livelong day.

The foals came back in the evening, and then he too got a bit of moss

and a bottle of water from the old hag, which things he was to show to

the King. But when the King asked the youth: ‘Canst thou tell me what

my seven foals eat and drink?’ and the youth showed him the bit of moss

and the bottle of water, and said: ‘Yes here may you behold their meat,

and here their drink,’ the King once more became wroth, and commanded

that three red stripes should be cut on the lad’s back, that salt

should be strewn upon them, and that he should then be instantly chased

back to his own home. So when the youth got home again he too related

all that had happened to him, and he too said that he had gone out in

search of a place once, but that never would he do it again.

On the third day Cinderlad wanted to set out. He had a fancy to try to

watch the seven foals himself, he said.

The two others laughed at him, and mocked him. ‘What! when all went so

ill with us, do you suppose that you are going to succeed? You look

like succeeding—you who have never done anything else but lie and poke

about among the ashes!’ said they.

‘Yes, I will go too,’ said Cinderlad, ‘for I have taken it into my

head.’

The two brothers laughed at him, and his father and mother begged him

not to go, but all to no purpose, and Cinderlad set out on his way. So

when he had walked the whole day, he too came to the King’s palace as

darkness began to fall.

There stood the King outside on the steps, and he asked whither he was

bound.

‘I am walking about in search of a place,’ said Cinderlad.

‘From whence do you come, then?’ inquired the King, for by this time he

wanted to know a little more about the men before he took any of them

into his service.

So Cinderlad told him whence he came, and that he was brother to the

two who had watched the seven foals for the King, and then he inquired

if he might be allowed to try to watch them on the following day.

‘Oh, shame on them!’ said the King, for it enraged him even to think of

them. ‘If thou art brother to those two, thou too art not good for

much. I have had enough of such fellows.’

‘Well, but as I have come here, you might just give me leave to make

the attempt,’ said Cinderlad.

‘Oh, very well, if thou art absolutely determined to have thy back

flayed, thou may’st have thine own way if thou wilt,’ said the King.

‘I would much rather have the Princess,’ said Cinderlad.

Next morning, in the grey light of dawn, the Master of the Horse let

out the seven foals again, and off they set over hill and dale, through

woods and bogs, and off went Cinderlad after them. When he had run thus

for a long time, he too came to the cleft in the rock. There the old

hag was once more sitting spinning from her distaff, and she cried to

Cinderlad;

‘Come hither, come hither, my handsome son, and let me comb your hair

for you.’

‘Come to me, then; come to me!’ said Cinderlad, as he passed by jumping

and running, and keeping tight hold of one of the foals’ tails.

When he had got safely past the cleft in the rock, the youngest foal

said:

‘Get on my back, for we have still a long way to go.’ So the lad did

this.

And thus they journeyed onwards a long, long way.

‘Dost thou see anything now?’ said the Foal.

‘No,’ said Cinderlad.

So they journeyed onwards a good bit farther.

‘Dost thou see anything now?’ asked the Foal.

‘Oh, no,’ said the lad.

When they had gone thus for a long, long way, the Foal again asked:

‘Dost thou see anything now?’

‘Yes, now I see something that is white,’ said Cinderlad. ‘It looks

like the trunk of a great thick birch tree.’

‘Yes, that is where we are to go in,’ said the Foal.

When they got to the trunk, the eldest foal broke it down on one side,

and then they saw a door where the trunk had been standing, and inside

this there was a small room, and in the room there was scarcely

anything but a small fire-place and a couple of benches, but behind the

door hung a great rusty sword and a small pitcher.

‘Canst thou wield that sword?’ asked the Foal.

Cinderlad tried, but could not do it; so he had to take a draught from

the pitcher, and then one more, and after that still another, and then

he was able to wield the sword with perfect ease.

‘Good,’ said the Foal; ‘and now thou must take the sword away with

thee, and with it shalt thou cut off the heads of all seven of us on

thy wedding-day, and then we shall become princes again as we were

before. For we are brothers of the Princess whom thou art to have when

thou canst tell the King what we eat and drink, but there is a mighty

Troll who has cast a spell over us. When thou hast cut off our heads,

thou must take the greatest care to lay each head at the tail of the

body to which it belonged before, and then the spell which the Troll

has cast upon us will lose all its power.’

Cinderlad promised to do this, and then they went on farther.

When they had travelled a long, long way, the Foal said:

‘Dost thou see anything?’

‘No,’ said Cinderlad.

So they went on a great distance farther.

‘And now?’ inquired the Foal, ‘seest thou nothing now?’

‘Alas! no,’ said Cinderlad.

So they travelled onwards again, for many and many a mile, over hill

and dale.

‘Now, then,’ said the Foal, ‘dost thou not see anything now?’

‘Yes,’ said Cinderlad; ‘now I see something like a bluish streak, far,

far away.’

‘That is a river,’ said the Foal, ‘and we have to cross it.’

There was a long, handsome bridge over the river, and when they had got

to the other side of it they again travelled on a long, long way, and

then once more the Foal inquired if Cinderlad saw anything. Yes, this

time he saw something that looked black, far, far away, and was rather

like a church tower.

‘Yes,’ said the Foal, ‘we shall go into that.’

When the Foals got into the churchyard they turned into men and looked

like the sons of a king, and their clothes were so magnificent that

they shone with splendour, and they went into the church and received

bread and wine from the priest, who was standing before the altar, and

Cinderlad went in too. But when the priest had laid his hands on the

princes and read the blessing, they went out of the church again, and

Cinderlad went out too, but he took with him a flask of wine and some

consecrated bread. No sooner had the seven princes come out into the

churchyard than they became foals again, and Cinderlad got upon the

back of the youngest, and they returned by the way they had come, only

they went much, much faster.

First they went over the bridge, and then past the trunk of the birch

tree, and then past the old hag who sat in the cleft of the rock

spinning, and they went by so fast that Cinderlad could not hear what

the old hag screeched after him, but just heard enough to understand

that she was terribly enraged.

It was all but dark when they got back to the King at nightfall, and he

himself was standing in the courtyard waiting for them.

‘Hast thou watched well and faithfully the whole day?’ said the King to

Cinderlad.

‘I have done my best,’ replied Cinderlad.

‘Then thou canst tell me what my seven foals eat and drink?’ asked the

King.

So Cinderlad pulled out the consecrated bread and the flask of wine,

and showed them to the King. ‘Here may you behold their meat, and here

their drink,’ said he.

‘Yes, diligently and faithfully hast thou watched,’ said the King, ‘and

thou shalt have the Princess and half the kingdom.’

So all was made ready for the wedding, and the King said that it was to

be so stately and magnificent that everyone should hear of it, and

everyone inquire about it.

But when they sat down to the marriage-feast, the bridegroom arose and

went down to the stable, for he said that he had forgotten something

which he must go and look to. When he got there, he did what the foals

had bidden him, and cut off the heads of all the seven. First the

eldest, and then the second, and so on according to their age, and he

was extremely careful to lay each head at the tail of the foal to which

it had belonged, and when that was done, all the foals became princes

again. When he returned to the marriage-feast with the seven princes,

the King was so joyful that he both kissed Cinderlad and clapped him on

the back, and his bride was still more delighted with him than she had

been before.

‘Half my kingdom is thine already,’ said the King, ‘and the other half

shall be thine after my death, for my sons can get countries and

kingdoms for themselves now that they have become princes again.’

Therefore, as all may well believe, there was joy and merriment at that

wedding.[31]

[31] From J. Moe.

THE MARVELLOUS MUSICIAN

There was once upon a time a marvellous musician. One day he was

wandering through a wood all by himself, thinking now of one thing, now

of another, till there was nothing else left to think about. Then he

said to himself:

‘Time hangs very heavily on my hands when I’m all alone in the wood. I

must try and find a pleasant companion.’

So he took his fiddle out, and fiddled till he woke the echoes round.

After a time a wolf came through the thicket and trotted up to the

musician.

‘Oh! it’s a Wolf, is it?’ said he. ‘I’ve not the smallest wish for his

society.’

But the Wolf approached him and said:

‘Oh, my dear musician, how beautifully you play! I wish you’d teach me

how it’s done.’

‘That’s easily learned,’ answered the fiddler; ‘you must only do

exactly as I tell you.’

‘Of course I will,’ replied the Wolf. ‘I can promise that you will find

me a most apt pupil.’

So they joined company and went on their way together, and after a time

they came to an old oak tree, which was hollow and had a crack in the

middle of the trunk.

‘Now,’ said the Musician, ‘if you want to learn to fiddle, here’s your

chance. Lay your front paws in this crack.’

The Wolf did as he was told, and the Musician quickly seized a stone,

and wedged both his fore paws so firmly into the crack that he was held

there, a fast prisoner.

‘Wait there till I return,’ said the Fiddler, and he went on his way.

After a time he said to himself again:

‘Time hangs very heavily on my hands when I’m all alone in the wood; I

must try and find a companion.’

So he drew out his fiddle, and fiddled away lustily. Presently a fox

slunk through the trees.

‘Aha! what have we here?’ said the Musician. ‘A fox; well, I haven’t

the smallest desire for his company.’

The Fox came straight up to him and said:

‘My dear friend, how beautifully you play the fiddle; I would like to

learn how you do it.’

‘Nothing easier,’ said the Musician, ‘if you’ll promise to do exactly

as I tell you.’

‘Certainly,’ answered the Fox, ‘you have only to say the word.’

‘Well, then, follow me,’ replied the Fiddler.

When they had gone a bit of the way, they came to a path with high

trees on each side. Here the Musician halted, bent a stout hazel bough

down to the ground from one side of the path, and put his foot on the

end of it to keep it down. Then he bent a branch down from the other

side and said:

‘Give me your left front paw, my little Fox, if you really wish to

learn how it’s done.’

The Fox did as he was told, and the Musician tied his front paw to the

end of one of the branches.

‘Now, my friend,’ he said, ‘give me your right paw.’

This he bound to the other branch, and having carefully seen that his

knots were all secure, he stepped off the ends of the branches, and

they sprang back, leaving the poor Fox suspended in mid-air.

‘Just you wait where you are till I return,’ said the Musician, and he

went on his way again.

Once more he said to himself:

‘Time hangs heavily on my hands when I’m all alone in the wood; I must

try and find another companion.’

So he took out his fiddle and played as merrily as before. This time a

little hare came running up at the sound.

‘Oh! here comes a hare,’ said the Musician; ‘I’ve not the smallest

desire for his company.’

‘How beautifully you play, dear Mr. Fiddler,’ said the little Hare. ‘I

wish I could learn how you do it.’

‘It’s easily learnt,’ answered the Musician; ‘just do exactly as I tell

you.’

‘That I will,’ said the Hare, ‘you will find me a most attentive

pupil.’

They went on a bit together, till they came to a thin part of the wood,

where they found an aspen tree growing. The Musician bound a long cord

round the little Hare’s neck, the other end of which he fastened to the

tree.

‘Now, my merry little friend,’ said the Musician, ‘run twenty times

round the tree.’

The little Hare obeyed, and when it had run twenty times round the

tree, the cord had twisted itself twenty times round the trunk, so that

the poor little beast was held a fast prisoner, and it might bite and

tear as much as it liked, it couldn’t free itself, and the cord only

cut its tender neck.

‘Wait there till I return,’ said the Musician, and went on his way.

In the meantime the Wolf had pulled and bitten and scratched at the

stone, till at last he succeeded in getting his paws out. Full of

anger, he hurried after the Musician, determined when he met him to

tear him to pieces. When the Fox saw him running by, he called out as

loud as he could:

‘Brother Wolf, come to my rescue, the Musician has deceived me too.’

The Wolf pulled the branches down, bit the cord in two, and set the Fox

free. So they went on their way together, both vowing vengeance on the

Musician. They found the poor imprisoned little Hare, and having set

him free also, they all set out to look for their enemy.

During this time the Musician had once more played his fiddle, and had

been more fortunate in the result. The sounds pierced to the ears of a

poor woodman, who instantly left his work, and with his hatchet under

his arm came to listen to the music.

‘At last I’ve got a proper sort of companion,’ said the Musician, ‘for

it was a human being I wanted all along, and not a wild animal.’

And he began playing so enchantingly that the poor man stood there as

if bewitched, and his heart leapt for joy as he listened.

And as he stood thus, the Wolf and Fox and little Hare came up, and the

woodman saw at once that they meant mischief. He lifted his glittering

axe and placed himself in front of the Musician, as much as to say: ‘If

you touch a hair of his head, beware, for you will have to answer for

it to me.’

Then the beasts were frightened, and they all three ran back into the

wood, and the Musician played the woodman one of his best tunes, by way

of thanks, and then continued his way.[32]

[32] Grimm.