"Will you help me?" she said, as he remained standing by her. "Youhave still a straight back and young legs, it would be a trifle toyou. Besides, my house is not so very far from here, it stands there onthe heath behind the hill. How soon you would bound up thither." Theyoung man took compassion on the old woman. "My father is certainlyno peasant," replied he, "but a rich count; nevertheless, that you maysee that it is not only peasants who can carry things, I will take yourbundle." "If you will try it," said she, "I shall be very glad. You willcertainly have to walk for an hour, but what will that signify to you;only you must carry the apples and pears as well?" It now seemed to theyoung man just a little serious, when he heard of an hour's walk, butthe old woman would not let him off, packed the bundle on his back, andhung the two baskets on his arm. "See, it is quite light," said she. "No,it is not light," answered the count, and pulled a rueful face. "Verily,the bundle weighs as heavily as if it were full of cobble stones, andthe apples and pears are as heavy as lead! I can scarcely breathe." Hehad a mind to put everything down again, but the old woman would notallow it. "Just look," said she mockingly, "the young gentleman will notcarry what I, an old woman, have so often dragged along. You are readywith fine words, but when it comes to be earnest, you want to take toyour heels. Why are you standing loitering there?" she continued. "Stepout. No one will take the bundle off again." As long as he walked onlevel ground, it was still bearable, but when they came to the hilland had to climb, and the stones rolled down under his feet as if theywere alive, it was beyond his strength. The drops of perspiration stoodon his forehead, and ran, hot and cold, down his back. "Dame," said he,"I can go no farther. I want to rest a little." "Not here," answered theold woman, "when we have arrived at our journey's end, you can rest;but now you must go forward. Who knows what good it may do you?" "Oldwoman, thou art becoming shameless!" said the count, and tried to throwoff the bundle, but he laboured in vain; it stuck as fast to his backas if it grew there. He turned and twisted, but he could not get rid ofit. The old woman laughed at this, and sprang about quite delighted onher crutch. "Don't get angry, dear sir," said she, "you are growing asred in the face as a turkey-cock! Carry your bundle patiently. I willgive you a good present when we get home."
What could he do? He was obliged to submit to his fate, and crawl alongpatiently behind the old woman. She seemed to grow more and more nimble,and his burden still heavier. All at once she made a spring, jumped on tothe bundle and seated herself on the top of it; and however withered shemight be, she was yet heavier than the stoutest country lass. The youth'sknees trembled, but when he did not go on, the old woman hit him aboutthe legs with a switch and with stinging-nettles. Groaning continually,he climbed the mountain, and at length reached the old woman's house,when he was just about to drop. When the geese perceived the old woman,they flapped their wings, stretched out their necks, ran to meet her,cackling all the while. Behind the flock walked, stick in hand, an oldwench, strong and big, but ugly as night. "Good mother," said she tothe old woman, "has anything happened to you, you have stayed away solong?" "By no means, my dear daughter," answered she, "I have met withnothing bad, but, on the contrary, with this kind gentleman, who hascarried my burthen for me; only think, he even took me on his back when Iwas tired. The way, too, has not seemed long to us; we have been merry,and have been cracking jokes with each other all the time." At last theold woman slid down, took the bundle off the young man's back, and thebaskets from his arm, looked at him quite kindly, and said, "Now seatyourself on the bench before the door, and rest. You have fairly earnedyour wages, and they shall not be wanting." Then she said to the goose-girl, "Go into the house, my dear daughter, it is not becoming for theeto be alone with a young gentleman; one must not pour oil on to the fire,he might fall in love with thee." The count knew not whether to laughor to cry. "Such a sweetheart as that," thought he, "could not touchmy heart, even if she were thirty years younger." In the meantime theold woman stroked and fondled her geese as if they were children, andthen went into the house with her daughter. The youth lay down on thebench, under a wild apple-tree. The air was warm and mild; on all sidesstretched a green meadow, which was set with cowslips, wild thyme, anda thousand other flowers; through the midst of it rippled a clear brookon which the sun sparkled, and the white geese went walking backwardsand forwards, or paddled in the water. "It is quite delightful here,"said he, "but I am so tired that I cannot keep my eyes open; I willsleep a little. If only a gust of wind does not come and blow my legsoff my body, for they are as rotten as tinder."
When he had slept a little while, the old woman came and shook him tillhe awoke. "Sit up," said she, "thou canst not stay here; I have certainlytreated thee hardly, still it has not cost thee thy life. Of money andland thou hast no need, here is something else for thee." Thereuponshe thrust a little book into his hand, which was cut out of a singleemerald. "Take great care of it," said she, "it will bring thee goodfortune." The count sprang up, and as he felt that he was quite fresh,and had recovered his vigor, he thanked the old woman for her present,and set off without even once looking back at the beautiful daughter. Whenhe was already some way off, he still heard in the distance the noisycry of the geese.
For three days the count had to wander in the wilderness before he couldfind his way out. He then reached a large town, and as no one knew him,he was led into the royal palace, where the King and Queen were sittingon their throne. The count fell on one knee, drew the emerald book outof his pocket, and laid it at the Queen's feet. She bade him rise andhand her the little book. Hardly, however, had she opened it, and lookedtherein, than she fell as if dead to the ground. The count was seized bythe King's servants, and was being led to prison, when the Queen openedher eyes, and ordered them to release him, and every one was to go out,as she wished to speak with him in private.
When the Queen was alone, she began to weep bitterly, and said, "Of whatuse to me are the splendours and honours with which I am surrounded;every morning I awake in pain and sorrow. I had three daughters, theyoungest of whom was so beautiful that the whole world looked on her as awonder. She was as white as snow, as rosy as apple-blossom, and her hairas radiant as sun-beams. When she cried, not tears fell from her eyes,but pearls and jewels only. When she was fifteen years old, the Kingsummoned all three sisters to come before his throne. You should haveseen how all the people gazed when the youngest entered, it was justas if the sun were rising! Then the King spoke, "My daughters, I knownot when my last day may arrive; I will to-day decide what each shallreceive at my death. You all love me, but the one of you who loves mebest, shall fare the best." Each of them said she loved him best. "Canyou not express to me," said the King, "how much you do love me, andthus I shall see what you mean?" The eldest spoke. "I love my father asdearly as the sweetest sugar." The second, "I love my father as dearly asmy prettiest dress." But the youngest was silent. Then the father said,"And thou, my dearest child, how much dost thou love me?" "I do not know,and can compare my love with nothing." But her father insisted that sheshould name something. So she said at last, "The best food does not pleaseme without salt, therefore I love my father like salt." When the Kingheard that, he fell into a passion, and said, "If thou lovest me likesalt, thy love shall also be repaid thee with salt." Then he divided thekingdom between the two elder, but caused a sack of salt to be bound onthe back of the youngest, and two servants had to lead her forth intothe wild forest. We all begged and prayed for her, said the Queen,"but the King's anger was not to be appeased. How she cried when shehad to leave us! The whole road was strewn with the pearls which flowedfrom her eyes. The King soon afterwards repented of his great severity,and had the whole forest searched for the poor child, but no one couldfind her. When I think that the wild beasts have devoured her, I knownot how to contain myself for sorrow; many a time I console myself withthe hope that she is still alive, and may have hidden herself in a cave,or has found shelter with compassionate people. But picture to yourself,when I opened your little emerald book, a pearl lay therein, of exactlythe same kind as those which used to fall from my daughter's eyes; andthen you can also imagine how the sight of it stirred my heart. Youmust tell me how you came by that pearl." The count told her that hehad received it from the old woman in the forest, who had appeared verystrange to him, and must be a witch, but he had neither seen nor hearanything of the Queen's child. The King and the Queen resolved to seekout the old woman. They thought that there where the pearl had been,they would obtain news of their daughter.
The old woman was sitting in that lonely place at her spinning-wheel,spinning. It was already dusk, and a log which was burning on the hearthgave a scanty light. All at once there was a noise outside, the geesewere coming home from the pasture, and uttering their hoarse cries. Soonafterwards the daughter also entered. But the old woman scarcely thankedher, and only shook her head a little. The daughter sat down beside her,took her spinning-wheel, and twisted the threads as nimbly as a younggirl. Thus they both sat for two hours, and exchanged never a word. Atlast something rustled at the window, and two fiery eyes peered in. It wasan old night-owl, which cried, "Uhu!" three times. The old woman lookedup just a little, then she said, "Now, my little daughter, it is timefor thee to go out and do thy work." She rose and went out, and where didshe go? Over the meadows ever onward into the valley. At last she came toa well, with three old oak-trees standing beside it; meanwhile the moonhad risen large and round over the mountain, and it was so light that onecould have found a needle. She removed a skin which covered her face, thenbent down to the well, and began to wash herself. When she had finished,she dipped the skin also in the water, and then laid it on the meadow,so that it should bleach in the moonlight, and dry again. But how themaiden was changed! Such a change as that was never seen before! When thegray mask fell off, her golden hair broke forth like sunbeams, and spreadabout like a mantle over her whole form. Her eyes shone out as brightly asthe stars in heaven, and her cheeks bloomed a soft red like apple-blossom.
But the fair maiden was sad. She sat down and wept bitterly. One tearafter another forced itself out of her eyes, and rolled through her longhair to the ground. There she sat, and would have remained sitting a longtime, if there had not been a rustling and cracking in the boughs of theneighbouring tree. She sprang up like a roe which has been overtaken bythe shot of the hunter. Just then the moon was obscured by a dark cloud,and in an instant the maiden had put on the old skin and vanished,like a light blown out by the wind.
She ran back home, trembling like an aspen-leaf. The old woman wasstanding on the threshold, and the girl was about to relate what hadbefallen her, but the old woman laughed kindly, and said, "I alreadyknow all." She led her into the room and lighted a new log. She didnot, however, sit down to her spinning again, but fetched a broom andbegan to sweep and scour, "All must be clean and sweet," she said to thegirl. "But, mother," said the maiden, "why do you begin work at so late anhour? What do you expect?" "Dost thou know then what time it is?" askedthe old woman. "Not yet midnight," answered the maiden, "but alreadypast eleven o'clock." "Dost thou not remember," continued the old woman,"that it is three years to-day since thou camest to me? Thy time is up,we can no longer remain together." The girl was terrified, and said,"Alas! dear mother, will you cast me off? Where shall I go? I have nofriends, and no home to which I can go. I have always done as you bade me,and you have always been satisfied with me; do not send me away." Theold woman would not tell the maiden what lay before her. "My stay hereis over," she said to her, "but when I depart, house and parlour must beclean: therefore do not hinder me in my work. Have no care for thyself,thou shalt find a roof to shelter thee, and the wages which I will givethee shall also content thee." "But tell me what is about to happen,"the maiden continued to entreat. "I tell thee again, do not hinder mein my work. Do not say a word more, go to thy chamber, take the skinoff thy face, and put on the silken gown which thou hadst on when thoucamest to me, and then wait in thy chamber until I call thee."
But I must once more tell of the King and Queen, who had journeyed forthwith the count in order to seek out the old woman in the wilderness. Thecount had strayed away from them in the wood by night, and had towalk onwards alone. Next day it seemed to him that he was on the righttrack. He still went forward, until darkness came on, then he climbed atree, intending to pass the night there, for he feared that he might losehis way. When the moon illumined the surrounding country he perceiveda figure coming down the mountain. She had no stick in her hand, butyet he could see that it was the goose-girl, whom he had seen before inthe house of the old woman. "Oho," cried he, "there she comes, and if Ionce get hold of one of the witches, the other shall not escape me!" Buthow astonished he was, when she went to the well, took off the skin andwashed herself, when her golden hair fell down all about her, and she wasmore beautiful than any one whom he had ever seen in the whole world. Hehardly dared to breathe, but stretched his head as far forward throughthe leaves as he dared, and stared at her. Either he bent over too far,or whatever the cause might be, the bough suddenly cracked, and thatvery moment the maiden slipped into the skin, sprang away like a roe, andas the moon was suddenly covered, disappeared from his eyes. Hardly hadshe disappeared, before the count descended from the tree, and hastenedafter her with nimble steps. He had not been gone long before he saw,in the twilight, two figures coming over the meadow. It was the Kingand Queen, who had perceived from a distance the light shining in theold woman's little house, and were going to it. The count told themwhat wonderful things he had seen by the well, and they did not doubtthat it had been their lost daughter. They walked onwards full of joy,and soon came to the little house. The geese were sitting all roundit, and had thrust their heads under their wings and were sleeping,and not one of them moved. The King and Queen looked in at the window,the old woman was sitting there quite quietly spinning, nodding her headand never looking round. The room was perfectly clean, as if the littlemist men, who carry no dust on their feet, lived there. Their daughter,however, they did not see. They gazed at all this for a long time, atlast they took heart, and knocked softly at the window. The old womanappeared to have been expecting them; she rose, and called out quitekindly, "Come in,—I know you already." When they had entered the room,the old woman said, "You might have spared yourself the long walk, ifyou had not three years ago unjustly driven away your child, who is sogood and lovable. No harm has come to her; for three years she has hadto tend the geese; with them she has learnt no evil, but has preservedher purity of heart. You, however, have been sufficiently punished bythe misery in which you have lived." Then she went to the chamber andcalled, "Come out, my little daughter." Thereupon the door opened, andthe princess stepped out in her silken garments, with her golden hairand her shining eyes, and it was as if an angel from heaven had entered.
She went up to her father and mother, fell on their necks and kissed them;there was no help for it, they all had to weep for joy. The young countstood near them, and when she perceived him she became as red in theface as a moss-rose, she herself did not know why. The King said, "Mydear child, I have given away my kingdom, what shall I give thee?" "Sheneeds nothing," said the old woman. "I give her the tears that she haswept on your account; they are precious pearls, finer than those thatare found in the sea, and worth more than your whole kingdom, and I giveher my little house as payment for her services." When the old woman hadsaid that, she disappeared from their sight. The walls rattled a little,and when the King and Queen looked round, the little house had changedinto a splendid palace, a royal table had been spread, and the servantswere running hither and thither.
The story goes still further, but my grandmother, who related it to me,had partly lost her memory, and had forgotten the rest. I shall alwaysbelieve that the beautiful princess married the count, and that theyremained together in the palace, and lived there in all happiness so longas God willed it. Whether the snow-white geese, which were kept nearthe little hut, were verily young maidens (no one need take offence,)whom the old woman had taken under her protection, and whether they nowreceived their human form again, and stayed as handmaids to the youngQueen, I do not exactly know, but I suspect it. This much is certain,that the old woman was no witch, as people thought, but a wise woman,who meant well. Very likely it was she who, at the princess's birth,gave her the gift of weeping pearls instead of tears. That does nothappen now-a-days, or else the poor would soon become rich.
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