The Juniper Tree and Other Tales (12 page)

O
NCE UPON A TIME
there was a young man who enlisted as a soldier, fought bravely and was always in the forefront of the battle when shots came raining down. As long as the war lasted, all went well for him, but when peace was made he was dismissed, and his captain said he was free to go where he liked. His parents were dead, he had no home any more, so he went to his brothers and asked them to take him in until war broke out again. His brothers, however, were hard-hearted, and said, “What do you think we can do for you? We don’t need you here. You’ll have to see how you can fend for yourself.” So the soldier had no recourse to anything but his gun, and he put it over his shoulder and went out into the world.

He came to a great stretch of moorland, where there was nothing to be seen but a circle of trees. He sat down sadly under the trees and thought about his fate. I have no money, said he to himself, I have learnt no trade but war, and now that peace has come I’m no longer needed. I can see that I shall starve to death.

All of a sudden he heard a noise among the trees, and when he looked around there stood a stranger wearing a
green coat, a man of distinguished appearance, but with an ugly cloven hoof instead of one foot. “I know what you want,” said the man, “and you shall have as much money and property as you can possibly desire. However, first I must know whether yours is a timorous nature. I don’t want to go throwing my riches away for nothing.”

“How would a soldier’s trade go hand in hand with a timorous nature?” the soldier replied. “Put me to the test.”

“Look behind you,” said the man. The soldier turned round, and he saw a great bear growling as it came towards him.

“Oho,” said the soldier, “would you, then? I’ll tickle your nose, and you’ll never want to growl any more.” With these words, he aimed his gun and shot the bear in the muzzle. It fell down dead and didn’t move again.

“I can see that you have plenty of courage,” said the stranger, “so there’s just one more condition for you to meet.”

“If it doesn’t damage my chances of eternal bliss,” said the soldier, who was well aware of the nature of the person he was facing. “Otherwise I’ll have nothing to do with it.”

“That’s up to you,” said the man in the green coat. “For the next seven years you must not wash, or comb your hair or beard, you must not cut your nails or say the Lord’s Prayer. If you agree to that, I will give you a coat and a cloak, and you must wear them all that time. If you die during those seven years, you are mine,
but if you live you will be free and rich for the rest of your days.”

The soldier thought of the great need he was in, and as he had so often faced death he decided that he would brave it again, and he agreed. The Devil took off his green coat, handed it to the soldier and said, “If you wear this coat and put your hand in the pocket, you will always have plenty of money.” Then he skinned the dead bear and said, “This shall be your cloak and also your bed, for you must sleep on it and nowhere else. And because you wear these things, you will be known as Bearskin.” With these words the Devil disappeared.

The soldier put on the coat, put his hand in its pocket and found that it was all true. He slung the bear’s skin around his shoulders, went cheerfully out into the world and he did not fail to enjoy himself and spend his money freely. All went pretty well for the first year, but by the time the second began he already looked like a monster. His hair covered almost his whole face, his beard was like a piece of coarse, felted cloth, his fingers ended in claws and his face was covered with so much dirt that if you had sown cress on it the seeds would have sprouted. Those who set eyes on him ran away, but because he gave money to the poor everywhere he went, asking them to pray that he did not die during the seven years, and because he paid well for everything, he was always given shelter.

In the fourth year he came to an inn where the landlord did not want to take him in, or even let him sleep in the stables, because he was afraid that he would frighten the horses. However, when Bearskin put his hand in his pocket and brought it out full of money, the landlord softened, and gave him a room in the buildings at the back, on condition that he let no one set eyes on him, in case he damaged the reputation of the inn.

But in the evening, when Bearskin was sitting there alone and wishing with all his heart that the seven years were up, he heard weeping and wailing in the room next door. He had a kind heart, and so he opened the door and saw an old man shedding bitter tears, with his hands clasped together above his head. Bearskin went closer, but the man jumped up and was about to run away. At last, when he heard a human voice, he could be induced to listen, and speaking in friendly tones Bearskin persuaded him to reveal the cause of his grief. His fortune had gradually been lost, he said, he and his daughters would be left destitute, he was so poor that he couldn’t even pay the landlord here, and he was afraid he would be put in prison.

“If that’s the sum of your troubles,” said Bearskin, “I have plenty of money.” He called for the landlord, paid him and gave the unfortunate old man a purse full of gold to take away.

When the old man was free from all anxiety, he didn’t know how best to show his gratitude. “Come with me,” he said to Bearskin. “My daughters are marvellously beautiful—choose one of them as your wife. When she hears what you have done for me, I am sure she won’t refuse. You look a little strange, to be sure, but she will soon set that to rights.” Bearskin was pleased, and went away with the old man. But when the eldest daughter set eyes on him, his face horrified her so much that she screamed and ran away. The second daughter stood her ground, and looked him up and down, but then she said, “How can I take a husband who doesn’t even look human? I preferred the furious bear that once ran wild here, making out that he was a man. At least he wore a hussar’s uniform and white gloves. If ugly looks were the only problem, I could get used to him.” But the youngest daughter said, “Dear Father, this must be a good man, since he helped you in your hour of need, and if you have promised him a bride in return, your word must be kept.”

It was a pity that Bearskin’s face was covered with dirt and hair, or anyone could have seen how glad his heart was at these words. He took a ring off his finger, broke it in two, gave her one half and kept the other half himself. But he wrote his name inside her half of the ring, and hers in his own half, and he asked her to keep her part of the ring safe. Thereupon he said goodbye,
telling her, “I have three more years to roam the world. If I don’t come back again after that time, you are free, because I shall be dead. But pray to God that he will spare my life.”

The poor bride dressed herself all in black, and when she thought of her bridegroom tears came to her eyes. She met with nothing but mockery and scorn from her sisters. “Take care,” said the eldest. “If you give him your hand, he will strike you down with his great paw.” “Take care,” said the second. “Bears love sweet things, and if he likes you he will eat you up.”

“You must remember to do as he wants,” the eldest sister went on, “or he will begin to growl.” And the second sister added, “But what a merry sight the wedding will be! Bears are good dancers.” However, the bride said nothing, and did not let them shake her faith in Bearskin.

Bearskin himself, however, went all around the world from place to place, doing all the good that he could, and giving generously to the poor so that they would pray for him. At last, when the final day of the seven years dawned, he went out on the moorland again and sat down inside the circle of trees. Before long the wind rose, and there stood the Devil before him, looking sour and cross. Then he threw Bearskin his old coat and said he wanted the green one back.

“We haven’t reached that point yet,” said Bearskin. “First you must clean me up.” And like it or not, the Devil
had to fetch water, wash Bearskin, comb his hair and cut his nails. After that he looked like a brave soldier again, and was much more handsome than before.

When the Devil had gone away, Bearskin felt light at heart. He went into the city, bought a fine velvet coat, sat in a carriage drawn by four white horses and drove to his bride’s house. No one recognized him; the girls’ father took him for a distinguished military officer, led him into the room where his daughters were sitting and invited him to sit down between the two oldest. They poured him wine, put the best morsels to eat in front of him and thought they had never set eyes on such a handsome man. The bride, however, sat opposite him all in black, kept her eyes cast down, and did not say a word. When at last he asked her father if he would give him one of his daughters as a wife, up jumped the two oldest girls and ran to their bedrooms to put on their finest clothes, because each of them imagined that she would be chosen. However, as soon as the stranger was alone with his bride, he took out his half of the ring, dropped it into a glass of wine and handed the glass to her across the table. She took it, but when she had drunk the wine and found half of the ring lying at the bottom of the glass, her heart beat fast. She took out the other half, which she had been wearing on a ribbon around her neck, and saw that both halves fitted perfectly together. Then he said, “I am your promised bridegroom, whom
you first saw in the likeness of Bearskin, but by God’s grace I am back in human form, clean and whole again.”

He went to her, put his arms round her and kissed her. Meanwhile her two sisters came back in all their finery, and when they saw that the handsome man was to marry the youngest daughter, and heard that he was Bearskin, they ran out of the room full of rage and fury. One of them drowned herself in the well, the other hanged herself from a tree.

That evening there came a knock at the door, and when the bridegroom opened it, he saw the Devil in his green coat. “Well,” said the Devil, “now I have two souls instead of just your one.”

T
HERE WERE ONCE
three miller's boys working in a mill for an old miller who had no wife or child. When they had served him for several years, he said to them, “Go out into the world, and I'll leave my mill to whichever of you brings me back the finest horse.”

But the third of the lads was the least of them, and the others thought him a simpleton and weren't going to allow him any chance of getting the mill. The three of them went away together, and when they came to the village the other two told simple Hans, “You'd better stay here. You'll never come by any kind of horse in all your life.” However, Hans still went along with them, and when night fell they came to a cave and lay down in it to sleep. The two clever lads were just waiting for Hans to fall asleep, and then they got up and went off, leaving Hans where he was. They thought themselves very cunning. Well, they'd neither of them come to any good.

When the sun rose, and Hans woke up, he was lying in a great cave. He looked all around, and said to himself: Dear God, where am I? Then he got up, scrambled out of the cave and went into the forest, thinking: How will I ever get a horse now?

As he was going along like this deep in thought, a little tortoiseshell cat came towards him. “Hans,” said the cat, “what do you want?”

“Oh dear, you can't help me,” said Hans.

“I know very well what you want,” said the little cat. “You want a fine horse. Come with me, be my faithful servant for seven years, and I will give you a horse, a finer horse than you have ever seen in your life.” So saying, she took him home with her to her enchanted castle, where he had to serve her and chop wood every day. To do the work he was given a silver axe, a silver wedge and a silver saw, and the club was made of copper. Well, he chopped wood, he stayed in the castle, he had plenty of good food and drink, but he never saw anyone but the little tortoiseshell cat. One day she told him, “Go and mow my meadow and dry the grass for hay,” and she gave him a silver scythe to do the work and a golden whetstone, telling him to be sure to bring the hay home properly. So off went Hans, did as he was asked, and when it was all done, and he brought the scythe, the whetstone and the axe home, he asked whether the cat wouldn't give him his reward yet.

“No,” said the cat, “first you must do one more thing for me. Here's timber made of silver for building, a carpenter's hatchet, angle irons and everything else you'll need, all of it silver, and you must build me a little house.”

So Hans built the house, and said that now he had done everything she asked, but still he had no horse. However, although seven years had passed they had seemed to him like no more than six months.

Then the cat asked if he would like to see her horses. “Yes, indeed,” said Hans. So she opened the doors of the little house for him, and there stood twelve horses, proud and beautiful, all with glossy, shining coats. His heart jumped for joy. She gave him food and drink, and then she said, “Go home now. I'm not giving you the horse to take with you, but in three days' time I will follow you and bring it with me.”

So after she had shown him the way to the mill, Hans went home. She hadn't even given him anything new to wear, only his ragged old smock that he had brought with him, and after seven years it was much too small. When he came home, the other two miller's lads were there already, and each had brought back a horse, but one of the horses was blind and the other was lame. “Where's your horse, Hans?” they asked him. “It will follow me in three days' time,” said Hans.

At that they laughed and said, “Oh, Hans, where do you expect to be getting a horse? This will be a fine joke!”

Hans went into the mill, but the miller said he wasn't to sit at table with them, his clothes were too torn and ragged, and if any visitors came he would be ashamed of him. So they gave him scraps of food to eat outside, and when they went to bed in the evening the other two lads wouldn't let him have a bed. In the end he had to crawl into the goose pen and lie down on a little straw there.

Next morning, when he woke up, the three days were over, and up drove a coach with six horses gleaming until they shone, a very fine sight, and a servant leading a seventh. The seventh horse was for the poor miller's lad, and out of the coach climbed a beautiful Princess who went into the mill. The Princess was the little tortoiseshell cat whom poor Hans had served for seven years. She asked the miller where the third of his lads, the youngest and smallest, was.

“Oh,” said the miller, “we can't have him in the mill, he's such a shabby sight that he must sleep in the goose pen.”

Then the Princess said they were to fetch him at once. So they fetched him, and he had to hold his old smock together to cover himself. Then the servant brought out fine clothes, washed Hans and put the clothes on him,
and when he was ready no king could have looked more handsome.

After that the Princess asked to see the horses that the other two miller's lads had brought back, one of them blind and the other lame. Then she told the servant to bring the seventh horse. When the miller saw it, he said he had never seen such a horse in his yard before. “This is for the third of your lads,” said the Princess.

“Then he must have the mill as well,” said the miller, but the Princess said that the horse was his now, and he could keep the mill as well. Then she took her faithful servant Hans, put him in the coach and drove away with him. First they drove to the little house that he had built with silver tools. It had turned into a huge castle with everything in it made of silver and gold, and she married him, and he was rich, so rich that he had enough for all his days. So don't let anyone say that a man who is a little simple can never have any luck.