Chapter VIII - The Three Aunts

There was once a poor man who lived in a hut far away in the forest, and supported himself on the game. He had an only daughter, who was very beautiful, and as her mother was dead and she was grown up, she said she would go out in the world and seek her own living. “It is true, my child,” said her father, “that thou hast learnt nothing with me but to pluck and roast birds; but it is, nevertheless, well that thou shouldst earn thy bread.” The young girl therefore went in search of work, and when she had gone some way, she came to the royal palace. There she remained, and the queen took such a liking to her that the other servants became quite jealous; they, therefore, contrived to tell the queen that the girl had boasted she could spin a pound of flax in twenty-four hours, knowing that the queen was very fond of all kinds of handiwork. “Well, if thou hast said it, thou shalt do it,” said the queen to her. “But I will give thee a little longer time to do it in.” The poor girl was afraid of saying she never had spun, but only begged she might have a room to herself. This was allowed, and the flax and spinning-wheel were carried up to it. Here she sat and cried, and was so unhappy she knew not what to do; she placed herself by the wheel and twisted and twirled at it without knowing how to use it; she had never even seen a spinning-wheel before.

But as she so sat, there came an old woman into the room. “What’s the matter, my child?” said she. “Oh,” answered the young girl, “it is of no use that I tell you, for I am sure you cannot help me!” “That thou dost not know,” said the crone. “It might happen, however, that I could help thee.” “I may as well tell her,” thought the girl; and so she related to her, how her fellow-serv-ants had reported that she had said she could spin a pound of flax in twenty-four hours. “And poor I,” added she, “have never before in all my life seen a spinning-wheel; so far am I from being able to spin so much in one day.” “Well, never mind,” said the woman, “if thou wilt call me Aunt on thy wedding day, I will spin for thee, and thou canst lie down to sleep.” That the young girl was quite willing to do, and went to bed.

In the morning when she awoke, all the flax was spun and lying on the table, and was so fine and delicate that no one had ever seen such even and beautiful thread.

The queen was delighted with the beautiful thread she had now got, and on that account felt more attached to the young girl than before. But the other servants were still more jealous of her, and told the queen she had boasted that in twenty-four hours she could weave all the thread she had spun. The queen again answered: “If she had said that, she should do it; but if it were not done within the exact time, she would allow her a little longer.” The poor girl durst not say no, but begged she might have a room to herself, and then she would do her best. Now she again sat crying and lamenting, and knew not what to do, when another old woman came in, and asked: “What ails thee, my child?” The girl would not at first say, but at length told her what made her so sorrowful. “Well,” answered the crone, “provided thou wilt call me Aunt upon thy wedding day I will weave for thee, and thou canst go to sleep.” The young girl willingly agreed to do so, and went to bed.

When she awoke the piece of linen lay on the table woven, as fine and beautiful as it could be. The girl took it down to the queen, who was so delighted with the beautiful web which she had got, that she was fonder than ever of the young girl. At this the others were so exasperated that they thought of nothing but how they could injure her.

At length they told the queen, that she had boasted she could make the piece of linen into shirts in twenty-four hours. The girl was afraid to say she could not sew; and all took place as before: she was again put into a room alone, where she sat crying and unhappy. Now came another old woman to her, who promised to sew for her if she would call her Aunt upon her wedding day. This the young girl consented to do; she then did as the woman had desired her, and lay down to sleep. In the morning when she woke, she found that the linen was all made into shirts lying on the table, so beautiful that no one had ever seen the like; and they were all marked and completely finished. When the queen saw them she was so delighted with the work, that she clasped her hands together: “Such beautiful work,” she said, “I have never owned nor seen before.” And from that time she was as fond of the young girl as if she had been her own child. “If thou wouldst like to marry the prince, thou shalt have him,” said she to the maiden, “for thou wilt never need to put out anything to be made, as thou canst both spin and weave and sew everything for thyself.” As the young girl was very handsome, and the prince loved her, the wedding took place directly. Just as the prince was seated at the bridal table with her, an old woman entered who had an enormously long nose; it was certainly three ells long.

The bride rose from the table, curtsied, and said to her: “Good day, Aunt.” “Is that my bride’s aunt?” asked the prince. “Yes, she is.” “Then she must sit down at the table with us,” said he; though both the prince and the rest of the company thought it very disagreeable to sit at table with such a person.

At the same moment another very ugly old woman came in; she was so thick and broad behind that she could hardly squeeze herself through the door. Immediately the bride rose, and saluted her with a “Good day, Auntand the prince asked again if she were his bride’s aunt. They both answered “Yesthe prince then said, if that were the case she must also take a place at the table with them.

She had hardly seated herself before there came in a third ugly old crone, whose eyes were as large as plates, and so red and running that it was shocking to look at. The bride rose again and said: “Good day, Auntand the prince asked her also to sit down at table; but he was not well pleased, and thought within himself: “The Lord preserve me from my bride’s aunts.” After a short time he could not help asking: “How it came to pass that his bride, who was so beautiful, should have such ugly and deformed aunts.” “That I will tell you,” replied one of them. “I was as comely as your bride when at her age, but the reason of my having so long a nose is that I constantly and always sat jogging and nodding over the spinning-wheel, till my nose is become the length you see it.” “And I,” said the second, “ever since I was quite little, have sat upon the weaver’s bench rocking to and fro; therefore am I become so broad and swelled as you see me.” The third one said: “Ever since I was very young, I have sat poring over my work both night and day, therefore have my eyes become so red and ugly, and now there is no cure for them.” “Ah! is that the case?” said the prince, “it is well that I know it; for if people become so ugly thereby, then my bride shall never spin, nor weave, nor work any more all her life.”

 

SUCH WOMEN ARE; OR, THE MAN FROM
RINGERIGE AND THE THREE WOMEN.

There was once a man and his wife who wanted to sow, but had no seed-corn, nor money to buy it. They had one cow, and this they agreed that the man should drive to the town and sell, to enable them to buy seed with the money. But when it came to the point, the woman was afraid to let her husband go with the cow, fearing he would spend the money in the town in drinking. “Hear now! father,” said she, “I think it will be best for me to go, and then I can sell my old hen at the same time.” “As thou wilt,” answered the husband, “but act with discretion, and remember thou must have ten dollars for the cow.” “Oh! that I shall,” said the wife, and off she went with the cow and the hen.

Not far from the town she met a butcher. “Art thou going to sell thy cow, mother?” asked he. “Yes, that’s what I am going to do,” answered she. “How much dost thou want for it?” “I want a mark for my cow, and my hen you shall have for ten dollars.”^[1] “Well! that’s cheap,” said the butcher; “but I am not in want of the hen, and that thou canst always get rid of when thou comest to the town; but for the cow I am willing to give thee a mark.” So they settled the bargain, and the woman got her mark; but when she came into the town, there was not a person who would give her ten dollars for an old lean hen. She therefore went back to the butcher, and said: “Hear, my good man, I cannot get rid of my hen, so thou must take that also, as thou hast got the cow, and then I can go home with the money.”

“Well! well! I dare say we shall strike a bargain for that also,” said he. Hereupon he invited her in, gave her something to eat, and as much brandy as she could drink. “This is a delightful butcher,” thought she, and kept on drinking so long that at last she completely lost her senses.

What now did the butcher do? While the woman was sleeping herself sober, he dipped her into a tar barrel, then rolled her in a heap of feathers, and laid her down in a soft place, outside the house. When she awoke and found herself feathered from head to foot, she began to wonder, and said to herself: “What can be the matter with me? Is it I, or is it somebody else? No, this can never be me, this must be some strange, large bird. But what shall I do to know if it is really myself or not? Yes, now I know how I can find out whether it is myself. If the calves lick me and the dog does not bark at me, when I go home, then it is really myself.”

The dog had hardly caught a glimpse of the strange animal that was entering the yard, before he set up a terrible barking; and the woman felt far from easy. “I begin to think it is not myself,” said she; and when she went into the cattle-house, the calves would not lick her, as they smelt the strong tar. “No, I see now it cannot be me, it must be some wonderful strange bird, I may as well fly away.” So creeping up on the top of the storeroom she began to flap with her arms as if they were wings, and tried to rise in the air. When the man saw this he seized his rifle, went out into the yard and was just taking aim. “Oh! no,” exclaimed the woman, “don’t shoot me, father, it is I, indeed it is.” “Is it thou?” said her husband; “then don’t stand up there like a fool, but come down and give an account of the money.” The woman crept down again, but no money could she give him, as she had got none. She looked for the mark the butcher had given her for her cow, but even this she had lost while she was drunk. When the husband heard the whole story, he was so angry that he swore he would leave her and everything, and never return, unless he could find three other women who were as great fools as herself.

He set out accordingly, and had not gone far on the road, before he saw a woman running in and out of a newly-built cottage with an empty sieve in her hand. Every time she ran in, she threw her apron over the sieve as if there were something in it. “What is it you are so busy about, mother?” said the man. “Oh! I am only carrying a little sunshine into my new house; but I know not how it is; when I am out of doors I have plenty of sun in my sieve, but when I come in it is all away. When I was in my old hut, I had sun enough; although I never carried any in. If I only knew of any one who would bring sunshine into my house, I would willingly give him a hundred dollars.” “I think there must be a way for that,” answered the man. “If you have got an axe, I will soon procure you sun enough.” He got the axe and made a couple of windows in the house, which the carpenter had forgotten to do. Immediately the sun came in, and he got a hundred dollars. “There was one,” said the man as he again walked on.

Some time after, he came to a house and heard from the outside a terrible bellowing and noise within. He entered and saw a woman beating her husband about the head with a washerwoman’s batlet. He had got a new shirt over his head, but could not get it on, because there was no slit made for the neck. “What’s the matter here,” cried the stranger at the door: “are you killing your husband, mother?” “No, Lord preserve us,” said the woman, “I am only helping him to put on his new shirt.” The man struggled and cried: “The Lord preserve and take pity upon all who put on a new shirt. If any one will only teach my wife to cut a slit in the proper place, I will give him a hundred dollars.” “I think there must be a way for that; come bring a pair of scissors,” said the stranger. The woman gave him the scissors, and he immediately cut a hole in the shirt, and got a hundred dollars. “There is the second said the man as he went on his way.

After walking on for some time he at length came to a farm-house where he thought of stopping to rest. When he entered the room the woman of the house asked him “Where he was from?” “I come from Ringerige,” answered the man. “Oh, indeed! what, do you say you come from Himmerige (Heaven), then of course you know the second Peter, my poor late husband?” The woman, who was very deaf, had had three husbands, all named Peter. The first husband had used her ill, and therefore she thought that only the second, who had been kind to her, could be in heaven. “Know him, aye, and well too,” answered the man from Ringerige. “How does he fare above?” asked the woman further. “Ah! but poorly,” said the man. He goes wandering from one farm to another to get a little food, and has scarcely clothes to his back; and as to money, that is quite out of the question.” “Oh God, be merciful to him!” exclaimed the poor woman, “I am sure he need not go so miserable, for there was plenty left after him. I have got a whole room full of his clothes, also a box of money, which I have taken care of, that belonged to my late husband. If you will take charge of all this for him, you shall have a cart and a horse to draw it. The horse he can keep up there, and the cart also; he then can sit in it and drive from one farm to another, for he was never so poor that he was obliged to walk.” So the man from Ringerige got a whole cart-load of clothes, and a little box of bright silver-money, with as much provision as he liked to take. When he had filled the cart, he got up in it and drove away.

“That was the third” said he. But in the fields was the woman’s third husband ploughing, who, when he saw a person he knew nothing of, coming from the yard with horse and cart, hurried home, and asked his wife who it was that was driving away with the dun horse. “Oh, that was a man from Himmerige (Heaven),” said she; “he told me that things went so badly with my second Peter, my poor husband; that he goes begging from one farm to another, and that he had neither food nor clothing; so I sent him a load of old things that were left after him.”

But the box of silver-money she said nothing about. The man seeing how matters stood, saddled a horse, and set off at full gallop. It was not long before he was close behind the man in the cart, who, on observing him, turned off with the horse into a little wood, pulled out a handful of the horse’s tail, ran up a small hill with it, and tied it to a birch tree; then laid himself down under the tree, and kept staring up at the clouds. “Well!” cried he, as the man on horseback approached him, “never have I seen such a thing before in my life—” Peter the third stood a while staring at him and wondering what he was about. At length he asked: “What art thou lying there for, gazing and gaping?” “No, never have I seen anything like it,” said the other. “There is a man just gone up to heaven on a dun horse; here is some of the tail hanging in the birch, which he left behind, and there up in the clouds you can see the dun horse.” Peter the third looked first at the man, then up at the clouds, and said: “I see nothing but some hair of a horse’s tail hanging in the birch-tree.” “No, you cannot see it where you stand,” said the other, “but come and lie down here where I am, and look straight up, and you must continue gazing for some time, without turning your eyes from the clouds.” While Peter lay quite still staring up at the clouds, the man from Ringerige sprang upon his horse and galloped off as fast as he could, both with that and the cart. When it began to rattle along the road, Peter jumped up, but he was at first so bewildered by this adventure, that he did not think of pursuing the man who had run off with his horse, until it was too late to overtake him. Peter then returned home to his wife quite chap-fallen. When she asked him what he had done with the other horse, he said: “I gave it to the man that he might take it to Peter the second; for I thought it was not becoming for him to sit in a cart and drive about from one farm to another up in heaven. Now he can sell the cart, buy a carriage, and drive a pair of horses.” “How I thank you for that, Peter; never did I think you were so reasonable a man,” said his wife.

When the man from Ringerige returned home with his two hundred dollars, a cart full of clothes, and a box of money, he saw that his land had been ploughed and sown. The first question he put to his wife was, where she had got the seed from to sow the fields with. “Oh!” exclaimed she, “I have always heard say, ‘that what you sow, you shall reap/ so I took the salt we had left from the winter, and sowed that; and if we only get rain soon, I don’t doubt but it will come up, and yield many a bushel.” “A fool thou art, and a fool thou wilt be as long as thou livest,” said her husband; “but there is no help, and others are no wiser than thou.”

Footnotes and references:

[1]:

The rix dollar is equal to six marks, $1.44.