Fairy Tales from the Brothers Grimm: A New English Version (28 page)

THIRTY-SEVEN

THE TWO TRAVELLING COMPANIONS

The mountain and the valley never meet, but the children of men, both good and bad, meet one another all the time. So it was that a shoemaker and a tailor once met up on their travels. The tailor was a good-looking little fellow, always cheerful and full of merriment. He saw the shoemaker coming towards him on the other side of the road, and, seeing from the shape of his knapsack what trade he followed, began to sing a teasing little song:

‘Sew the seam and pull the thread,

Whack the nail right on the head—’

But the shoemaker wasn’t the type to take a joke. He scowled and shook his fist. The tailor laughed and handed over his bottle of schnapps.

‘Here, take a swig of this,’ he said. ‘No harm intended. Have a drink and swallow your anger.’

The shoemaker knocked back half the bottle, and the storm in his eyes began to clear. He gave the bottle back and said, ‘Nice drop. They go on about heavy drinking, but they don’t say much about great thirst. Shall we travel together for a while?’

‘Suits me,’ said the tailor, ‘as long as you don’t mind making for the big towns, where there’s plenty of work.’

‘Just what I had in mind. There’s nothing to be earned in these small towns, and the country people prefer to go barefoot anyway.’

So on they went together, putting one foot in front of the other like weasels in the snow. They had plenty of time, but little to eat. Whenever they reached a town they looked for work, and because the tailor was an engaging little fellow with rosy red cheeks, he found work easily enough, and if he was lucky he got a kiss from the master’s daughter when he left, to wish him good cheer on the way.

Whenever he met up with the shoemaker again, it was always the tailor who had the most in his pocket. The shoemaker, an ill-tempered so-and-so, used to make a sour face and say, ‘The bigger the rascal, the better the luck.’

But the tailor only laughed and sang all the more, and shared what he had with his companion. Whenever he had a couple of coins in his pocket, he’d order something good to eat and thump the table till the glasses danced. ‘Easy come, easy go’ was his principle.

After they’d been travelling for some time, they came to a great forest. There were two paths that led through it to the capital, but one of them took two days’ walking and the other took seven, and they didn’t know which was which. They sat down beneath an oak tree and talked about it. Should they carry seven days’ food, or only two?

‘Always prepare for the worst,’ said the shoemaker. ‘I’m going to carry enough bread for a week.’

‘What?’ said the tailor. ‘Lug all that bread about like a beast of burden, and not be able to enjoy the scenery? Not me. I shall trust in God as I always do. My money’s as good in summer as in winter, but bread isn’t – in the hot weather it dries out and goes mouldy all the quicker. Why shouldn’t we find the right way? A one-in-two chance is pretty good, when you think about it. No, I’ll take bread for two days, that’s quite enough.’

So they each bought the bread they wanted to carry, and set off into the forest. It was as quiet as a church under the trees. There was no breeze, no murmuring brook, no birdsong, and not a single sunbeam found its way through the dense leaves. The shoemaker didn’t say a word. He just trudged on with the bread weighing heavier and heavier on his back, and the sweat streaming down his sour and gloomy face.

The tailor, however, couldn’t have been happier. He laughed and sang and walked ahead with a spring in his step, whistling on a blade of grass. He thought, ‘God up there must be pleased to see me so happy.’

And so they went on for two days. On the third day, though, they were still deep in the forest, and the tailor had eaten all his bread. He was a bit less cheerful now, but he didn’t lose courage; he relied on God and on his luck. On the evening of the third day he lay down hungry, and rose even hungrier the following morning. The fourth day passed in the same way, and in the evening the tailor had to sit and watch as the shoemaker made a fine meal out of his supplies.

The tailor asked for a slice of bread, and the shoemaker just laughed at him, saying, ‘You were always too fond of singing and playing the fool. Now you can see where that gets you. Birds that sing too early in the morning get caught by the hawk before nightfall.’

In fact, he was merciless. On the fifth morning the poor tailor could hardly stand up and his voice was just a croak. All the red in his cheeks had gone; they were as white as chalk now, and it was his eyes that were red.

And then the shoemaker said, ‘Well, you’re in trouble, and it was all of your own making. I tell you what – I’ll give you a piece of bread. But in return, I’ll put out your right eye.’

The poor tailor had to live, so he had to agree. He wept with both eyes while he still had them, and then held up his head so the stony-hearted shoemaker could put out his right eye with the breadknife. The tailor remembered what his mother had said when she found him gobbling up a pie in the pantry: ‘Eat all you can, and suffer what you must.’

He ate the thin slice of bread the shoemaker gave him, and felt a little better, and was able to stand up; and he walked on thinking that he could still see well enough with his left eye, after all.

But on the sixth day the hunger had him in its grip again, and even more fiercely than before. That evening he simply fell down and lay where he fell, and on the seventh morning he was too weak to get up at all. His death was not far away.

The shoemaker said, ‘I’ll be merciful. I can see the state you’re in, and I’ll give you another slice of bread. But you’re not getting it for nothing. You’ve got one eye left, and I’ll have that one like the first.’

The poor tailor felt as if he’d wasted all his life. What had he done wrong, that he should come to this? He must have offended God in some way, so he prayed for forgiveness, and said to the shoemaker, ‘Go on then. Put it out. But remember, God sees everything you do, and the time will come when he’ll punish you for this evil deed. When times were good, didn’t I share what I had with you? One stitch follows another, and I used to see them clear and easy, but if I haven’t got my eyes and I can’t sew any more, I’ll have to go begging. At least don’t leave me here alone when I’m blind, or I’ll die of hunger.’

The shoemaker cared nothing for this talk of God; he’d driven God out of his heart a long time ago. He took his knife and put out the tailor’s other eye, and then gave him a small piece of bread, held out his stick for the tailor to hold on to, and led him along.

At sunset they came out of the forest. The tailor could feel the warmth of the sun on his face, but of course he couldn’t see a thing, and he didn’t realize that the shoemaker was leading him towards a gallows that stood at the edge of a field. The shoemaker left him there alone and walked on. The poor tailor, overcome by weariness, pain and hunger, simply fell down where he was and fell asleep.

He woke up at dawn, shivering with cold. There were two poor sinners hanging on the gallows above him, with a crow sitting on the head of each one.

One of the hanged men spoke to the other, saying, ‘Brother? Are you awake?’

‘Yes, I’m awake,’ said the second.

‘Well, I’ll tell you something worth knowing. The dew that settles on us at night and drips off on to the grass below has a special property. If a blind person washes their eyes in it, they get their sight back. If the blind knew that, how many d’you think there’d be crowding around our gallows every morning?’

The tailor could hardly believe his ears. But he took his handkerchief, pressed it down on the grass till it was as wet as it could be, and washed out his eye sockets. Immediately what the hanged man had said came true: a healthy new eye grew at once and filled each one. The sun was about to rise, and the tailor watched with wonder as the light came over the mountains and filled the whole valley and plain in front of him. There lay a great city with magnificent gates and a hundred towers, and the sun caught the golden balls and crosses on the tops of the church spires and made them sparkle in the clear morning. He could see every leaf on the trees, every bird flying past, and even every gnat that danced in the air. But here was the greatest test: he took a needle from his needle-case, snapped off a bit of thread, and threaded it as quickly and easily as he’d ever done. His heart leaped for joy.

He threw himself to his knees and thanked God for his mercy. Then he said his morning prayer, and he didn’t forget to pray for the two poor sinners who were swinging in the breeze like pendulums. The tailor hoisted his bundle on to his back and went on his way, singing and whistling as if he’d never endured any sorrow at all.

The first thing he came to was a fine brown foal running wherever it pleased in the meadow. The tailor caught hold of its mane and tried to mount it and ride it into town. But the foal begged for his freedom, saying, ‘Look, I’m only young, and even a skinny little tailor like you is too much for me. You’d snap my spine in half if you tried to ride me. Let me grow bigger and stronger, and perhaps I’ll be able to repay you one day.’

‘Oh, go on then, off you go,’ said the tailor. ‘I can see you’re a frisky devil like me.’ He gave the foal a pat on the rump, and the young creature kicked his heels for joy and galloped away, leaping hedges and ditches and galloping off into the distance.

The little tailor hadn’t eaten anything since the meagre lump of bread the shoemaker had given him the day before. ‘The sunlight fills my eyes,’ he said, ‘but I’ve got nothing to fill my belly with. The next thing I see that’s even half edible . . . Ah! What’s that?’

It was a stork, and it stepped daintily over the meadow towards him. The tailor leaped on it at once and seized it by one leg.

‘I don’t know what you’ll taste like,’ he said, ‘but I’m going to find out. Now stand still while I cut your head off, and then I’ll roast you.’

‘No, please don’t do that,’ said the stork. ‘It really isn’t a good idea. You see, I’m sacred. I’m a friend to everyone, and no one harms me. If you spare my life, I’ll certainly be able to do you some good in a different way.’

‘Oh, off you go then, longlegs,’ said the tailor, and let go. The great bird rose gracefully up on his long wings, letting his legs hang down, and flew away.

‘Where’s this all going to end?’ said the tailor to himself. ‘My hunger gets bigger and bigger, and my belly emptier and emptier. Well, whatever I see next is doomed.’

At that moment he was passing a pond where a couple of young ducks were taking their morning swim. One of them came a bit too close, and the tailor seized it at once.

‘Just in time!’ he said, and he was about to wring its neck when there was a terrible squawking from across the pond, and an old mother duck flapped out from among the reeds and half swam, half flew across towards him.

‘Spare my child!’ she cried. ‘Can you imagine how your own poor mother would feel if someone wanted to eat you?’

‘Oh, calm down,’ said the good-natured tailor. ‘You can keep your child.’

And he set the duckling back on the water.

When he turned away ready to set off again, he found he was standing in front of an old hollow tree where dozens of wild bees were flying in and out.

‘Honey!’ he thought at once. ‘Thank goodness! That’s my reward for sparing the duckling.’

But he’d hardly moved a step towards the tree when the queen bee came flying out.

‘If you touch my people and destroy our nest,’ she said, ‘you’ll be sorry for it. You’ll feel ten thousand red-hot needles piercing your skin. But leave us alone and go on your way, and one day we’ll do you a favour in return.’

The tailor couldn’t win that one. ‘Three empty dishes and nothing in the fourth,’ he said to himself, ‘makes a miserable dinner.’

So he dragged himself and his ravening stomach into the town, and since all the clocks were striking twelve, there was food already cooked in the first inn he came to. He sat down and devoured an enormous meal.

When he was finally satisfied, he said to himself, ‘Well, it’s time to find some work.’

He set off around the town to find a tailor’s shop, and soon found himself a job. He was a master of his trade, so it wasn’t long before he was well known, and every fashionable person was eager to have a new coat or jacket made by the little tailor. And day by day his reputation grew.

‘I can’t get any cleverer,’ he said, ‘so all I can do is get more successful.’

The summit of his success came when the king appointed him Tailor Royal to the court.

But strange things happen in this world. On the very same day of his royal appointment, his former companion the shoemaker was appointed Cobbler Royal. When the shoemaker caught sight of the tailor and saw that he had two healthy eyes, he was astonished and alarmed, and his conscience pricked him. ‘Before he takes revenge on me,’ he thought, ‘I’ll dig a pit for him.’

But whoever digs a pit for someone else falls into it himself. One evening when it was getting dark, the shoemaker went to the king and said humbly, ‘Your majesty, I don’t like to speak ill of anyone, but that tailor fellow has been saying that he can find the golden crown that was lost all that time ago.’

‘Oh, he has, has he?’ said the king.

Next morning he had the tailor summoned.

‘I hear you’ve been boasting you can find my golden crown,’ he said. ‘Well, you’d better make good your boast, or leave the city and not come back.’

‘Oh ho,’ thought the tailor, ‘I can see the way the wind’s blowing. There’s no point in hanging about if he wants me to do the impossible; I’ll go straight away.’

He tied up his bundle and made his way to the city gate. Once he was outside, however, he couldn’t help regretting the need to leave this city where he’d been doing so well. He was walking along thinking about it when he came to the pond where he’d made the acquaintance of the ducks. At that moment, the old mother duck whose young one he’d spared was sitting on the grass preening herself, and she recognized him at once.

‘Morning,’ she said. ‘What’s the trouble? Why are you down in the dumps?’