There was once an ass whose master had made him carry sacks to the mill for many a long year, but whose strength began at last to fail, so that each day as it came found him less capable of work. Then his master began to think of turning him out, but the ass, guessing that something was in the wind that boded him no good, ran away, taking the road to Bremen; for there he thought he might get an engagement as town musician. When he had gone a little way he found a hound lying by the side of the road panting, as if he had run a long way. “Now, Holdfast, what are you so out of breath about?” said the ass. “Oh dear!” said the dog, “now I am old, I get weaker every day, and can do no good in the hunt, so, as my master was going to have me killed, I have made my escape; but now, how am I to gain a living?” – “I will tell you what,” said the ass, “I am going to Bremen to become town musician. You may as well go with me, and take up music too. I can play the lute, and you can beat the drum.” And the dog consented, and they walked on together. It was not long before they came to a cat sitting in the road, looking as dismal as three wet days. “Now then, what is the matter with you, old shaver?” said the ass. “I should like to know who would be cheerful when his neck is in danger,” answered the cat. “Now that I am old my teeth are getting blunt, and I would rather sit by the oven and purr than run about after mice, and my mistress wanted to drown me; so I took myself off; but good advice is scarce, and I do not know what is to become of me.” – “Go with us to Bremen,” said the ass, “and become town musician. You understand serenading.” The cat thought well of the idea, and went with them accordingly. After that the three travellers passed by a yard, and a cock was perched on the gate crowing with all his might. “Your cries are enough to pierce bone and marrow,” said the ass; “what is the matter?” – “I have foretold good weather for Lady-day, so that all the shirts may be washed and dried; and now on Sunday morning company is coming, and the mistress has told the cook that I must be made into soup, and this evening my neck is to be wrung, so that I am crowing with all my might while I can.” – “You had much better go with us, Chanticleer,” said the ass. “We are going to Bremen. At any rate that will be better than dying. You have a powerful voice, and when we are all performing together it will have a very good effect.” So the cock consented, and they went on all four together.
Continue reading →Classic Fairy Tales
What old Johanne told
The wind whistles in the old willow tree. It is as if one were hearing a song; the wind sings it; the tree tells it. If you do not understand it, then ask old Johanne in the poor house; she knows about it; she was born here in the parish.
Continue reading →The days of the week
The days of the week once wanted to be free to get together and have a party. But each of the seven days was so occupied, the year around, that they had no time to spare. They wanted a whole extra day; but then they had that every four years, the intercalary day that comes in February for the purpose of keeping order in chronology.
Continue reading →The Will-o’-the-Wisps are in town, says the Moor-woman
There was a man who once knew many stories, but they had slipped away from him– so he said. The Story that used to visit him of its own accord no longer came and knocked at his door. And why did it come no longer? It is true enough that for days and years the man had not thought of it, had not expected it to come and knock; and if he had expected it, it would certainly not have come; for without there was war, and within was the care and sorrow that war brings with it.
Continue reading →The snowman
“It is so delightfully cold,” said the Snow Man, “that it makes my whole body crackle. This is just the kind of wind to blow life into one. How that great red thing up there is staring at me!” He meant the sun, who was just setting. “It shall not make me wink. I shall manage to keep the pieces.”
Continue reading →The girl who trod on the loaf
There was once a girl who trod on a loaf to avoid soiling her shoes, and the misfortunes that happened to her in consequence are well known.
Her name was Inge; she was a poor child, but proud and presuming, and with a bad and cruel disposition. When quite a little child she would delight in catching flies, and tearing off their wings, so as to make creeping things of them.
Clumsy Hans
Out in the country there was an old mansion where an old squire lived with his two sons, who were so witty that they thought themselves too clever for words. They decided to go out and propose to the King’s daughter, which they were at liberty to do, for she had announced publicly that she would take for a husband the man who had the most to say for himself.
Continue reading →The old grave-stone
In a house, with a large courtyard, in a provincial town, at that time of the year in which people say the evenings are growing longer, a family circle were gathered together at their old home.
Continue reading →A picture from the ramparts
It is autumn. We stand on the ramparts, and look out over the sea. We look at the numerous ships, and at the Swedish coast on the opposite side of the sound, rising far above the surface of the waters which mirror the glow of the evening sky.
Continue reading →The angel
Whenever a good child dies, an angel of God comes down from heaven, takes the dead child in his arms, spread out his great white wings, and flies with him over all the places which the child had loved during his life.
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