By the side of a wood, in a country a long way off, ran a fine stream of water; and upon the stream there stood a mill. The miller's house was close by, and the miller, you must know, had a very beautiful daughter. She was, moreover, very shrewd and clever; and the miller was so proud of her, that he one day told the king of the land, who used to come and hunt in the wood, that his daughter could spin gold out of straw. Everyone in the town knew the miller was no more than a drunkard (Drink a sip, drankasup, for he's as sooner buy a guinness than he'd stale store stout), who loved his daughter perhaps more than he should, and missed the wife who had passed on in childbirth. They were used to his outrageous boasts, and knew that he almost certainly believed them, somewhere in his haze, for the girl took good care of him and he thought she walked on water. But the king did not know any of this, and thought only of the gold. When he heard the miller's boast his greediness was raised, and he sent for the girl to be brought before him. Then he led her to a chamber in his palace where there was a great heap of straw, and gave her a spinning-wheel, and said, 'All this must be spun into gold before morning, as you love your life.' It was in vain (?)that the poor maiden said that it was only a silly boast of her father, for that she could do no such thing as spin straw into gold: the chamber door was locked, and she was left alone. For a moment she cherished the silence, the chance to be alone. But then the immensity of the thing enveloped her, and she began to believe that her life loved her but weakly.
She sat down in one corner of the room, and began to bewail her hard fate; when on a sudden the door opened, and a droll-looking little man hobbled in, and said, 'Good morrow to you, my good lass; what are you weeping for?' 'Alas!' said she, 'I must spin this straw into gold, and I know not how.' 'What will you give me,' said the hobgoblin, 'to do it for you?' He eyed her neck. 'My necklace,' replied the maiden. A token from when her father's business was good, before he fell apart. She could not remember a time when she had not had its weight around her neck like a halter. He took her at her word, and sat himself down to the wheel, and whistled and sang:
Soulja Boy up in it (OH!)
Watch Me Crank It
Watch Me Roll
Watch Me Crank Dat Soulja Boy,
That Super Man Dat (OH!)
And round about the wheel went merrily; the work was quickly done, and the straw was all spun into gold.
The hobgoblin left, with the necklace in his pocket and wandered off into the woods, towards the small treehouse he called home. It was the middle of the night, so he was unlikely to be seen, but even in broad daylight, the hobgoblin was adept at concealing himself, and passers-by rarely noticed him.
It was a bittersweet night for him. Tonight was the first time that he had ever been into the town, and his brief exchange with the maiden seemed to him the longest conversation he had ever known.
Many years ago--the dwarf had lost track of time--the townspeople had turned from persecuting witches and Protestants to persecuting dwarves. Indeed, signs appeared outside shops with height requirements for entrance, and human children were wont to throw sticks at dwarves if they met them on the road. At that time, most of the dwarves he knew had left and moved to other villages,
but he had insisted on staying behind, perhaps out of sentimentality, perhaps out of pride. With his ability to weave gold out of straw, he was well off. Once a week, he would carry his bundle of gold to the next town, where anti-dwarf laws were less severe, and buy food, clothing, books and various odds and ends to make his quiet lonely home more appealing. At nights, he would creep out to the neighboring farmhouses to get straw for the next days work. It was easy to get ahold of--the humans had a knack for throwing things away without knowing their value. In this way, he got on well, and had lots of extra gold stored up in his cellar for hard times. As years passed, the townspeople became convinced that all the dwarves had at last been eradicated. The town huntsmen who had seen the hobgoblin during their journeys into the woods could not bring themselves to turn him in to town authorities--it had been so long since the last dwarf left that no one would believe them. Not to mention that they knew not where he lived, or his name. Amongst themselves, huntsmen referred to him simply as the "shadow-man," for the brief shade he would cast over their camp as he scampered by.
At first, the hobgoblin was pleased with himself: he was rich without working and could come and go more or less as he pleased, anywhere in the land except into town. He took a certain pride in his ability to outwit the townspeople, and chuckled to himself if, when human children walked up, the brother would tell the sister that "the dwarves were out to get her" to which the sister would giggle and say, "Silly, there are no dwarves anymore." But, like all good jokes, this one lost its humor after the fifth or sixth telling. Soon the dwarf found himself half-wishing to be caught, or to have the huntsmen call him something, anything, other than the "shadow-man." He decided to sneak into town and find some human who might want to speak to him. It had been so long, however, since he'd had a friend that he hardly knew how to start a conversation. Imagine his joy, then, on hearing that the King had found a girl who could spin straw into gold. He thought it would be another one of his kind.
Upon reaching the castle and sneaking into the girl's chamber, the dwarf was so angered to have his expectations thus dashed, that he had first wanted to scare or startle her. But when she began to cry, he felt bad for her. Instead, he decided to help her, and hope--if not to make her his friend--to tie her to him by dependency. After so many years living alone with his straw-gold, after all, it was hard to imagine a friendship one could not buy. He went to asleep that night pleased with himself. The next morning, he set out again for the castle to check on his new acquaintance.
Meanwhile, at the castle, the girl awoke to the sound of the king and his guardsmen knocking on her door. When the king entered and saw the gold, he was greatly astonished and pleased; but his heart grew still more greedy of gain, and he shut up the poor miller's daughter again with a fresh task. Then she knew not what to do, and sat down once more to weep; but the dwarf soon opened the door, and said, 'What will you give me to do your task?' Slowly but surely, a plan was forming a shadowy base in his mind. When you live alone for so long, watching the world, you begin to have a sense of the shape of things to come. And he saw her desperation, and he thought he might know where it would lead, if only he played things right. 'The ring on my finger,' said she. The only possession left her, the last trace of her mother's life. She let it go without much thought. Survival meant more to her than a band of gold. Without it, she even felt lighter, and found herself wishing never to wear one again. So her little friend took the ring, and began to work at the wheel again, and whistled and sang:
When you're sliding into first
And your pants begin to burst
diarrhea, diarrhea
When you're sliding into two
And your pants are filled with goo
diarrhea, diarrhea
When you're sliding into third
And you feel a greasy turd
diarrhea, diarrhea
When you're sliding into home
And your pants are filled with foam
diarrhea, diarrhea!
till, long before morning, all was done again. The hobgoblin went home happy again that night, clutching the ring in his pocket. It was raining and windy but he was not bothered. For the first time in many years, he felt he had a purpose, a mission, something to wake up in the morning for. Manipulative as his scheme was, it was only fair (he rationalized) after the discrimination and loneliness the humans had subjected him to.
The king was greatly delighted to see all this glittering treasure; but still he had not enough: so he took the miller's daughter to a yet larger heap, and said, 'All this must be spun tonight; and if it is, you shall be my queen.' As soon as she was alone that dwarf came in, and said, 'What will you give me to spin gold for you this third time?' 'I have nothing left,' said she. His heart shook with excitement. 'Then say you will give me,' he said, 'the first little child that you may have when you are queen.' Someone to be his friend. Truly. To keep him company, to look up to him. The pitter-patter of someone else's feet at night. A smiling face across the dinner table. A face that would remind him of this girl, a human whose place in town society was almost as degraded as his own.
'That may never be,' thought the miller's daughter: and as she knew no other way to get her task done, she said she would do what he asked. She could not conceive of wanting a child with that swine of a man anyway. Really, she could not imagine wanting a child at all - more weight. Round went the wheel again to the old song, and the man once more spun the heap into gold. The king came in the morning, and, finding all he wanted, was forced to keep his word; so he married the miller's daughter, and she really became queen.
It was not how she had meant for things to go. She had fallen asleep while the dwarf worked and when she awoke he was gone, and she was alone. But she had thought to herself that she would run when she got the chance. Run while his eyes were filled with gold. At night, in the shadows. Maybe she would find the dwarf. Maybe he could teach her how to survive in the forest. Or maybe she would go on her own, and if she perished at least she would be free.
But when the door opened in the morning the king was standing there with her father. He was overcome with joy, weeping uncontrollably and blabbering about how he had never been much of a father, but he had always know she was special, and look, now she would be queen. The king smiled the smile of a snake in the sun and patted the old miller on the back. 'My dear,' he said to her, 'isn't your father quaint?' And from the look in his eyes she knew it was a threat, and that if she ran the king would take it out on her father. And to take her father with her would mean no kind of freedom at all. So she left the miller's house, where at least she could wander on the edges of the forest, and entered the castle, where the king forbid her to ever leave.
At the birth of her first little child she was very glad, and forgot the dwarf, and what she had said. Or at least it seemed she had forgotten. But she named the baby Aurelia, meaning golden, and she kept the child always in the room with her, never letting her out of her sight. Finally, she had something of her own, even if it was one more being to be cared for, one more body producing cries for comfort. The king, who had hoped for a son, found her doting ridiculous. 'Come!' he said, 'let the child be.' He was eager to have the babe off in a nursery, to return to the business of producing an heir. But the queen refused, telling herself that the child was sickly, that it needed her protection. She wasn't sure though, deep down, whether maybe it was the child who was protecting her. The king scowled, but he wouldn't come near while she held her daughter in her arms. And sometimes she found herself holding the child and staring wistfully out the window, late at night, as if to say - here she is - won't you come? She never uttered the words aloud, even to herself. But her eyes searched the horizon even as her grip tightened around Aurelia's small frame.
But one day he came into her room, where she was sitting playing with her baby, and put her in mind of it. Seeing him who had haunted her nightmares and colored her dreams, always just in shadow on the edge of her waking, her breath caught. And for a moment, she imagined the desire she had never let herself know, thought of slipping away with him. It would be so easy, and then they would be gone. Away from the castle with its tall walls, away from the King who cared only for gold and his own pleasure. She got up the nerve to tell him, almost. But then she saw that his eyes no longer sought her - they were all on the child, untarnished, unaware. He looked at the baby and seemed to see someone who had not yet learned to fear him, someone he could make over in his image. Not someone like the queen, bowed with her sorrows but full of her own opinions. Then she grieved sorely at her misfortune, for she knew there was for her no way out of the castle. She looked down at Aurelia, her only creation, and refused to let her daughter know a freedom she could not. She cried real tears, but they were not of the origins the dwarf suspected. Clutching the baby tightly she begged him to go, and said she would give him all the wealth of the kingdom if he would let her off, but in vain; till at last her tears softened him, and he said, 'I will give you three days' grace, and if during that time you tell me my name, you shall keep your child.'
Now the queen lay awake all night, thinking of all the odd names that she had ever heard; and she sent messengers all over the land to find out new ones. The next day the little man came, and she began with TIMOTHY, ICHABOD, BENJAMIN, JEREMIAH, and all the names she could remember; but to all and each of them he said, 'Madam, that is not my name.'
The second day she began with all the comical names she could hear of, BANDY-LEGS, HUNCHBACK, CROOK-SHANKS, and so on; but the little gentleman still said to every one of them, 'Madam, that is not my name.'
The third day one of the messengers came back, and said, 'I have travelled two days without hearing of any other names; but yesterday, as I was climbing a high hill, among the trees of the forest where the fox and the hare bid each other good night, I saw a little hut; and before the hut burnt a fire; and round about the fire a funny little dwarf was dancing upon one leg, and singing:
'"Merrily the feast I'll make.
Today I'll brew, tomorrow bake;
Merrily I'll dance and sing,
For next day will a stranger bring.
Little does my lady dream
Rumpelstiltskin is my name!"'
When the queen heard this she jumped for joy. For once, she would not be manhandled into some deed against her will. The messenger smiled with her, wondering what he could gain for his trouble. He had never seen this look on her face before, and was surprised to think that such happiness was new to her. There was something in her smile, though, that was not quite right, something maniacal in her jumping. Related somehow, he was sure, was the tightness of her fingers when she held the baby. Still, she was beautiful. He had seen the way she looked out on the kingdom from her castle room, and he longed to tell her more stories of his travels. But she had eyes only for the horizon, and after he spoke she noticed him not at all, and varied her gaze from the baby to the landscape, seeming engaged in some inner dialogue. He found himself completely forgotten, so much so that he caught her mumbling, "Rumpelstiltskin," over and over. Awkwardly, he turned to go, casting one last look at her. Even in the fading light, he noticed, with the sun's rays coming in through the window, her hair was nowhere near golden, though he thought he remembered hearing somewhere that she was known for her golden strands. Really, he thought, it's barely auburn. Closer to brown, really. Like mud - nothing that special. And he left, convinced that the queen was no prize, and that the king was only a fool.
And as soon as her little friend came the queen sat down upon her throne, and called all her court round to enjoy the fun, her eyes gleaming; and the nurse stood by her side with the baby in her arms, as if it was quite ready to be given up. Then the little man began to chuckle at the thought of having the poor child,to take home with him to his hut in the woods; and he cried out, 'Now, lady, what is my name?' 'Is it JOHN?' asked she. 'No, madam!' 'Is it
TOM?' 'No, madam!' 'Is it JEMMY?' 'It is not.' 'Can your name be RUMPELSTILTSKIN?' said the lady slyly. 'Some witch told you that!--some witch told you that!' cried the little man, and dashed his right
foot in a rage so deep into the floor, that he was forced to lay hold of it with both hands to pull it out. He had waited so long for the child, looked forward to its company, stolen baby clothes for it whenever he had the chance, planned the games they would play together and the adventures they would have. The shock of losing her was perhaps worse than the long years of loneliness that preceded his encounter with the miller's daughter. He had once heard a human hunter mention something about it being better to have loved and lost, but the hobgoblin was not sure he believed it.
Then he made the best of his way off, while the nurse laughed and the baby crowed; and all the court jeered at him for having had so much trouble for nothing, and said, 'We wish you a very good morning, and a merry feast, Mr RUMPLESTILTSKIN!'
And the queen smiled with the best of them. As the crowd died away, the king came up and said, 'Tonight, madam, the girl will stay with the nurse. You see, she is perfectly safe now. You can relax, and we can be alone.' He walked away, and she stared after him, her smile fading fast, wondering, 'What have I done?' And she took up the babe from the nurse's arms, and held her close, looking out the door where Rumplestiltskin had gone away, where she could not follow. 'Do you know why I envy him, Aurelia?' she asked the smiling child, who only cooed in answer. 'It is not because he can walk away. Or not only that. It is because now everyone knows his name, and they will never forget it. But I am as easily replaceable as straw, and no one will ever know mine."
source text from:
*The Project Gutenberg Etext Fairy Tales, by the Grimm Brothers*
Grimms' Fairy Tales
The Brothers Grimm
April, 2001 [Etext #2591]
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
Straw Into Gold
By the side of a wood, in a country a long way off, ran a fine stream of water; and upon the stream there stood a mill. The miller's house was close by, and the miller, you must know, had a very beautiful daughter. She was, moreover, very shrewd and clever; and the miller was so proud of her, that he one day told the king of the land, who used to come and hunt in the wood, that his daughter could spin gold out of straw. Everyone in the town knew the miller was no more than a drunkard, who loved his daughter perhaps more than he should, and missed the wife who had passed on in childbirth. They were used to his outrageous boasts, and knew that he almost certainly believed them, somewhere in his haze, for the girl took good care of him and he thought she walked on water. But the king did not know any of this, and thought only of the gold. When he heard the miller's boast his greediness was raised, and he sent for the girl to be brought before him. Then he led her to a chamber in his palace where there was a great heap of straw, and gave her a spinning-wheel, and said, 'All this must be spun into gold before morning, as you love your life.' It was in vain that the poor maiden said that it was only a silly boast of her father, for that she could do no such thing as spin straw into gold: the chamber door was locked, and she was left alone. For a moment she cherished the silence, the chance to be alone. But then the immensity of the thing enveloped her, and she felt weak.
She sat down in one corner of the room, and began to bewail her hard fate; when on a sudden the door opened, and a droll-looking little man hobbled in, and said, 'Good morrow to you, my good lass; what are you weeping for?' 'Alas!' said she, 'I must spin this straw into gold, and I know not how.' 'What will you give me,' said the hobgoblin, 'to do it for you?' He eyed her neck. 'My necklace,' replied the maiden. A token from when her father's business was good, before he fell apart. She could not remember a time when she had not had its weight around her neck like a halter. He took her at her word, and sat himself down to the wheel, and whistled and sang:
'Round about, round about,
Lo and behold!
Reel away, reel away,
Straw into gold!'
And round about the wheel went merrily; the work was quickly done, and the straw was all spun into gold.
The hobgloblin left, with the necklace in his pocket and wandered off into the woods, towards the small treehouse he called home. It was the middle of the night, so he was unlikely to be seen, but even in broad daylight, the hobgloblin was adept at concealing himself and rarely noticed by passers-by.
It was a bittersweet night for him. Tonight was the first time that he had ever been into the town, and his brief exchange with the maiden seemed to him the longest conversation he had ever known:
Many years ago--the dwarf had lost track of time--the townspeople had turned from persecuting witches and Protestants to persecuting dwarves. Indeed, signs appeared outside shops with
height requirements for entrance, and human children were wont to throw sticks at dwarves if they met them on the road. At that time, most of the dwarves he knew had left and moved to other villages,
but he had insisted on staying behind, perhaps out of sentimentality, perhaps out of pride. With his ability to weave gold out of straw, he was well off. Once a week, he would carry his bundle of gold to the next town, where anti-dwarf laws were less severe, and buy food, clothing, books and various odds and ends to make his quiet lonely home more appealing. At nights, he would creep out to the neighboring farmhouses to get straw for the next days work. It was easy to get ahold of--the humans had a knack for throwing things away without knowing their value. In this way, he got on well, and had lots of extra gold stored up in his cellar for hard times. As years passed, the townspeople became convinced that all the dwarves had at last been eradicated. The town huntsmen who had seen the hobgoblin during their journeys into the woods could not bring themselves to turn him in to town authorities--it had been so long since the last dwarf left that no one would believe them. Not to mention that they knew not where he lived, or his name. Amongst themselves, huntsmen referred to him simply as the "shadow-man," for the brief shade he would cast over their camp as he scampered by.
At first, the hobgloblin was pleased with himself: he was rich without working and could come and go more or less as he pleased, anywhere in the land except into town. He took a certain pride in his ability to outwit the townspeople, and chuckled to himself if, when human children walked up, the brother would tell the sister that "the dwarves were out to get her" to which the sister would giggle and say, "Silly, there are no dwarves anymore." But, like all good jokes, this one lost its humor after the fifth or sixth telling. Soon the dwarf found himself half-wishing to be caught, or to have the huntsmen call him something, anything, other than the "shadow-man." He decided to sneak into town and find some human who might want to speak to him. It had been so long, however, since he'd had a friend that he hardly knew how to start a conversation. Imagine his joy, then, on hearing that the King had found a girl who could spin straw into gold. He thought it would be another one of his kind.
Upon reaching the castle and sneaking in to the girl's chamber, the dwarf was so angered to have his expectations thus dashed, that he had first wanted to scare or startle her. But when she began to cry, he felt bad for her. Instead, he decided to help her, and hope--if not to make her his friend--to tie her to him by dependency. After so many years living alone with his straw-gold, after all, it was hard to imagine a friendship one could not buy. He went to asleep that night pleased with himself. The next morning, he set out again for the castle to check on his new acquaintance.
Meanwhile, at the castle, the girl awoke to the sound of the king and his guardsmen knocking on her door. When the king entered and saw the gold, he was greatly astonished and pleased; but his heart grew still more greedy of gain, and he shut up the poor miller's daughter again with a fresh task. Then she knew not what to do, and sat down once more to weep; but the dwarf soon opened the door, and said, 'What will you give me to do your task?' Slowly but surely, a plan was forming a shadowy base in his mind. When you live alone for so long, watching the world, you begin to have a sense of the shape of things to come. And he saw her desperation, and he thought he might know where it would lead, if only he played things right. 'The ring on my finger,' said she. The only possession left her, the last trace of her mother's life. She let it go without much thought. Survival meant more to her than a band of gold. Without it, she even felt lighter, and found herself wishing never to wear one again. So her little friend took the ring, and began to work at the wheel again, and whistled and sang:
'Round about, round about,
Lo and behold!
Reel away, reel away,
Straw into gold!'
till, long before morning, all was done again. The hobgoblin went home happy again that night, clutching the ring in his pocket. It was raining and windy but he was not bothered. For the first time in many years, he felt he had a purpose, a mission, something to wake up in the morning for. Manipulative as his scheme was, it was only fair (he rationalized) after the discrimination and loneliness the humans had subjected him to.
The king was greatly delighted to see all this glittering treasure; but still he had not enough: so he took the miller's daughter to a yet larger heap, and said, 'All this must be spun tonight; and if it is, you shall be my queen.' As soon as she was alone that dwarf came in, and said, 'What will you give me to spin gold for you this third time?' 'I have nothing left,' said she. His heart shook with excitement. 'Then say you will give me,' he said, 'the first little child that you may have when you are queen.' Someone to be his friend. Truly. To keep him company, to look up to him. The pitter-patter of someone else's feet at night. A smiling face across the dinner table. A face that would remind him of this girl, a human whose place in town society was almost as degraded as his own.
'That may never be,' thought the miller's daughter: and as she knew no other way to get her task done, she said she would do what he asked. She could not conceive of wanting a child with that swine of a man anyway. Really, she could not imagine wanting a child at all - more weight. Round went the wheel again to the old song, and the man once more spun the heap into gold. The king came in the morning, and, finding all he wanted, was forced to keep his word; so he married the miller's daughter, and she really became queen.
It was not how she had meant for things to go. She had fallen asleep while the dwarf worked and when she awoke he was gone, and she was alone. But she had thought to herself that she would run when she got the chance. Run while his eyes were filled with gold. At night, in the shadows. Maybe she would find the dwarf. Maybe he could teach her how to survive in the forest. Or maybe she would go on her own, and if she perished at least she would be free.
But when the door opened in the morning the king was standing there with her father. He was overcome with joy, weeping uncontrollably and blabbering about how he had never been much of a father, but he had always know she was special, and look, now she would be queen. The king smiled the smile of a snake in the sun and patted the old miller on the back. 'My dear,' he said to her, 'isn't your father quaint?' And from the look in his eyes she knew it was a threat, and that if she ran the king would take it out on her father. And to take her father with her would mean no kind of freedom at all. So she left the miller's house, where at least she could wander on the edges of the forest, and entered the castle, where the king forbid her to ever leave.
At the birth of her first little child she was very glad, and forgot the dwarf, and what she had said. Or at least it seemed she had forgotten. But she named the baby Aurelia, meaning golden, and she kept the child always in the room with her, never letting her out of her sight. Finally, she had something of her own, even if it was one more being to be cared for, one more body producing cries for comfort. The king, who had hoped for a son, found her doting ridiculous. 'Come!' he said, 'let the child be.' He was eager to have the babe off in a nursery, to return to the business of producing an heir. But the queen refused, telling herself that the child was sickly, that it needed her protection. She wasn't sure though, deep down, whether maybe it was the child who was protecting her. The king scowled, but he wouldn't come near while she held her daughter in her arms. And sometimes she found herself holding the child and staring wistfully out the window, late at night, as if to say - here she is - won't you come? She never uttered the words aloud, even to herself. But her eyes searched the horizon even as her grip tightened around Aurelia's small frame.
But one day he came into her room, where she was sitting playing with her baby, and put her in mind of it. Seeing him who had haunted her nightmares and colored her dreams, always just in shadow on the edge of her waking, her breath caught. And for a moment, she imagined the desire she had never let herself know, thought of slipping away with him. It would be so easy, and then they would be gone. Away from the castle with its tall walls, away from the King who cared only for gold and his own pleasure. She got up the nerve to tell him, almost. But then she saw that his eyes no longer sought her - they were all on the child, untarnished, unaware. He looked at the baby and seemed to see someone who had not yet learned to fear him, someone he could make over in his image. Not someone like the queen, bowed with her sorrows but full of her own opinions. Then she grieved sorely at her misfortune, for she knew there was for her no way out of the castle. She looked down at Aurelia, her only creation, and refused to let her daughter know a freedom she could not. She cried real tears, but they were not of the origins the dwarf suspected. Clutching the baby tightly she begged him to go, and said she would give him all the wealth of the kingdom if he would let her off, but in vain; till at last her tears softened him, and he said, 'I will give you three days' grace, and if during that time you tell me my name, you shall keep your child.'
Now the queen lay awake all night, thinking of all the odd names that she had ever heard; and she sent messengers all over the land to find out new ones. The next day the little man came, and she began with TIMOTHY, ICHABOD, BENJAMIN, JEREMIAH, and all the names she could remember; but to all and each of them he said, 'Madam, that is not my name.'
The second day she began with all the comical names she could hear of, BANDY-LEGS, HUNCHBACK, CROOK-SHANKS, and so on; but the little gentleman still said to every one of them, 'Madam, that is not my name.'
The third day one of the messengers came back, and said, 'I have travelled two days without hearing of any other names; but yesterday, as I was climbing a high hill, among the trees of the forest where the fox and the hare bid each other good night, I saw a little hut; and before the hut burnt a fire; and round about the fire a funny little dwarf was dancing upon one leg, and singing:
'"Merrily the feast I'll make.
Today I'll brew, tomorrow bake;
Merrily I'll dance and sing,
For next day will a stranger bring.
Little does my lady dream
Rumpelstiltskin is my name!"'
When the queen heard this she jumped for joy. For once, she would not be manhandled into some deed against her will. The messenger smiled with her, wondering what he could gain for his trouble. He had never seen this look on her face before, and was surprised to think that such happiness was new to her. There was something in her smile, though, that was not quite right, something maniacal in her jumping. Related somehow, he was sure, was the tightness of her fingers when she held the baby. Still, she was beautiful. He had seen the way she looked out on the kingdom from her castle room, and he longed to tell her more stories of his travels. But she had eyes only for the horizon, and after he spoke she noticed him not at all, and varied her gaze from the baby to the landscape, seeming engaged in some inner dialogue. He found himself completely forgotten, so much so that he caught her mumbling, "Rumpelstiltskin," over and over. Awkwardly, he turned to go, casting one last look at her. Even in the fading light, he noticed, with the sun's rays coming in through the window, her hair was nowhere near golden, though he thought he remembered hearing somewhere that she was known for her golden strands. Really, he thought, it's barely auburn. Closer to brown, really. Like mud - nothing that special. And he left, convinced that the queen was no prize, and that the king was only a fool.
And as soon as her little friend came the queen sat down upon her throne, and called all her court round to enjoy the fun, her eyes gleaming; and the nurse stood by her side with the baby in her arms, as if it was quite ready to be given up. Then the little man began to chuckle at the thought of having the poor child,to take home with him to his hut in the woods; and he cried out, 'Now, lady, what is my name?' 'Is it JOHN?' asked she. 'No, madam!' 'Is it
TOM?' 'No, madam!' 'Is it JEMMY?' 'It is not.' 'Can your name be RUMPELSTILTSKIN?' said the lady slyly. 'Some witch told you that!--some witch told you that!' cried the little man, and dashed his right
foot in a rage so deep into the floor, that he was forced to lay hold of it with both hands to pull it out. He had waited so long for the child, looked forward to its company, stolen baby clothes for it whenever he had the chance, planned the games they would play together and the adventures they would have. The shock of losing her was perhaps worse than the long years of loneliness that preceded his encounter with the miller's daughter. He had once heard a human hunter mention something about it being better to have loved and lost, but the hobgoblin was not sure he believed it.
Then he made the best of his way off, while the nurse laughed and the baby crowed; and all the court jeered at him for having had so much trouble for nothing, and said, 'We wish you a very good morning, and a merry feast, Mr RUMPLESTILTSKIN!'
And the queen smiled with the best of them. As the crowd died away, the king came up and said, 'Tonight, madam, the girl will stay with the nurse. You see, she is perfectly safe now. You can relax, and we can be alone.' He walked away, and she stared after him, her smile fading fast, wondering, 'What have I done?' And she took up the babe from the nurse's arms, and held her close, looking out the door where Rumplestiltskin had gone away, where she could not follow. 'Do you know why I envy him, Aurelia?' she asked the smiling child, who only cooed in answer. 'It is not because he can walk away. Or not only that. It is because now everyone knows his name, and they will never forget it. But I am as easily replaceable as straw, and no one will ever know mine."
source text from:
*The Project Gutenberg Etext Fairy Tales, by the Grimm Brothers*
Grimms' Fairy Tales
The Brothers Grimm
April, 2001 [Etext #2591]
She sat down in one corner of the room, and began to bewail her hard fate; when on a sudden the door opened, and a droll-looking little man hobbled in, and said, 'Good morrow to you, my good lass; what are you weeping for?' 'Alas!' said she, 'I must spin this straw into gold, and I know not how.' 'What will you give me,' said the hobgoblin, 'to do it for you?' He eyed her neck. 'My necklace,' replied the maiden. A token from when her father's business was good, before he fell apart. She could not remember a time when she had not had its weight around her neck like a halter. He took her at her word, and sat himself down to the wheel, and whistled and sang:
'Round about, round about,
Lo and behold!
Reel away, reel away,
Straw into gold!'
And round about the wheel went merrily; the work was quickly done, and the straw was all spun into gold.
The hobgloblin left, with the necklace in his pocket and wandered off into the woods, towards the small treehouse he called home. It was the middle of the night, so he was unlikely to be seen, but even in broad daylight, the hobgloblin was adept at concealing himself and rarely noticed by passers-by.
It was a bittersweet night for him. Tonight was the first time that he had ever been into the town, and his brief exchange with the maiden seemed to him the longest conversation he had ever known:
Many years ago--the dwarf had lost track of time--the townspeople had turned from persecuting witches and Protestants to persecuting dwarves. Indeed, signs appeared outside shops with
height requirements for entrance, and human children were wont to throw sticks at dwarves if they met them on the road. At that time, most of the dwarves he knew had left and moved to other villages,
but he had insisted on staying behind, perhaps out of sentimentality, perhaps out of pride. With his ability to weave gold out of straw, he was well off. Once a week, he would carry his bundle of gold to the next town, where anti-dwarf laws were less severe, and buy food, clothing, books and various odds and ends to make his quiet lonely home more appealing. At nights, he would creep out to the neighboring farmhouses to get straw for the next days work. It was easy to get ahold of--the humans had a knack for throwing things away without knowing their value. In this way, he got on well, and had lots of extra gold stored up in his cellar for hard times. As years passed, the townspeople became convinced that all the dwarves had at last been eradicated. The town huntsmen who had seen the hobgoblin during their journeys into the woods could not bring themselves to turn him in to town authorities--it had been so long since the last dwarf left that no one would believe them. Not to mention that they knew not where he lived, or his name. Amongst themselves, huntsmen referred to him simply as the "shadow-man," for the brief shade he would cast over their camp as he scampered by.
At first, the hobgloblin was pleased with himself: he was rich without working and could come and go more or less as he pleased, anywhere in the land except into town. He took a certain pride in his ability to outwit the townspeople, and chuckled to himself if, when human children walked up, the brother would tell the sister that "the dwarves were out to get her" to which the sister would giggle and say, "Silly, there are no dwarves anymore." But, like all good jokes, this one lost its humor after the fifth or sixth telling. Soon the dwarf found himself half-wishing to be caught, or to have the huntsmen call him something, anything, other than the "shadow-man." He decided to sneak into town and find some human who might want to speak to him. It had been so long, however, since he'd had a friend that he hardly knew how to start a conversation. Imagine his joy, then, on hearing that the King had found a girl who could spin straw into gold. He thought it would be another one of his kind.
Upon reaching the castle and sneaking in to the girl's chamber, the dwarf was so angered to have his expectations thus dashed, that he had first wanted to scare or startle her. But when she began to cry, he felt bad for her. Instead, he decided to help her, and hope--if not to make her his friend--to tie her to him by dependency. After so many years living alone with his straw-gold, after all, it was hard to imagine a friendship one could not buy. He went to asleep that night pleased with himself. The next morning, he set out again for the castle to check on his new acquaintance.
Meanwhile, at the castle, the girl awoke to the sound of the king and his guardsmen knocking on her door. When the king entered and saw the gold, he was greatly astonished and pleased; but his heart grew still more greedy of gain, and he shut up the poor miller's daughter again with a fresh task. Then she knew not what to do, and sat down once more to weep; but the dwarf soon opened the door, and said, 'What will you give me to do your task?' Slowly but surely, a plan was forming a shadowy base in his mind. When you live alone for so long, watching the world, you begin to have a sense of the shape of things to come. And he saw her desperation, and he thought he might know where it would lead, if only he played things right. 'The ring on my finger,' said she. The only possession left her, the last trace of her mother's life. She let it go without much thought. Survival meant more to her than a band of gold. Without it, she even felt lighter, and found herself wishing never to wear one again. So her little friend took the ring, and began to work at the wheel again, and whistled and sang:
'Round about, round about,
Lo and behold!
Reel away, reel away,
Straw into gold!'
till, long before morning, all was done again. The hobgoblin went home happy again that night, clutching the ring in his pocket. It was raining and windy but he was not bothered. For the first time in many years, he felt he had a purpose, a mission, something to wake up in the morning for. Manipulative as his scheme was, it was only fair (he rationalized) after the discrimination and loneliness the humans had subjected him to.
The king was greatly delighted to see all this glittering treasure; but still he had not enough: so he took the miller's daughter to a yet larger heap, and said, 'All this must be spun tonight; and if it is, you shall be my queen.' As soon as she was alone that dwarf came in, and said, 'What will you give me to spin gold for you this third time?' 'I have nothing left,' said she. His heart shook with excitement. 'Then say you will give me,' he said, 'the first little child that you may have when you are queen.' Someone to be his friend. Truly. To keep him company, to look up to him. The pitter-patter of someone else's feet at night. A smiling face across the dinner table. A face that would remind him of this girl, a human whose place in town society was almost as degraded as his own.
'That may never be,' thought the miller's daughter: and as she knew no other way to get her task done, she said she would do what he asked. She could not conceive of wanting a child with that swine of a man anyway. Really, she could not imagine wanting a child at all - more weight. Round went the wheel again to the old song, and the man once more spun the heap into gold. The king came in the morning, and, finding all he wanted, was forced to keep his word; so he married the miller's daughter, and she really became queen.
It was not how she had meant for things to go. She had fallen asleep while the dwarf worked and when she awoke he was gone, and she was alone. But she had thought to herself that she would run when she got the chance. Run while his eyes were filled with gold. At night, in the shadows. Maybe she would find the dwarf. Maybe he could teach her how to survive in the forest. Or maybe she would go on her own, and if she perished at least she would be free.
But when the door opened in the morning the king was standing there with her father. He was overcome with joy, weeping uncontrollably and blabbering about how he had never been much of a father, but he had always know she was special, and look, now she would be queen. The king smiled the smile of a snake in the sun and patted the old miller on the back. 'My dear,' he said to her, 'isn't your father quaint?' And from the look in his eyes she knew it was a threat, and that if she ran the king would take it out on her father. And to take her father with her would mean no kind of freedom at all. So she left the miller's house, where at least she could wander on the edges of the forest, and entered the castle, where the king forbid her to ever leave.
At the birth of her first little child she was very glad, and forgot the dwarf, and what she had said. Or at least it seemed she had forgotten. But she named the baby Aurelia, meaning golden, and she kept the child always in the room with her, never letting her out of her sight. Finally, she had something of her own, even if it was one more being to be cared for, one more body producing cries for comfort. The king, who had hoped for a son, found her doting ridiculous. 'Come!' he said, 'let the child be.' He was eager to have the babe off in a nursery, to return to the business of producing an heir. But the queen refused, telling herself that the child was sickly, that it needed her protection. She wasn't sure though, deep down, whether maybe it was the child who was protecting her. The king scowled, but he wouldn't come near while she held her daughter in her arms. And sometimes she found herself holding the child and staring wistfully out the window, late at night, as if to say - here she is - won't you come? She never uttered the words aloud, even to herself. But her eyes searched the horizon even as her grip tightened around Aurelia's small frame.
But one day he came into her room, where she was sitting playing with her baby, and put her in mind of it. Seeing him who had haunted her nightmares and colored her dreams, always just in shadow on the edge of her waking, her breath caught. And for a moment, she imagined the desire she had never let herself know, thought of slipping away with him. It would be so easy, and then they would be gone. Away from the castle with its tall walls, away from the King who cared only for gold and his own pleasure. She got up the nerve to tell him, almost. But then she saw that his eyes no longer sought her - they were all on the child, untarnished, unaware. He looked at the baby and seemed to see someone who had not yet learned to fear him, someone he could make over in his image. Not someone like the queen, bowed with her sorrows but full of her own opinions. Then she grieved sorely at her misfortune, for she knew there was for her no way out of the castle. She looked down at Aurelia, her only creation, and refused to let her daughter know a freedom she could not. She cried real tears, but they were not of the origins the dwarf suspected. Clutching the baby tightly she begged him to go, and said she would give him all the wealth of the kingdom if he would let her off, but in vain; till at last her tears softened him, and he said, 'I will give you three days' grace, and if during that time you tell me my name, you shall keep your child.'
Now the queen lay awake all night, thinking of all the odd names that she had ever heard; and she sent messengers all over the land to find out new ones. The next day the little man came, and she began with TIMOTHY, ICHABOD, BENJAMIN, JEREMIAH, and all the names she could remember; but to all and each of them he said, 'Madam, that is not my name.'
The second day she began with all the comical names she could hear of, BANDY-LEGS, HUNCHBACK, CROOK-SHANKS, and so on; but the little gentleman still said to every one of them, 'Madam, that is not my name.'
The third day one of the messengers came back, and said, 'I have travelled two days without hearing of any other names; but yesterday, as I was climbing a high hill, among the trees of the forest where the fox and the hare bid each other good night, I saw a little hut; and before the hut burnt a fire; and round about the fire a funny little dwarf was dancing upon one leg, and singing:
'"Merrily the feast I'll make.
Today I'll brew, tomorrow bake;
Merrily I'll dance and sing,
For next day will a stranger bring.
Little does my lady dream
Rumpelstiltskin is my name!"'
When the queen heard this she jumped for joy. For once, she would not be manhandled into some deed against her will. The messenger smiled with her, wondering what he could gain for his trouble. He had never seen this look on her face before, and was surprised to think that such happiness was new to her. There was something in her smile, though, that was not quite right, something maniacal in her jumping. Related somehow, he was sure, was the tightness of her fingers when she held the baby. Still, she was beautiful. He had seen the way she looked out on the kingdom from her castle room, and he longed to tell her more stories of his travels. But she had eyes only for the horizon, and after he spoke she noticed him not at all, and varied her gaze from the baby to the landscape, seeming engaged in some inner dialogue. He found himself completely forgotten, so much so that he caught her mumbling, "Rumpelstiltskin," over and over. Awkwardly, he turned to go, casting one last look at her. Even in the fading light, he noticed, with the sun's rays coming in through the window, her hair was nowhere near golden, though he thought he remembered hearing somewhere that she was known for her golden strands. Really, he thought, it's barely auburn. Closer to brown, really. Like mud - nothing that special. And he left, convinced that the queen was no prize, and that the king was only a fool.
And as soon as her little friend came the queen sat down upon her throne, and called all her court round to enjoy the fun, her eyes gleaming; and the nurse stood by her side with the baby in her arms, as if it was quite ready to be given up. Then the little man began to chuckle at the thought of having the poor child,to take home with him to his hut in the woods; and he cried out, 'Now, lady, what is my name?' 'Is it JOHN?' asked she. 'No, madam!' 'Is it
TOM?' 'No, madam!' 'Is it JEMMY?' 'It is not.' 'Can your name be RUMPELSTILTSKIN?' said the lady slyly. 'Some witch told you that!--some witch told you that!' cried the little man, and dashed his right
foot in a rage so deep into the floor, that he was forced to lay hold of it with both hands to pull it out. He had waited so long for the child, looked forward to its company, stolen baby clothes for it whenever he had the chance, planned the games they would play together and the adventures they would have. The shock of losing her was perhaps worse than the long years of loneliness that preceded his encounter with the miller's daughter. He had once heard a human hunter mention something about it being better to have loved and lost, but the hobgoblin was not sure he believed it.
Then he made the best of his way off, while the nurse laughed and the baby crowed; and all the court jeered at him for having had so much trouble for nothing, and said, 'We wish you a very good morning, and a merry feast, Mr RUMPLESTILTSKIN!'
And the queen smiled with the best of them. As the crowd died away, the king came up and said, 'Tonight, madam, the girl will stay with the nurse. You see, she is perfectly safe now. You can relax, and we can be alone.' He walked away, and she stared after him, her smile fading fast, wondering, 'What have I done?' And she took up the babe from the nurse's arms, and held her close, looking out the door where Rumplestiltskin had gone away, where she could not follow. 'Do you know why I envy him, Aurelia?' she asked the smiling child, who only cooed in answer. 'It is not because he can walk away. Or not only that. It is because now everyone knows his name, and they will never forget it. But I am as easily replaceable as straw, and no one will ever know mine."
source text from:
*The Project Gutenberg Etext Fairy Tales, by the Grimm Brothers*
Grimms' Fairy Tales
The Brothers Grimm
April, 2001 [Etext #2591]
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