‘No, thank you, there is no need; my horse is so well broken in that it will stand still when I bid it.’
So they all hastened into the church together and the priest got into the pulpit, but no one listened to what he said, for they were looking far too much at her and wondering whence she came; and the Prince was far more in love than he had been on either of the former occasions, and he was mindful of nothing but of looking at her.
When the sermon was over and the King’s daughter was about to leave the church, the Prince had caused a firkin of tar to be emptied out in the porch in order that he might go to help her over it; she, however, did not trouble herself in the least about the tar, but set her foot down in the middle of it and jumped over it, and thus one of her gold shoes was left sticking in it. When she had seated herself on the horse the Prince came running out of the church and asked her whence she came.
‘From Combland,’ said Kari. But when the Prince wanted to reach her her gold shoe, she said:
‘Darkness behind me, but light on my way,
That the Prince may not see where I’m going to-day!’
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The Prince did not know what had become of her, so he travelled for a long and wearisome time all over the world, asking where Combland was; but when no one could tell him where that country was, he caused it to be made known everywhere that he would marry any woman who could put on the gold shoe. So fair maidens and ugly maidens came thither from all regions, but there was none who had a foot so small that she could put on the gold shoe. After a long, long while came Kari Woodengown’s wicked stepmother, with her daughter too, and the shoe fitted her. But she was so
ugly and looked so loathsome that the Prince was very unwilling to do what he had promised. Nevertheless all was got ready for the wedding, and she was decked out as a bride, but as they were riding to church a little bird sat upon a tree and sang:
‘A slice off her heel
And a slice off her toes,
Kari Woodengown’s shoe
Fills with blood as she goes!’
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And when they looked to it the bird had spoken the truth, for blood was trickling out of the shoe. So all the waiting-maids, and all the womenkind in the castle had to come and try on the shoe, but there was not one whom it would fit.
‘But where is Kari Woodengown, then?’ asked the Prince, when all the others had tried on the shoe, for he understood the song of birds and it came to his mind what the bird had said.
‘Oh! that creature!’ said the others; ‘it’s not the least use for her to come here, for she has feet like a horse!’
‘That may be,’ said the Prince, ‘but as all the others have tried it, Kari may try it too.’
‘Kari!’ he called out through the door, and Kari came upstairs, and her wooden gown clattered as if a whole regiment of dragoons were coming up.
‘Now, you are to try on the gold shoe and be a Princess,’ said the other servants, and they laughed at her and mocked her. Kari took up the shoe, put her foot into it as easily as possible, and then threw off her wooden gown, and there she stood in the golden gown which flashed like rays of sunshine, and on her other foot she had the fellow to the gold shoe. The Prince knew her in a moment, and was so glad that he ran and took her in his arms and kissed her, and when he heard that she was a King’s daughter he was gladder still, and then they had the wedding.14
14 From P. C. Asbjørnsen.
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DRAKESTAIL
DRAKESTAIL was very little, that is why he was called Drakestail; but tiny as he was he had brains, and he knew what he was about, for having begun with nothing he ended by amassing a hundred crowns. Now the King of the country, who was very extravagant and never kept any money, having heard that Drakestail had some, went one day in his own person to borrow his hoard, and, my word, in those days Drakestail was not a little proud of having lent money to the King. But after the first and second year, seeing that they never even dreamed of paying the interest, he became uneasy, so much so that at last he resolved to go and see His Majesty himself, and get repaid. So one fine morning Drakestail, very spruce and fresh, takes the road, singing: ‘Quack, quack, quack, when shall I get my money back?’
He had not gone far when he met friend Fox, on his rounds that way.
‘Good-morning, neighbour,’ says the friend, ‘where are you off to so early?’
‘I am going to the King for what he owes me.’
‘Oh! take me with thee!’
Drakestail said to himself: ‘One can’t have too many friends.’ . . . ‘I will,’ says he, ‘but going on all-fours you will soon be tired. Make yourself quite small, get into my throat — go into my gizzard and I will carry you.’
‘Happy thought!’ says friend Fox.
He takes bag and baggage, and, presto! is gone like a letter into the post.
And Drakestail is off again, all spruce and fresh, still singing: ‘Quack, quack, quack, when shall I have my money back?’
He had not gone far when he met his lady-friend Ladder, leaning on her wall.
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‘Good morning, my duckling,’ says the lady friend, ‘whither away so bold?’
‘I am going to the King for what he owes me.’
‘Oh! take me with thee!’
Drakestail said to himself: ‘One can’t have too many friends.’ . . . ‘I will,’ says he, ‘but with your wooden legs you will soon be tired. Make yourself quite small, get into my throat — go into my gizzard and I will carry you.’
‘Happy thought!’ says my friend Ladder, and nimble, bag and baggage, goes to keep company with friend Fox.
And ‘Quack, quack, quack.’ Drakestail is off again, singing and spruce as before. A little farther he meets his sweetheart, my friend River, wandering quietly in the sunshine.
‘Thou, my cherub,’ says she, ‘whither so lonesome, with arching tail, on this muddy road?’
‘I am going to the King, you know, for what he owes me.’
‘Oh! take me with thee!’
Drakestail said to himself: ‘We can’t be too many friends.’ . . . ‘I will,’ says he, ‘but you who sleep while you walk will soon be tired. Make yourself quite small, get into my throat — go into my gizzard and I will carry you.’
‘Ah! happy thought!’ says my friend River.
She takes bag and baggage, and glou, glou, glou, she takes her place between friend Fox and my friend Ladder.
And ‘Quack, quack, quack.’ Drakestail is off again singing.
A little farther on he meets comrade Wasp’s-nest, manoeuvring his wasps.
‘Well, good-morning, friend Drakestail,’ said comrade Wasp’s- nest, ‘where are we bound for so spruce and fresh?’
‘I am going to the King for what he owes me.’
‘Oh! take me with thee!’
Drakestail said to himself, ‘One can’t have too many friends.’ . . . ‘I will,’ says he, ‘but with your battalion to drag along, you will soon be tired. Make yourself quite small, go into my throat — get into my gizzard and I will carry you.’
‘By Jove I that’s a good idea!’ says comrade Wasp’s-nest.
And left file! he takes the same road to join the others with all his party. There was not much more room, but by closing up a bit they managed. . . . And Drakestail is off again singing.
He arrived thus at the capital, and threaded his way straight up the High Street, still running and singing ‘Quack, quack, quack,
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when shall I get my money back?’ to the great astonishment of the good folks, till he came to the King’s palace.
He strikes with the knocker: ‘Toc! toc!’
‘Who is there?’ asks the porter, putting his head out of the wicket.
‘ ‘Tis I, Drakestail. I wish to speak to the King.’
‘Speak to the King! . . . That’s easily said. The King is dining, and will not be disturbed.’
‘Tell him that it is I, and I have come he well knows why.’
The porter shuts his wicket and goes up to say it to the King, who was just sitting down to dinner with a napkin round his neck, and all his ministers.