“Well, what’s the use in delay or denial? I am, indeed, he.”
“Art thou in truth?”
“I am no one else.”
“But how wilt thou enter the black castle, since it is covered all around with a stone wall, and whirls unceasingly on a golden cock’s foot? But make no account of that. Here is a shining axe. Just strike the wall with it so that sparks will fly, and thou wilt come upon the door, which will spring open. Then jump in. Have a care, though; for if thou slip and fall, neither God nor man can save thee. When thou art once inside, the King of the Crows will come forward and receive thee kindly. He won’t put his soul on the palm of his hand at once; but when his Highness inquires what thy wish is, ask for nothing else but the salt-mill which stands in the corner.”
Well, the talk ended there. In the morning the poor man moves on towards the black castle. When he arrives there, he saw that it whirled of itself on a golden cock’s foot, like some infernal spindle; and nowhere can he see either window or door upon it,—nothing but the naked wall. He took the swineherd’s axe and struck the wall, and sparks flew from the axe in such style that it couldn’t be better. After a time he came upon the door; it flew open, and he jumped in. If he had delayed but one flash of an eye the stone wall door would have crushed him; as it was, the edge of his trousers was carried off.
As soon as the poor man got in, he saw that the castle turned only on the outside. At this moment the King of the Crows was standing by the window, and saw the poor man coming for the price of the cows. He went to meet him, shook his hand, treated him as tenderly as an egg; then he led him into the most beautiful chamber, and seated him at his side on a golden couch. The poor man saw not a soul anywhere, although it was midday, the time of eating. All at once the table began to spread, and was soon bending under its load, so much food was on it. The poor man shook his head,—for, as I say, though no one was to be seen anywhere, neither cook nor kitchen-boy nor servant, still, wasn’t the table spread? It was surely witchcraft, surely some infernal art, but not the work of a good spirit,—maybe the salt-mill had something to do with it. That, however, did not come into the poor man’s mind, though the mill stood there in the corner.
He was there three days, the guest of the King of the Crows, who received him with every kindness he could offer, so that no man’s son could raise a complaint against his Highness. Morning, noon, and night the poor man’s food appeared in proper form, but the roast and the wine had no taste for him; for it came to his mind that while he was feasting there, most likely his wife and children had not bread enough. I say it came to his mind; he began to be restless and uneasy. The King of the Crows noticed this, and said to him: “Well, poor man, I see that thou dost not wish to stay longer with me, because thy heart is at home, therefore I ask what dost thou wish for the two lean cows?—believe me, brother, thou didst save me from great trouble that time; if thou hadst not taken pity on me I should have lost my whole army from famine.”
“I want nothing else,” said the poor man, “but that salt-mill standing there in the corner.”
“Oh, poor man, hast thou lost thy wits? Tell me, what good couldst thou get of the mill?”
“Oh, I could grind corn or a little wheat from time to time; if I did not some one else might, so there would be something to take to the kitchen.”