This story is a variant of Grimm’s ‘Giant with the Three Golden Hairs.’ But, whereas in Grimm there is nothing to indicate who the giant is, or whether he has three golden hairs and three only, in the Bohemian tale it is plain that ‘Grandfather Allknow’ is the Sun, and that the three golden hairs are three sunbeams.
III.—GOLDENHAIR.
There was a king who was so clever that he understood all animals, and knew what they said to each other. Hear how he learnt it. Once upon a time there came to him a little old woman, who brought him a snake in a basket, and told him to have it cooked for him; if he dined off it, he would understand what any animal in the air, on the earth, or in the water said. The king liked the idea of understanding what nobody else understood, paid the old woman well, and forthwith ordered his servant to cook the fish for dinner. ‘But,’ said he, ‘be sure you don’t take a morsel of it even on your tongue, else you shall pay for it with your head.’
George, the servant, thought it odd that the king forbade him so energetically to do this. ‘In my life I never saw such a fish,’ said he to himself; ‘it looks just like a snake! And what sort of cook would that be who didn’t take a taste of what he was cooking?’ When it was cooked, he took a morsel on his tongue, and tasted it. Thereupon he heard something buzzing round his ears: ‘Some for us, too! some for us, too!’ George looked round, and saw nothing but some flies that were flying about in the kitchen. Again somebody called with a hissing voice in the street outside: ‘Where are you going? where are you going?’ And shriller voices answered: ‘To the miller’s barley! to the miller’s barley!’ George peeped through the window, and saw a gander and a flock of geese. ‘Aha!’ said he; ‘that’s the kind of fish it is.’ Now he knew what it was. He hastily thrust one more morsel into his mouth, and carried the snake to the king as if nothing had happened.
After dinner the king ordered George to saddle the horses and accompany him, as he wished to take a ride. The king rode in front and George behind. As they were riding over a green meadow, George’s horse bounded and began to neigh. ‘Ho! ho! brother. I feel so light that I should like to jump over mountains!’ ‘As for that,’ said the other, ‘I should like to jump about, too, but there’s an old man on my back; if I were to skip, he’d tumble on the ground like a sack and break his neck.’ ‘Let him break it—what matter?’ said George’s horse; ‘instead of an old man you’ll carry a young one.’ George laughed heartily at this conversation, but so quietly that the king knew nothing about it. But the king also understood perfectly well what the horses were saying to each other, looked round, and seeing a smile on George’s face, asked him what he was laughing at. ‘Nothing, your illustrious majesty,’ said George in excuse; ‘only something occurred to my mind.’ Nevertheless, the old king already suspected him, neither did he feel confidence in the horses, so he turned and rode back home.
When they arrived at the palace, the king ordered George to pour him out a glass of wine. ‘But your head for it,’ said he, ‘if you don’t pour it full, or if you pour it so that it runs over.’ George took the decanter and poured. Just then in flew two birds through the window; one was chasing the other, and the one that was trying to get away carried three golden hairs in its beak. ‘Give them to me!’ said the first; ‘they are mine.’ ‘I shan’t; they’re mine; I took them up.’ ‘But I saw them fall, when the golden-haired maiden was combing her hair. At any rate, give me two.’ ‘Not one!’ Hereupon the other bird made a rush, and seized the golden hairs. As they struggled for them on the wing, one remained in each bird’s beak, and the third golden hair fell on the ground, where it rang again. At this moment George looked round at it, and then poured the wine over. ‘You’ve forfeited your life!’ shouted the king; ‘but I’ll deal mercifully with you if you obtain the golden-haired maiden, and bring her me to wife.’
What was George to do? If he wanted to save his life, he must go in search of the maiden, though he did not know where to look for her. He saddled his horse, and rode at random. He came to a black forest, and there, under the forest by the roadside, a bush was burning; some cowherd had set it on fire. Under the bush was an ant-hill; sparks were falling on it, and the ants were fleeing in all directions with their little white eggs. ‘Help, George, help!’ cried they mournfully; ‘we’re being burnt to death, as well as our young ones in the eggs.’ He got down from his horse at once, cut away the bush, and put out the fire. ‘When you are in trouble think of us, and we’ll help you.’
He rode on through the forest, and came to a lofty pine. On the top of this pine was a raven’s nest, and below, on the ground, were two young ravens crying and complaining: ‘Our father and mother have flown away; we’ve got to seek food for ourselves, and we poor little birds can’t fly yet. Help us, George, help us! Feed us, or we shall die of hunger!’ George did not stop long to consider, but jumped down from his horse, and thrust his sword into its side, that the young ravens might have something to eat. ‘When you are in need think of us, and we’ll help you.’
After this, George had to go on on foot. He walked a long, long way through the forest, and when he at last got out of it, he saw before him a long and broad sea. On the shore of this sea two fishermen were quarrelling. They had caught a large golden fish in their net, and each wanted to have it for himself. ‘The net is mine, and mine’s the fish.’ The other replied: ‘Much good would your net have been, if it hadn’t been for my boat and my help.’ ‘If we catch such another fish again, it will be yours.’ ‘Not so; wait you for the next, and give me this.’ ‘I’ll set you at one,’ said George. ‘Sell me the fish—I’ll pay you well for it—and you divide the money between you, share and share alike.’ He gave them all the money that the king had given him for his journey, leaving nothing at all for himself. The fishermen were delighted, and George let the fish go again into the sea. It splashed merrily through the water, dived, and then, not far from the shore, put out its head: ‘When you want me, George, think of me, and I’ll requite you.’ It then disappeared. ‘Where are you going?’ the fishermen asked George. ‘I’m going for the golden-haired maiden to be the bride of the old king, my lord, and I don’t even know where to look for her.’ ‘We can tell you all about her,’ said the fishermen. ‘It’s Goldenhair, the king’s daughter, of the Crystal Palace, on the island yonder. Every day at dawn she combs her golden hair, and the bright gleam therefrom goes over sky and over sea. If you wish it, we’ll take you over to the island ourselves, as you set us at one again so nicely. But take care to bring away the right maiden; there are twelve maidens—the king’s daughters—but only one has golden hair.’
When George was on the island, he went into the Crystal Palace to entreat the king to give the king, his lord, his golden-haired daughter to wife. ‘I will,’ said the king, ‘but you must earn her; you must in three days perform three tasks, which I shall impose upon you, each day one. Meanwhile, you can rest till to-morrow.’ Next day, early, the king said to him: ‘My Goldenhair had a necklace of costly pearls; the necklace broke, and the pearls were scattered in the long grass in the green meadow. You must collect all these pearls, without one being wanting.’ George went into the meadow; it was long and broad; he knelt on the grass, and began to seek. He sought and sought from morn to noon, but never saw a pearl. ‘Ah! if my ants were here, they might help me.’ ‘Here we are to help you,’ said the ants, running in every direction, but always crowding round him. ‘What do you want?’ ‘I have to collect pearls in this meadow, but I don’t see one.’ ‘Only wait a bit, we’ll collect them for you.’ Before long they brought him a multitude of pearls out of the grass, and he had nothing to do but string them on the necklace. Afterwards, when he was going to fasten up the necklace, one more ant limped up—it was lame, its foot had been scorched when the fire was at the ant-hill—and cried out: ‘Stop, George, don’t fasten it up; I’m bringing you one more pearl.’