The Two Travellers
Hill and vale do not meet, but the children of men do, good and bad.
In this way a shoemaker and a tailor once met on their travels. The tailor was a handsome
little fellow who was always merry and full of enjoyment. He saw the shoemaker coming
towards him from the other side, and as he observed by his bag what kind of a trade he
plied, he sang a little mocking song to him, sew me the seam, draw me the thread, spread
it over with pitch, knock the nail on the head.
The shoemaker, however, could not bear a joke, he pulled a face as
if he had drunk vinegar, and made a gesture as if he were about to seize the tailor by the
throat. But the little fellow began to laugh, reached him his bottle, and said, "No
harm was meant, take a drink, and swallow your anger down." The shoemaker took a very
hearty drink, and the storm on his face began to clear away. He gave the bottle back to
the tailor, and said, "I took a hearty gulp, they say it comes from much drinking,
but not from great thirst. Shall we travel together?" "All right," answered
the tailor, "if only it suits you to go into a big town where there is no lack of
work." "That is just where I want to go," answered the shoemaker. "In
a small hamlet there is nothing to earn, and in the country, people like to go
barefoot." They traveled therefore onwards together, and always set one foot before
the other like a weasel in the snow.
Both of them had time enough, but little to bite and to break. When
they reached a town they went about and paid their respects to the tradesmen, and because
the tailor looked so lively and merry, and had such fine red cheeks, every one gave him
work willingly, and when luck was good the master's daughters gave him a kiss beneath the
porch, as well. When he again fell in with the shoemaker, the tailor had always the most
in his bundle. The ill-tempered shoemaker made a wry face, and thought, the greater the
rascal the more the luck. But the tailor began to laugh and to sing, and shared all he got
with his comrade. If a couple of pence jingled in his pockets, he ordered good cheer, and
thumped the table in his joy till the glasses danced and it was lightly come, lightly go,
with him.
When they had traveled for some time, they came to a great forest
through which passed the road to the capital. Two foot-paths, however, led through it, one
of which was a seven days, journey and the other only two, but neither of the travelers
knew which way was the short one. They seated themselves beneath an oak-tree, and took
counsel together how they should forecast, and for how many days they should provide
themselves with bread.
The shoemaker said, "One must look before one leaps, I will
take with me bread for a week." "What," said the tailor, "drag bread
for seven days on one's back like a beast of burden and not be able to look about? I shall
trust in God, and not trouble myself about anything. The money I have in my pocket is as
good in summer as in winter, but in hot weather bread gets dry, and moldy into the
bargain, even my coat does not last as far as it might. Besides, why should we not find
the right way? Bread for two days, and that's enough." Each, therefore, bought his
own bread, and then they tried their luck in the forest.
It was as quiet there as in a church. No wind stirred, no brook
murmured, no bird sang, and through the thickly-leaved branches no sunbeam forced its way.
The shoemaker spoke never a word, the bread weighed so heavily on his back that the sweat
streamed down his cross and gloomy face. The tailor, however, was quite merry, he jumped
about, whistled on a leaf, or sang a song, and thought to himself, God in heaven must be
pleased to see me so happy.
This lasted two days, but on the third the forest would not come to
an end, and the tailor had eaten up all his bread, so after all his heart sank down a yard
deeper. Nevertheless, he did not lose courage, but relied on God and on his luck. On the
evening of the third day he lay down hungry under a tree, and rose again next morning
hungry still, so also passed the fourth day, and when the shoemaker seated himself on a
fallen tree and devoured his dinner the tailor was only a spectator. If he begged for a
little piece of bread, the other laughed mockingly, and said, "You have always been
so merry, now you can see for once what it is to be sad, the birds which sing too early in
the morning are struck by the hawk in the evening." In short, he was pitiless. But on
the fifth morning the poor tailor could no longer stand up, and was hardly able to utter
one word for weakness, his cheeks were white, and his eyes were red. Then the shoemaker
said to him, "I will give you a bit of bread to-day, but in return for it, I will put
out your right eye." The unhappy tailor who still wished to save his life, had to
submit, he wept once more with both eyes, and then held them out, and the shoemaker, who
had a heart of stone, put out his right eye with a sharp knife. The tailor called to
remembrance what his mother had formerly said to him when he had been eating secretly in
the pantry. Eat what one can, and suffer what one must. When he had consumed his
dearly-bought bread, he got on his legs again, forgot his misery and comforted himself
with the thought that he could always see enough with one eye.
But on the sixth day, hunger made itself felt again and gnawed him
almost to the heart. In the evening he fell down by a tree, and on the seventh morning he
could not raise himself up for faintness, and death was close at hand. Then said the
shoemaker, "I will show mercy and give you bread once more, but you shall not have it
for nothing, I shall put out your other eye for it."
And now the tailor felt how thoughtless his life had been, prayed to
God for forgiveness, and said, "Do what you will, I will bear what I must, but
remember that our Lord God does not always look on passively, and that an hour will come
when the evil deed which you have done to me, and which I have not deserved of you, will
be requited. When times were good with me, I shared what I had with you. My trade is of
that kind that each stitch must always be exactly like the other. If I no longer have my
eyes and can sew no more I must go a-begging. At any rate do not leave me here alone when
I am blind, or I shall die of hunger." The shoemaker, however, who had driven God out
of his heart, took the knife and put out his left eye. Then he gave him a bit of bread to
eat, held out a stick to him, and drew him on behind him.
When the sun went down, they got out of the forest, and before them
in the open country stood the gallows. Thither the shoemaker guided the blind tailor, and
then left him alone and went his way. Weariness, pain, and hunger made the wretched man
fall asleep, and he slept the whole night. When day dawned he awoke, but knew not where he
lay. Two poor sinners were hanging on the gallows, and a crow sat on the head of each of
them. Then one of the men who had been hanged began to speak, and said, "Brother, are
you awake?" "Yes, I am awake," answered the second. "Then I will tell
you something," said the first, "the dew which this night has fallen down over
us from the gallows, gives every one who washes himself with it his eyes again. If blind
people did but know this, how many would regain their sight who do not believe that to be
possible."
When the tailor heard that, he took his pocket-handkerchief, pressed
it on the grass, and when it was moist with dew, washed the sockets of his eyes with it.
Immediately was fulfilled what the man on the gallows had said, and a couple of healthy
new eyes filled the sockets. It was not long before the tailor saw the sun rise behind the
mountains, in the plain before him lay the great royal city with its magnificent gates and
hundred towers, and the golden balls and crosses which were on the spires began to shine.
He could distinguish every leaf on the trees, saw the birds which flew past, and the
midges which danced in the air. He took a needle out of his pocket, and as he could thread
it as well as ever he had done, his heart danced with delight. He threw himself on his
knees, thanked God for the mercy he had shown him, and said his morning prayer. Nor did he
forget to pray for the poor sinners who were hanging there swinging against each other in
the wind like the pendulums of clocks. Then he took his bundle on his back and soon forgot
the pain of heart he had endured, and went on his way singing and whistling.
The first thing he met was a brown foal running about the fields at
large. He caught it by the mane, and wanted to spring on it and ride into the town. The
foal, however, begged to be set free. "I am still too young," it said,
"even a light tailor such as you are would break my back in two - let me go till I
have grown strong. A time may perhaps come when I may reward you for it." "Run
off," said the tailor, "I see you are still a giddy thing." He gave it a
touch with a switch over its back, whereupon it kicked up its hind legs for joy, leapt
over hedges and ditches, and galloped away into the open country.
But the little tailor had eaten nothing since the day before. The
sun to be sure fills my eyes, said he, but the bread does not fill my mouth. The first
thing that comes my way and is even half edible will have to suffer for it. In the
meantime a stork stepped solemnly over the meadow towards him. "Halt, halt,"
cried the tailor, and seized him by the leg. "I don't know if you are good to eat or
not, but my hunger leaves me no great choice. I must cut your head off, and roast
you." "Don't do that," replied the stork, "I am a sacred bird which
brings mankind great profit, and no one does me an injury. Leave me my life, and I may do
you good in some other way." "Well, be off, cousin longlegs," said the
tailor. The stork rose up, let its long legs hang down, and flew gently away.
"What's to be the end of this," said the tailor to himself
at last, "my hunger grows greater and greater, and my stomach more and more empty.
Whatsoever comes in my way now is lost." At this point he saw a couple of young ducks
which were on a pond come swimming towards him. "You come just at the right
moment," said he, and laid hold of one of them and was about to wring its neck. On
this an old duck which was hidden among the reeds, began to scream loudly, and swam to him
with open beak, and begged him urgently to spare her dear children. "Can you not
imagine," said she, "how your mother would mourn if any one wanted to carry you
off, and give you your finishing stroke." "Just be quiet," said the
good-tempered tailor, "you shall keep your children," and put the prisoner back
into the water.
When he turned round, he was standing in front of an old tree which
was partly hollow, and saw some wild bees flying in and out of it. "There I shall at
once find the reward of my good deed," said the tailor, "the honey will refresh
me." But the queen-bee came out, threatened him and said, "If you touch my
people and destroy my nest, our stings shall pierce your skin like ten thousand red-hot
needles. But if you leave us in peace and go your way, we will do you a service for it
another time."
The little tailor saw that here also nothing was to be done. Three
dishes empty and nothing on the fourth is a bad dinner. He dragged himself therefore with
his starved-out stomach into the town, and as it was just striking twelve, all was
ready-cooked for him in the inn, and he was able to sit down at once to dinner. When he
was satisfied he said, "Now I will get to work." He went round the town, sought
a master, and soon found a good situation. And as he had thoroughly learnt his trade, it
was not long before he became famous, and every one wanted to have his new coat made by
the little tailor, whose importance increased daily. "I can go no further in
skill," said he, "and yet things improve every day." At last the king
appointed him court-tailor.
But what odd things do happen in the world. On the very same day his
former comrade the shoemaker also became court-shoemaker. When the latter caught sight of
the tailor, and saw that he had once more two healthy eyes, his conscience troubled him.
"Before he takes revenge on me," thought he to himself, "I must dig a pit
for him." He, however, who digs a pit for another, falls into it himself. In the
evening when work was over and it had grown dusk, he stole to the king and said,
"Lord king, the tailor is an arrogant fellow and has boasted that he will get the
golden crown back again which was lost in ancient times." "That would please me
very much," said the king, and he caused the tailor to be brought before him next
morning, and ordered him to get the crown back again, or to leave the town for ever.
"Oho," thought the tailor, "a rogue gives more than he has got. If the
surly king wants me to do what can be done by no one, I will not wait till morning, but
will go out of the town at once, to-day."
He packed up his bundle, therefore, but when he was without the gate
he could not help being sorry to give up his good fortune, and turn his back on the town
in which all had gone so well with him. He came to the pond where he had made the
acquaintance of the ducks, at that very moment the old one whose young ones he had spared,
was sitting there by the shore, pluming herself with her beak. She knew him again
instantly, and asked why he was hanging his head so. "You will not be surprised when
you hear what has befallen me," replied the tailor, and told her his fate. "If
that be all," said the duck, "we can help you. The crown fell into the water,
and it lies down below at the bottom, we will soon bring it up again for you. In the
meantime just spread out your handkerchief on the bank." She dived down with her
twelve young ones, and in five minutes she was up again and sat with the crown resting on
her wings, and the twelve young ones were swimming round about and had put their beaks
under it, and were helping to carry it. They swam to the shore and put the crown on the
handkerchief. No one can imagine how magnificent the crown was, when the sun shone on it,
it gleamed like a hundred thousand carbuncles. The tailor tied his handkerchief together
by the four corners, and carried it to the king, who was full of joy, and put a gold chain
round the tailor's neck.
When the shoemaker saw that one blow had failed, he contrived a
second, and went to the king and said, "Lord king, the tailor has become insolent
again, he boasts that he will copy in wax the whole of the royal palace, with everything
that pertains to it, loose or fast, inside and out." The king sent for the tailor and
ordered him to copy in wax the whole of the royal palace, with everything that pertained
to it, movable or immovable, within and without, and if he did not succeed in doing this,
or if so much as one nail on the wall were wanting, he should be imprisoned for his whole
life underground.
The tailor thought, "It gets worse and worse. No one can endure
that," and threw his bundle on his back, and went forth. When he came to the hollow
tree, he sat down and hung his head. The bees came flying out, and the queen-bee asked him
if he had a stiff neck, since he hung his head so. "Alas, no," answered the
tailor, "something quite different weighs me down," and he told her what the
king had demanded of him. The bees began to buzz and hum amongst themselves, and the
queen-bee said, "Just go home again, but come back to-morrow at this time, and bring
a large sheet with you, and then all will be well." So he turned back again, but the
bees flew to the royal palace and straight into it through the open windows, crept round
about into every corner, and inspected everything most carefully. Then they hurried back
and modelled the palace in wax with such rapidity that any one looking on would have
thought it was growing before his eyes. By the evening all was ready, and when the tailor
came next morning, the whole of the splendid building was there, and not one nail in the
wall or tile of the roof was wanting, and it was delicate withal, and white as snow, and
smelt sweet as honey. The tailor wrapped it carefully in his cloth and took it to the
king, who could not admire it enough, placed it in his largest hall, and in return for it
presented the tailor with a large stone house.
The shoemaker, however, did not give up, but went for the third time
to the king and said, "Lord king, it has come to the tailor's ears that no water will
spring up in the court-yard of the castle and he has boasted that it shall rise up in the
midst of the court-yard to a man's height and be clear as crystal." Then the king
ordered the tailor to be brought before him and said, "If a stream of water does not
rise in my court-yard by to-morrow as you have promised, the executioner shall in that
very place make you shorter by a head." The poor tailor did not take long to think
about it, but hurried out to the gate, and because this time it was a matter of life and
death to him, tears rolled down his face.
While he was thus going forth full of sorrow, the foal to which he
had formerly given its liberty, and which had now become a beautiful chestnut horse, came
leaping towards him. "The time has come," it said to the tailor, "when I
can repay you for your good deed. I know already what is needful to you, but you shall
soon have help, get on me, my back can carry two such as you." The tailor's courage
came back to him, he jumped up in one bound, and the horse went full speed into the town,
and right up to the court-yard of the castle. It galloped as quick as lightning thrice
round it, and at the third time it fell violently down. At the same instant, however,
there was a terrific clap of thunder, a fragment of earth in the middle of the court-yard
sprang like a cannon-ball into the air, and over the castle, and directly after it a jet
of water rose as high as a man on horseback, and the water was as pure as crystal, and the
sunbeams began to dance on it. When the king saw this, he arose in amazement, and went and
embraced the tailor in the sight of all men.
But good fortune did not last long. The king had daughters in
plenty, one still prettier than the other, but he had no son. So the malicious shoemaker
betook himself for the fourth time to the king, and said, "Lord king, the tailor has
not given up his arrogance. He has now boasted that if he liked, he could cause a son to
be brought to the lord king through the air." The king commanded the tailor to be
summoned, and said, "If you cause a son to be brought to me within nine days, you
shall have my eldest daughter to wife." "The reward is indeed great,"
thought the little tailor, "one would willingly do something for it, but the cherries
grow too high for me, if I climb for them, the bough will break beneath me, and I shall
fall."
He went home, seated himself cross-legged on his work-table, and
thought over what was to be done. "It can't be managed," cried he at last,
"I will go away, after all, I can't live in peace here." He tied up his bundle
and hurried away to the gate. When he got to the meadow, he perceived his old friend the
stork, who was walking backwards and forwards like a philosopher. Sometimes he stood
still, took a frog into close consideration, and at length swallowed it down. The stork
came to him and greeted him. "I see," he began, "that you have your pack on
your back. Why are you leaving the town?" The tailor told him what the king had
required of him, and how he could not perform it, and lamented his misfortune. "Don't
let that turn your hair grey," said the stork, "I will help you out of your
difficulty. For a long time now, I have carried the children in swaddling-clothes into the
town, so for once in a way, I can fetch a little prince out of the well. Go home and be
easy. In nine days from this time repair to the royal palace, and there will I come."
The little tailor went home, and at the appointed time was at the castle. It was not long
before the stork came flying thither and tapped at the window. The tailor opened it, and
cousin longlegs came carefully in, and walked with solemn steps over the smooth marble
pavement. He had, moreover, a baby in his beak that was as lovely as an angel, and
stretched out its little hands to the queen. The stork laid it in her lap, and she
caressed it and kissed it, and was beside herself with delight. Before the stork flew
away, he took his traveling bag off his back and handed it over to the queen. In it there
were little paper parcels with colored sweetmeats, and they were divided amongst the
little princesses. The eldest, however, received none of them, but instead got the merry
tailor for a husband. "It seems to me," said he, "just as if I had won the
highest prize. My mother was if right after all, she always said that whoever trusts in
God and only has good luck, can never fail."
The shoemaker had to make the shoes in which the little tailor
danced at the wedding festival, after which he was commanded to quit the town for ever.
The road to the forest led him to the gallows. Worn out with anger, rage, and the heat of
the day, he threw himself down. When he had closed his eyes and was about to sleep, the
two crows flew down from the heads of the men who were hanging there, and pecked his eyes
out. In his madness he ran into the forest and must have died there of hunger, for no one
has ever either seen him or heard of him again.
--The End-- |
