One-Eye, Two-Eyes, and Three-Eyes
There was once a woman who had three daughters, the eldest of whom
was called One-Eye, because she had only one eye in the middle of her forehead, and the
second, Two-Eyes, because she had two eyes like other folks, and the youngest, Three-Eyes,
because she had three eyes, and her third eye was also in the center of her forehead.
However, as Two-Eyes saw just as other human beings did, her sisters and her mother could
not endure her. They said to her, "You, with your two eyes, are no better than the
common people, you do not belong to us." They pushed her about, and threw old clothes
to her, and gave her nothing to eat but what they left, and did everything that they could
to make her unhappy.
It came to pass that Two-Eyes had to go out into the fields and tend
the goat, but she was still quite hungry, because her sisters had given her so little to
eat. So she sat down on a ridge and began to weep, and so bitterly that two streams ran
down from her eyes. And once when she looked up in her grief, a woman was standing beside
her, who said, "Why are you weeping, little Two-Eyes?" Two-Eyes answered,
"Have I not reason to weep, when I have two eyes like other people, and my sisters
and mother hate me for it, and push me from one corner to another, throw old clothes to
me, and give me nothing to eat but the scraps they leave. Today they have given me so
little that I am still quite hungry." Then the wise woman said, "Wipe away your
tears, Two-Eyes, and I will tell you something to stop your ever suffering from hunger
again. Just say to your goat - `Bleat, my little goat, bleat, Cover the table with
something to eat,' and then a clean well-spread little table will stand before you with
the most delicious food upon it of which you may eat as much as you are inclined for, and
when you have had enough, and have no more need of the little table, just say, `Bleat,
bleat, my little goat, I pray, and take the table quite away,' and then it will vanish
again from your sight." Hereupon the wise woman departed. But Two-Eyes thought,
"I must instantly make a trial, and see if what she said is true, for I am far too
hungry," and she said - "Bleat, my little goat, bleat, Cover the table with
something to eat," and scarcely had she spoken the words than a little table, covered
with a white cloth, was standing there, and on it was a plate with a knife and fork, and a
silver spoon, and the most delicious food was there also, warm and smoking as if it had
just come out of the kitchen. Then Two-Eyes said the shortest prayer she knew, "Lord
God, be our guest forever, amen," and helped herself to some food, and enjoyed it.
And when she was satisfied, she said, as the wise woman had taught her - "Bleat,
bleat, my little goat, I pray, And take the table quite away," and immediately the
little table and everything on it was gone again. That is a delightful way of keeping
house, thought Two-Eyes, and was quite glad and happy.
In the evening, when she went home with her goat, she found a small
earthenware dish with some food, which her sisters had set ready for her, but she did not
touch it. Next day she again went out with her goat, and left the few bits of broken bread
which had been handed to her, lying untouched. The first and second time that she did
this, her sisters did not notice it at all, but as it happened every time, they did
observe it, and said, "There is something wrong about Two-Eyes, she always leaves her
food untasted, and she used to eat up everything that was given her, she must have
discovered other ways of getting food." In order that they might learn the truth,
they resolved to send One-Eye with Two-Eyes when she went to drive her goat to the
pasture, to observe what Two-Eyes did when she was there, and whether anyone brought her
anything to eat and drink.
So when Two-Eyes set out the next time, One-Eye went to her and
said, "I will go with you to the pasture, and see that the goat is well taken care
of, and driven where there is food." But Two-Eyes knew what was in One-Eye's mind,
and drove the goat into high grass and said, "Come, One-Eye, we will sit down, and I
will sing something to you." One-Eye sat down and was tired with the unaccustomed
walk and the heat of the sun, and Two-Eyes sang constantly - "One-eye, are you
waking? One-eye, are you sleeping?" Until One-Eye shut her one eye, and fell asleep,
and as soon as Two-Eyes saw that One-Eye was fast asleep, and could discover nothing, she
said, "Bleat, my little goat, bleat, Cover the table with something to eat," and
seated herself at her table, and ate and drank until she was satisfied, and then she again
cried - "Bleat, bleat, my little goat, I pray, And take the table quite away,"
and in an instant all had vanished. Two-Eyes now awakened One-Eye, and said,
"One-Eye, you want to take care of the goat, and go to sleep while you are doing it,
but in the meantime the goat might run all over the world. Come, let us go home
again."
So they went home, and again Two-Eyes let her dish stand untouched,
and One-Eye could not tell her mother why she would not eat it, and to excuse herself
said, "I fell asleep when I was out." Next day the mother said to Three-Eyes,
this time you shall go and observe if Two-Eyes eats anything when she is out, and if
anyone fetches her food and drink, for she must eat and drink in secret. So Three-Eyes
went to Two-Eyes, and said, "I will go with you and see if the goat is taken proper
care of, and driven where there is food." But Two-Eyes knew what was in Three-Eyes'
mind, and drove the goat into high grass and said, "We will sit down, and I will sing
something to you, Three-Eyes." Three-Eyes sat down and was tired with the walk and
with the heat of the sun, and Two-Eyes began the same song as before, and sang -
"Three-Eyes, are you waking?"
But then, instead of singing - "Three-Eyes, are you
sleeping?"
As she ought to have done, she thoughtlessly sang - "Two-Eyes,
are you sleeping?"
And sang all the time - "Three-Eyes, are you waking? Two-Eyes,
are you sleeping?"
Then two of the eyes which Three-Eyes had, shut and fell asleep, but
the third, as it had not been named in the song, did not sleep. It is true that three-eyes
shut it, but only in her cunning, to pretend it was asleep too, but it blinked, and could
see everything very well. And when two-eyes thought that three-eyes was fast asleep, she
used her little charm - "Bleat, my little goat, bleat, Cover the table with something
to eat," and ate and drank as much as her heart desired, and then ordered the table
to go away again, "Bleat, bleat, my little goat, I pray, And take the table quite
away," and Three-Eyes had seen everything. Then Two-Eyes came to her, waked her and
said, "Have you been asleep, Three-Eyes? You keep watch very well. Come, we will go
home." And when they got home, Two-Eyes again did not eat, and Three-Eyes said to the
mother, "Now, I know why that haughty thing there does not eat. When she is out, she
says to the goat - `Bleat, my little goat, bleat, Cover the table with something to eat,'
and then a little table appears before her covered with the best of food, much better than
any we have here, and when she has eaten all she wants, she says - `Bleat, bleat, my
little goat, I pray, And take the table quite away,' and all disappears. I watched
everything closely. She put two of my eyes to sleep by means of a charm, but luckily the
one in my forehead kept awake."
Then the envious mother cried, "Do you want to fare better than
we do? The desire shall pass from you," and she fetched a butcher's knife, and thrust
it into the heart of the goat, which fell down dead. When Two-Eyes saw that, she went out
full of sadness, seated herself on the ridge of grass at the edge of the field, and wept
bitter tears. Suddenly the wise woman once more stood by her side, and said,
"Two-Eyes, why are you weeping?" "Have I not reason to weep?" she
answered. "The goat which covered the table for me every day when I spoke your charm,
has been killed by my mother, and now I shall again have to bear hunger and want."
The wise woman said, "Two-Eyes, I will give you a piece of good advice, ask your
sisters to give you the entrails of the slaughtered goat, and bury them in the ground in
front of the house, and your fortune will be made." Then she vanished, and Two-Eyes
went home and said to her sisters, "Dear sisters, do give me some part of my goat, I
don't wish for what is good, but give me the entrails." Then they laughed and said,
"If that's all you want, you can have it." So Two-Eyes took the entrails and
buried them quietly in the evening, in front of the house-door, as the wise woman had
counseled her to do.
Next morning, when they all awoke, and went to the house-door, there
stood a strangely magnificent tree with leaves of silver, and fruit of gold hanging among
them, so that in all the wide world there was nothing more beautiful or precious. They did
not know how the tree could have come there during the night, but Two-Eyes saw that it had
grown up out of the entrails of the goat, for it was standing on the exact spot where she
had buried them. Then the mother said to One-Eye, "Climb up, my child, and gather
some of the fruit of the tree for us." One-eye climbed up, but when she was about to
get hold of one of the golden apples, the branch escaped from her hands, and that happened
each time, so that she could not pluck a single apple, let her do what she might. Then
said the mother, "Three-Eyes, you climb up, you with your three eyes can look about
you better than One-Eye." One-Eye slipped down, and Three-Eyes climbed up. Three-Eyes
was not more skillful, and might try as she would, but the golden apples always escaped
her.
At length the mother grew impatient, and climbed up herself, but
could get hold of the fruit no better than One-Eye and Three-Eyes, for she always clutched
empty air. Then said Two-Eyes, "Let me go up, perhaps I may succeed better." The
sisters cried, "You indeed, with your two eyes, what can you do?" But Two-Eyes
climbed up, and the golden apples did not avoid her, but came into her hand of their own
accord, so that she could pluck them one after the other, and brought a whole apronful
down with her. The mother took them away from her, and instead of treating poor Two-Eyes
any better for this, she and One-Eye and Three-Eyes were only envious, because Two-Eyes
alone had been able to get the fruit, and they treated her still more cruelly.
It so befell that once when they were all standing together by the
tree, a young knight came up. "Quick, Two-Eyes," cried the two sisters,
"creep under this, and don't disgrace us," and with all speed they turned an
empty barrel which was standing close by the tree over poor Two-Eyes, and they swept the
golden apples which she had been gathering, under it too. When the knight came nearer he
was a handsome lord, who stopped and admired the magnificent gold and silver tree, and
said to the two sisters, "To whom does this fine tree belong? Anyone who would bestow
one branch of it on me might in return for it ask whatsoever he desired." Then
One-Eye and Three-Eyes replied that the tree belonged to them, and that they would give
him a branch. They both took great trouble, but they were not able to do it, for the
branches and fruit both moved away from them every time. Then said the knight, "It is
very strange that the tree should belong to you, and that you should not have the power to
break a piece off." They again asserted that the tree was their property.
Whilst they were saying so, Two-Eyes rolled out a couple of golden
apples from under the barrel to the feet of the knight, for she was vexed with One-Eye and
Three-Eyes, for not speaking the truth. When the knight saw the apples he was astonished,
and asked where they came from. One-Eye and Three-Eyes answered that they had another
sister, who was not allowed to show herself, for she had only two eyes like any common
person. The knight, however, desired to see her, and cried, "Two-Eyes, come
forth." Then Two-Eyes, quite comforted, came from beneath the barrel, and the knight
was surprised at her great beauty, and said, "You, Two-Eyes, can certainly break off
a branch from the tree for me." "Yes," replied Two-Eyes, "that I
certainly shall be able to do, for the tree belongs to me." And she climbed up, and
with the greatest ease broke off a branch with beautiful silver leaves and golden fruit,
and gave it to the knight. Then said the knight, "Two-Eyes, what shall I give you for
it?" "Alas, answered two-eyes, "I suffer from hunger and thirst, grief and
want, from early morning till late night. If you would take me with you, and rescue me, I
should be happy." So the knight lifted Two-Eyes on to his horse, and took her home
with him to his father's castle, and there he gave her beautiful clothes, and meat and
drink to her heart's content, and as he loved her so much he married her, and the wedding
was solemnized with great rejoicing.
When Two-Eyes was thus carried away by the handsome knight, her two
sisters grudged her good fortune in downright earnest. "The wonderful tree, however,
still remains with us," thought they, "and even if we can gather no fruit from
it, still every one will stand still and look at it, and come to us and admire it. Who
knows what good things may be in store for us." But next morning, the tree had
vanished, and all their hopes were at an end. And when Two-Eyes looked out of the window
of her own room, to her great delight it was standing in front of it, and so it had
followed her.
Two-Eyes lived a long time in happiness. Once two poor women came to
her in her castle, and begged for alms. She looked in their faces, and recognized her
sisters, One-Eye, and Three-Eyes, who had fallen into such poverty that they had to wander
about and beg their bread from door to door. Two-Eyes, however, made them welcome, and was
kind to them, and took care of them, so that they both with all their hearts repented the
evil that they had done their sister in their youth.
--The End-- |
