It’s time
for some fun! I’d like to start offering retellings of lesser-known tales and
where better to start than with my favorite? Please, PLEASE, for any tales
presented, go back and read the original version and maybe even whatever
other versions you can get ahold of. My bias is for real books so I recommend The Complete Fairy Tales of the Brothers
Grimm, translation and introduction by Jack Zipes[1] (which I have read many
times and does shape some of my retelling below). If you must have a more
easily accessed (cough, internet) version, there’s a decent one here. Also, it’s worth
mentioning that this tale is definitely NOT universally admired and it’s very
easy to find scathing reviews. Your thoughts are welcome here if you’d like to
weight in!
Once there was a great King with acres upon acres of
verdant, fertile land. His kingdom was prosperous, his people well fed and
content, and his daughter beautiful. To his great fortune, relations with the
surrounding kingdoms had remained peaceful since his birth; in short, very
little troubled him. The one exception to this was his daughter, for no matter
how greatly he loved her, he could not let himself be blind to her
insurmountable arrogance. No lesson or instructor had proven successful in
teaching her the value of humility and gentleness, but as she was of a
marriageable age, he adhered to the steps of tradition and invited all eligible
men—noble men, to be sure—to a great festival. The invitations decreed that the
festival would conclude with the announcement of the princess’ chosen husband,
though the King wondered if her arrogance might not drive them all away.
The princess, true to her unfortunate form, soon alienated
her suitors and caused many to leave before the festival concluded. Not one
gentleman escaped her ridicule. She found fault with each man and said so to
his face, speaking barbed arrows against his figure, character, family,
kingdom, interests or whatever she fancied did not suit her. One man, king of a
neighboring land of equal if not greater wealth, particularly drew her spite.
No one could recall how the name came about, if it was due to his thick curling
beard in which birds could nest[2]
or sharply jutting chin like a bird’s beak[3],
but this king became known as “Thrushbeard.” Word quickly reached the King of
his daughter’s flagrant offenses, and so great was his rage and humiliation
that he vowed without true consideration of the meaning: “My daughter will be
wed to the next beggar to come within my gates!” He disbanded the festival
early, thanked each man for attending, personally apologized to each, and gave
generous gifts to further assuage damaged relationships. It was not long after
the last guest left that a servant came to him.
“Sire, there is a… that is to say, my lord had decreed…” he
faltered. “A beggar has entered the palace gates.”
The King stood good to his word, and so knowing nothing of
the man’s background and allowing the princess’ wailing to fall on deaf but
privately mourning ears, his daughter was wed to the beggar and made to leave
the palace at her husband’s side.
The couple traveled by foot for many days, the beggar
stopping along the way to ask for food in exchange for work as they needed. The
princess’ vocal complaints dwindled the further they walked, what with being
too tired and grimy and blistered to continue bemoaning her fate. Her eyes
continued working without strain, however, and so she noticed the increasing beauty
of the land they traveled. They stayed one night beside a stream full of fish
and lined by bushes heavy with berries.
“It belongs to a wise and generous king, who your people
call King Thrushbeard.” The princess’ cheeks turned a dainty pink, the palest
hint of embarrassment. But she said nothing to her husband.
Days further on they crested a tall hill from which a rich
farmland spread in every direction. Again came her question, “Husband, whose
land is this?”
“It belongs to a just and fair king, who your people call
King Thrushbeard.” At hearing his name a second time, the princess flushed a
rosy color.
They walked yet further, passing from farmland into a cool
and thriving forest. A third time she asked, “Husband, whose land is this?”
“It belongs to kind and gentle king, who your people call
King Thrushbeard.” Her cheeks turned scarlett.
They passed through the forest and came to a mean hut[5]
along the forest’s other edge. This was the beggar’s home and now home for the
princess. There was much she was required to learn if they were to eat or
be clean or have the hut stay upright, and despite her many errors, the beggar
never spoke harshly to her. Once she was able to light a fire and prepare
simple meals, the beggar began trying to find work for her so that together
they would work and not starve. First he brought grasses home to teach her to
make baskets, but the slick grass cut her delicate skin. Next he thought to try
spinning, but her thread was lumpy and fragmented. Finally he used mud to make
pots and jars and had her carry these to market to sell. She was still on the
road when a drunken horseman[6]
raced madly down the road towards her, causing her to jump aside and shattering
everything in the process. This shattered the princess’ heart as surely as the
jars were shattered. She wept bitterly, shedding enough tears to make mud for many
more pots.
But still the beggar did not berate his wife. He instead
simply said, “We will go to the palace tomorrow. Perhaps they have need of a
kitchen maid.”
And so the princess served as a kitchen maid and after a
time was able to complete her tasks efficiently. The cook permitted her to
place scraps in her pockets to take home, and in this way she began to find
satisfaction in sharing in providing for herself and her husband. One day,
while the princess swept ashes from the roasting hearth, the butler entered the
kitchen and announced that a great feast was planned to celebrate the king’s
marriage. The cook and the princess paled—the cook in knowledge of the great
amount of work to be done, and the princess at the thought of her former acquaintances
learning of her new condition. If she was unusually quiet that night, the
beggar did not remark on it.
The days rolled by and carriages rolled in, and soon enough
the feast began. The princess did her best to be invisible in the kitchen and
resisted the cook’s efforts to promote her to serving maid which would require
bearing platters to the tables; she would sacrifice much to avoid being seen.
The fist around her chest had begun to relax on the last day when word arrived
in the kitchen that the king requested all staff come to the banquet hall that
he may thank them. Such was not truly a request—it was a command to be obeyed,
as evidenced by the several guards he sent to ensure all staff appeared.
Once in the banquet hall the princess did her best to stay
behind larger servants but it was not enough, and she heard the ever-increasing
whispers roar through the room. Her eyes glued to the floor, she did not see
the king descend his throne or approach her until a hand gently lifted her
face. But the face that met her eyes—! Her beggar husband, King Thrushbeard,
spoke softly and quickly to her, explaining what she guessed in that moment.[7]
How he was saddened by her pride but readily forgave her for the love he bore
her; how he endeavored to soften her heart by pretending to be what he was not
and placing a prideful heart in humble circumstances; how he thrilled as shreds
of spiteful arrogance fell away and were replaced with humility and kindness.
More than that he told her, but those words are not for our ears.
Well you can imagine the celebrations that followed and the
happiness of the young couple. If hearts were to be measured, though, no joy
could match that of the princess’ father, who rejoiced to see his daughter
grown kind and humble.
[1] Grimm,
J., Grimm, W., Zipes, J., & Gruelle, J. (2002). The complete fairy tales of the Brothers Grimm. New York: Bantam.
[2] This
variant from a source I no longer remember (sorry!) but wherever it came from,
it was the first I read.
[3] “chin
a bit crooked” is the original version (Grimm).
[4]
Check out how this series of questions/responses plays out in the Grimms’
version.
[5]
Original says “a tiny cottage.” The princess’ take? “Oh, Lord! What a tiny
house!/It’s not even fit for a mouse!”
[6]
The beggar in disguise. It's explained better in the original.
[7] “Don’t
be afraid. I and the minstrel who lived with you in the wretched cottage are
one and the same person. I disguised myself out of love for you, and I was also
the hussar who rode over your pots and smashed them to pieces. I did all that
to humble your proud spirit and to punish you for the insolent way you behaved
toward me” (King’s admission from Jack Zipes’ translation).
