Tales from the Brothers Grimm: Selected and Illustrated by Lisbeth Zwerger Read online

  The present collection of fairy tales by the Grimm brothers, selected and illustrated by Lisbeth Zwerger, represents an ideal artistic partnership: the Grimms and Lisbeth Zwerger go inseparably together. She brings her own ideal, sensitive, and original understanding of the stories to bear on the texts. Her view of them does not break radically with tradition for the sake of dubious modernity, but links the superficially familiar with some surprisingly new aspects. Children and adults alike feel themselves suddenly drawn into the incidents of the fairy tales. For readers young and old, Lisbeth Zwerger creates an atmosphere in which the poetry of the tales can unfold to the best effect. One critic recently recommended parents whose demands are high, and who are looking for good books for their children, to go to those illustrated by Lisbeth Zwerger.

  The tales of the Grimm brothers are classics all over the world. The internationally acclaimed illustrator Lisbeth Zwerger has developed her own unique pictorial language to match the poetry, wit and wisdom of the Grimms’ stories in a way that appeals to both children and adults. Her style combines magical and concrete elements. This selection contains Lisbeth Zwerger’s favorite stories by the Grimms, some very familiar, some less well-known. Parents looking for the very best books of this genre for their children will be safe in her hands.

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  North American edition published 2013 by Michael Neugebauer Publishing Ltd. Hong Kong

  English translation copyright © 2012 by Anthea Bell

  Illustrations copyright © 2012 by Lisbeth Zwerger

  “The Seven Ravens” copyright © Nord-Sud Verlag AG, Zurich. Reprinted by kind permission.

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  This book was printed in July 2013 at L.Rex Printing Co Ltd 3/F., Blue Box Factory Building, 25 Hing Wo Street, Tin Wan, Aberdeen, Hong Kong, China

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  Color separation by Fotolitho AG, Gossau, Switzerland

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available upon request.

  ISBN 978-988-8240-53-1

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  First impression

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  TALES FROM THE BROTHERS GRIMM

  SELECTED

  AND ILLUSTRATED BY

  LISBETH ZWERGER

  TRANSLATED

  BY ANTHEA BELL

  THE FROG KING or IRON HENRY

  THE WOLF AND THE SEVEN YOUNG KIDS

  HANSEL AND GRETEL

  THE BRAVE LITTLE TAILOR

  THE SEVEN RAVENS

  LITTLE RED CAP

  THE BREMEN TOWN MUSICIANS

  BRIAR ROSE

  THE POOR MILLER’S BOY AND THE LITTLE CAT

  HANS MY HEDGEHOG

  THE CHILDREN OF HAMELIN

  Tales of the oral tradition written down to last

  The famous collection of the brothers Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm

  The first edition of 86 tales collected by the Grimm brothers was published 200 years ago. It contained many of the tales that are still among the most popular: “Little Red Cap,” “The Frog King,” “Briar Rose,” and others. Several more editions followed. Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm were linguistic scholars who also wrote a work on German Grammar and began to compile a German Dictionary. Both brothers supported the unification of the many separate German states, and were dismissed from their posts at the university of Göttingen because of their political opinions. They found a new place to live and work in Berlin, and their collections of fairy tales became the most popular of all their books. Since their own time, much light has been cast on the way they collected the tales. Readers imagined them travelling from place to place, writing down stories told by old peasant women. However, the two scholars’ intention was, rather, to trace the course taken by the “wisdom of the people” back to its mythological sources. In this they were continuing the work of the Romantic poets Clemens Brentano and Achim von Arnim, in their famous folk-song collection The Boy’s Magic Horn.

  Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm set about collecting fairy tales in a very practical way. One of their most important informants was Dorothea Viehmann, not an old peasant but an educated woman of French descent. Her knowledge laid the foundations for their collection of Children’s and Household Tales. Other collectors contributed to the two brothers’ activities, for instance the poet Annette von Droste-Hülshoff and her sister. Jacob and Wilhelm also took many stories from the French collection of Charles Perrault (1628–1703). “Briar Rose” and “Little Red Cap,” for instance, are of French origin.

  Jacob and Wilhelm also wrote tales themselves. They extended their collection in later editions, and revised the texts extensively several times, often because readers had objected that the fairy tales were too cruel, and might encourage brutality. The Grimm brothers collected legends as well as fairy tales. The volume containing the German Legends of the Brothers Grimm lists 585 titles. One example, “The Children of Hamelin,” also known as “The Pied Piper of Hamelin,” is included in this book.

  The illustrator Lisbeth Zwerger, who has won the highest international distinctions, devoted herself very early to the fairy tale genre, and attracted attention with her surprisingly new vision of the old material. The course of her wide-ranging artistic development can be traced through her work on the tales of the brothers Grimm that are included in this book.

  Werner Thusnelder

  THE FROG KING OR IRON HENRY

  Once upon a time, when wishes could still come true, there was a king whose daughters were all beautiful, but the youngest was so lovely that the sun itself, although it had seen so much, marvelled at her beauty whenever it shone on her face. Close to the king’s castle there was a great, dark forest, and in the forest, under an old linden tree, there was a well. If the weather was very hot, the king’s daughter used to go out into the forest and sit on the rim of the well - and if she was bored she took a golden ball that was her favorite plaything with her, threw it up in the air and caught it again.

  One day it so happened that after she had thrown the golden ball up it did not fall back into her little hands again, but came down on the ground and rolled straight into the water. The king’s daughter followed it with her eyes, but the ball disappeared, and the well was deep, so deep that you couldn’t see to the bottom of it. Then she began to weep and wail inconsolably, louder and louder. And as she was weeping like that, a voice spoke to her, “What’s the matter, king’s daughter? Why are you crying so pitifully that it would melt a heart of stone?”

  She looked around to find out where the voice came from, and then she saw a frog putting his fat, ugly head up above the water. “Oh, it’s you, is it, old squelchy-splasher?” she said. “I’m crying beca
use my golden ball has fallen into the well, and now I’ve lost it.”

  “Hush, don’t cry,” replied the frog. “I can help you there, but what will you give me if I bring your plaything up out of the water again?”

  “Anything you like, dear frog,” she said. “My fine dresses, my pearls and jewels, even the golden crown that I wear.”

  “I don’t want your dresses, your pearls and jewels or your golden crown,” said the frog, “but if you will be kind to me and take me as your friend and playmate, let me sit at your little table beside you, eat from your little golden plate, drink from your little golden goblet and sleep in your little bed - if you will promise me all that, I will climb down the well and bring your golden ball up again.”

  “Oh yes,” she said, “I promise anything you like if you will only bring me back my golden ball.” But she was thinking: what nonsense that silly frog talks! There he sits in the water with the other frogs, so how can he be friends with any human being?

  Once she had promised, the frog dipped his head down under the water, sank to the bottom of the well, and a little later he came swimming up again with the ball in his mouth and dropped it on the grass. The king’s daughter was delighted to see her pretty toy again. She picked it up and ran away with it.

  “Wait for me!” the frog called after her. “Take me with you. I can’t run as fast as you!” But however loud he croaked, it did him no good! She paid him no attention, but hurried home and soon forgot all about the poor frog, who had to climb down into his well again.

  Next day, when she was sitting at the dinner table with the king and all the courtiers, eating from her little golden plate, something came crawling up the marble steps outside the castle, slip slop, slip slop, and when it was at the top of the flight of steps it knocked on the door and called, “Youngest daughter of the king, open the door to let me in!” She went to see who was outside the door, but when she opened it, there sat the frog. Then she quickly slammed the door and sat down again, feeling very frightened. The king could see that her heart was beating fast, and he asked, “What are you afraid of, my child? Is there a giant outside the door wanting to take you away?”

  “No,” she said, “it’s not a giant, it’s a nasty frog.”

  “What does the frog want?”

  “Oh, dear father, when I was sitting beside the well in the forest yesterday my golden ball fell into the water. And the frog fetched it out because I was crying so hard, and when he insisted I promised to be his friend, but I never thought he could get out of the water. Now he’s outside the door and wants to come in.”

  And already there was a second knock on the door, and a voice called out:

  “Youngest king’s daughter

  Open the door.

  Don’t you remember

  The promise you swore,

  Beside the cool water

  Youngest king’s daughter?

  Open the door!”

  Then the king said, “If you made a promise, you must keep it, so go and open the door to him.” She went and opened the door, and the frog hopped in and followed her back to her chair. He sat there on the floor and said, “Pick me up so that I can sit beside you!” She hesitated until at last the king told her to do as the frog said. Once he was on the chair he wanted to get up on the table, and when he was on the table he said, “Push your little golden plate closer to me so that we can eat from it together.”

  She did as the frog said, but anyone could tell that she was reluctant to do so. The frog ate a good dinner, but she could hardly swallow a morsel. At last the frog said, “I’ve eaten all I want, and now I’m tired, so carry me into your little bedchamber, make up the bed with silken sheets, and we’ll lie down to sleep.”

  The king’s daughter began to weep, because she was afraid of the cold, clammy frog. She didn’t like to touch him, and now she must let him sleep in her lovely, clean little bed. But the king was angry, and said, “If someone helps you in your hour of need, then you must not despise him afterwards.” So she picked up the frog with the tips of two fingers, carried him to her bedchamber and put him down in a corner. However, when she was lying in bed he came crawling up and said, “I’m tired, I want to sleep in as much comfort as you, so pick me up or I’ll tell your father!”

  At that she lost her temper, seized the frog and threw him against the wall with all her might, saying, “That will keep you quiet, you nasty frog!”

  However, when he fell to the floor he wasn’t a frog any more, he had turned into a king’s son with kind and beautiful eyes. And now, as her father the king wished, he was to be her dear friend and her husband. He told her that a wicked witch had cast a spell on him, and no one but the king’s youngest daughter could break the spell and release him from the water in the well. Tomorrow, he said, they would go off to his own kingdom together. Then they went to sleep, and at sunrise next morning a carriage drawn by eight white horses came driving up. The horses had white ostrich plumes on their heads, and were harnessed to the carriage with golden chains, and behind the carriage stood the young king’s servant, Faithful Henry. Faithful Henry had been so upset when his master was turned into a frog that he had had three iron bands fastened around his heart, to keep it from breaking with misery and sadness. Now that the carriage was to take the young king away to his kingdom, Faithful Henry helped him and his young wife into it, got up behind them again, and was full of joy to see that the spell had been broken.

  When they had gone part of the way the king’s son heard a cracking noise behind him, like something breaking. So he turned round and called:

  “Henry, the carriage is breaking!” But Faithful Henry replied:

  “No, sir, that was my heart waking.

  Cracking one of the iron bands

  Forged around it when from your lands

  You were exiled by the witch’s spell,

  To be a frog and live in a well.”

  As they drove along there was a second cracking sound, and then a third, and each time the king’s son thought the carriage was breaking, but it was only the iron bands falling away from Faithful Henry’s heart, because now his master was released from the spell and was happy.

  THE WOLF AND THE SEVEN YOUNG KIDS

  Once upon a time there was an old nanny-goat who had seven young kids, and she loved them dearly, just as any mother loves her children. One day, when she wanted to go into the forest and look for food, she called all seven to her and said, “Dear children, I’m going into the forest, so you must be on your guard against the wolf. If he gets into this house he’ll eat you all up. He often pretends to be someone else, but you’ll know him by his rough voice and his black paws.”

  “Dear Mother,” said the kids, “we’ll take good care, so you go out and don’t worry about us.” So the old goat bleated goodbye and set off with her mind at rest.

  It wasn’t long before someone knocked at the door of the house and called, “Open the door, dear children, here’s your mother back bringing something nice for each of you.” But the kids could hear from his rough voice that he was the wolf. “No,” they replied, “you’re not our mother. She has a kind, gentle voice, but your voice is rough. You’re the wolf.”

  The wolf went away to a shop where he bought a big piece of chalk; he ate it to soften his voice. Then he came back, knocked on the door of the house and called, “Open the door, dear children, here’s your mother back bringing something nice for each of you.” But the wolf had put one of his black paws on the windowsill, and the goat’s children saw it and said, “We won’t open the door; our mother doesn’t have a black paw like you. You’re the wolf.”

  Then the wolf went to a baker and said, “I’ve hurt my paw. Put some dough on it, please.” And when the baker had spread dough over his paw, he went to the miller and said, “Sprinkle some white flour over my paw.” The miller thought: the wolf wants to deceive someone. And he was unwilling to do it, but the wolf said, “If you don’t do as I say, I’m going to eat you up.” Then the m
iller was frightened, and made the wolf’s paw look white. That’s human nature for you.

  Now the wicked wolf went to the door of the goat’s house for the third time, knocked on the door and said, “Open the door, dear children, here’s your mother back bringing something out of the forest for each of you.”

  “Show us your paw first,” called the kids, “so that we’ll know if you’re really our dear mother.”

  Then the wolf put his paw on the windowsill, and when they saw that it was white they believed that what he said was true, and opened the door. However, it wasn’t their mother who came in but the wolf. They were frightened, and tried to hide. One of them ran under the table, the second jumped into the bed, the third hid in the stove, the fourth in the kitchen, the fifth in the wardrobe, the sixth under the wash-basin, and the seventh in the case of the clock on the wall. But the wolf found them all and made short work of them: he swallowed them one by one, and the only one he missed was the youngest, who was hiding in the clock case. And when his appetite was satisfied he strolled away, lay down outside in the green grass of the meadow under a tree, and went to sleep.

  Not long after that, the old nanny-goat came home from the forest. Oh, what a sight met her eyes! The front door of the house was wide open, the table, chairs and benches were turned upside down, the wash-basin was smashed to pieces, the blanket and pillows had been pulled off the bed. She looked for her children, but they were nowhere to be found. She called their names, one after another, but no one answered. At last, when she came to the name of the youngest, a little voice called, “Dear Mother, I’m here in the clock case on the wall.” She let the kid out, and he told her how the wolf had come and eaten all the others. You can imagine how the goat wept for her poor children. At last, in her grief, she went out of the house, and the youngest little kid went with her. When she came to the meadow, there was the wolf lying under the tree, snoring so hard that the branches shook.