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.