Array The Brothers Grimm - Fairy Tales from the Brothers Grimm - A New English Version

And of course that was the wrong name. The mountain didn’t move an inch. The rich brother began to get frightened, and tried one name after another: ‘Mount Sipsack! Mount Sepsick! Mount Spittelboom! Mount Spotnik! Mount Sizwiz!’

Of course none of them worked. The more confused he got, the more frightened he became, and the more frightened he was, the more confused he became.

And time went past, and he broke all his fingernails scrabbling at the rocks trying to find the place where the mountain opened up. He kept on trying to find the right name: ‘Mount Snipfish! Mount Saucehorse! Mount Snakepaste! Mount Sagsausage! Mount Siccapillydircus!’

All the treasure in his pockets was no use to him; his counting house, his real estate, his bank accounts, his stocks and shares — none of them could help him one bit.

Then to his horror he heard a voice outside calling: ‘Mount Semsi! Mount Semsi! Open up!’

Of course! That was the name! How could he have forgotten it?

And then the mountain was opening, and twelve fierce robbers were looking at him.

‘There you are,’ said the largest and fiercest. ‘Got you at last. Did you think we hadn’t noticed that you’d been here twice already?’

‘It wasn’t me! It was my brother! Honest! He stole these jewels! I came here to put them back! I swear it!’

But whatever he said, and however much he begged and pleaded, it was no use. That morning, he had gone into the mountain in one piece. That evening he came out in several.

Tale type:ATU 676, ‘The Forty Thieves’

Source:a story told to the Grimm brothers by Ludowine von Haxthausen

Similar stories:‘The Story of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves Killed by a Slave Girl’ ( The Arabian Nights ); Italo Calvino: ‘The Thirteen Bandits’ ( Italian Folktales )

Quite clearly, this is the first half of the well-known tale from The Arabian Nights. At least, it comes from the French translation of the original tales by Antoine Galland (1646–1715), which isn’t quite the same thing, because, in the absence of Arabic manuscripts of ‘Ali Baba’ and ‘Aladdin’ that predate Galland’s translation, scholars suspect that Galland made them up himself. Calvino’s Italian version is similar to this tale.

But where is the second half? I miss the body of the chopped-up brother being sewn together and the thieves hiding in the oil-jars and the faithful slave boiling them to death. Either Ludowine von Haxthausen didn’t know it (but then Calvino’s source didn’t know it either) or someone, possibly the Grimms, decided it was better without it. It isn’t, though. And it wouldn’t be hard to Germanize the exotic elements of Galland’s marvellous tale, and round it all off properly.

Heinz was bone idle. Though he had nothing to do but drive the goat out to pasture every day, he complained every evening when he came home.

‘Honestly,’ he said, ‘it’s a devil of a job driving this goat to the meadow day in day out all year round. It’s not like some jobs, where you can shut your eyes for a nap occasionally. No, no. It’s a heavy responsibility. I’ve got to watch every second to see it doesn’t nibble the young trees, or shove its way through the hedge into someone’s garden, or even run away for good. How on earth can I get a bit of rest, put my feet up, enjoy life?’

He sat down and collected his thoughts. They were quite easy to collect, because there weren’t very many of them, and they all concerned the same subject — what a burden his life was. For a long time he sat there staring at nothing, and then suddenly he sat up and clapped his hands.

‘I know what I’ll do!’ he said. ‘I’ll marry Big Trina. She’s got a goat as well, and she can drive mine out with hers, and save me the trouble. Brilliant idea!’

So he heaved himself up out of the chair and trudged all the way across the street to the house where Big Trina’s parents lived, and asked for the hand of their virtuous and hard-working daughter. They didn’t have to think about it very hard, because they’d been wondering how to get rid of her for years.

‘Birds of a feather flock together,’ they thought, and gave their consent.

So Big Trina became Heinz’s wife, and every day she drove out both goats to pasture. Heinz had a fine time, with nothing whatever to do. He did go out with her occasionally, but only so he’d enjoy it even more when he had the following day off.

‘I’d lose all feeling for it otherwise,’ he said. ‘Variety is the spice of life.’

However, Big Trina was just as lazy as he was.

‘Heinz, darling,’ she said one day, ‘I’ve been thinking.’

Thinking was just as much of an effort for her as it was for him, so he knew what she’d gone through, and he listened with close attention.

‘What about?’ he said.

‘Them goats,’ she said. ‘They wake us up ever so early with their bleating.’

‘You never said a truer word,’ he said.

‘So I thought maybe we could ask the neighbour to swap them for his beehive. We could put it in that sunny corner in the back garden and then forget about it. You don’t have to drive bees out to pasture, do you? They fly out and find their way to the flowers and then come home again all by theirselves. And they collect honey all the time and we don’t have to do nothing.’

‘Did you think of that all by yourself?’ said Heinz.

‘Yeah,’ she said modestly.

‘Well, I think it’s bloody brilliant. I really do. We’ll do it right away. Well, maybe leave it till tomorrow. And I tell you something else,’ he said, almost enthusiastically, ‘honey tastes a lot nicer than what goats’ milk does.’

‘And it keeps longer too,’ she added.

‘Oh, Trina, darling! If you come over here I’ll kiss you.’

‘Maybe later,’ she said.

‘Yeah, all right.’

Next morning they suggested this idea to the neighbour, and he agreed at once. He took the goats and carried the beehive over to Heinz and Trina’s back garden, and put it in the sunny corner; and from then on the bees did their work tirelessly, flying in and out from early morning till late in the evening, gathering nectar and filling the hive with fine sweet honey. And late in the year, Heinz was able to take out a whole jugful.

He and Trina put the jug on the shelf over their bed. Trina was worried in case thieves got in and stole it, or mice got into it and made a mess, so she found a stout hazel stick and kept it under her side of the bed. That way she could reach it and drive away the mice or the burglars without having to get up.

Heinz thought that was another good idea. He was full of admiration for his wife’s power of foresight; thinking about things that hadn’t happened yet made him tired, and he never used to get up before noon anyway. ‘Early rising is a waste of the bed,’ he said.

One morning as the two of them lay there eating breakfast, a thought occurred to him, for a change.

‘You know,’ he said, putting his piece of toast down on the bedspread, ‘you’re like most women, you’ve got a sweet tooth, you have. If you keep on dipping into that honey, there won’t be any left. What I reckon is, we ought to swap it for a goose and a gosling before you eat it all up.’

‘A goose and a gosling?’ said Trina. ‘But we haven’t got a child yet!’

‘What’s that got to do with it?’

‘He’s got to look after the goose, of course! I’m not going to do it. When have I got time to chase around after geese?’

‘Oh,’ said Heinz. ‘Yeah. I hadn’t thought about that. But d’you think he’ll do what he’s told anyway? Kids don’t, these days. No respect at all for their parents. You see it all the time.’