The hare, however, thought to himself, “That has not been done
fairly,” and cried, “It must be run again, let us have it again.” And
once more he went off like the wind in a storm, so that he seemed to
fly. But the hedgehog’s wife stayed quietly in her place. So when the
hare reached the top of the field, the hedgehog himself cried out to
him, “I am here already.” The hare, however, quite beside himself with
anger, cried, “It must be run again, we must have it again.” “All
right,” answered the hedgehog, “for my part we’ll run as often as you
choose.” So the hare ran seventy-three times more, and the hedgehog
always held out against him, and every time the hare reached either the
top or the bottom, either the hedgehog or his wife said, “I am here
already.”

At the seventy-fourth time, however, the hare could no longer reach the
end. In the middle of the field he fell to the ground, blood streamed
out of his mouth, and he lay dead on the spot. But the hedgehog took
the louis-d’or which he had won and the bottle of brandy, called his
wife out of the furrow, and both went home together in great delight,
and if they are not dead, they are living there still. This is how it happened that the hedgehog made the hare run races with
him on the Buxtehuder heath till he died, and since that time no hare
has ever had any fancy for running races with a Buxtehuder hedgehog. The moral of this story, however, is, firstly, that no one, however
great he may be, should permit himself to jest at any one beneath him,
even if he be only a hedgehog. And, secondly, it teaches, that when a
man marries, he should take a wife in his own position, who looks just
as he himself looks. So whosoever is a hedgehog let him see to it that
his wife is a hedgehog also, and so forth. 188 The Spindle, The Shuttle, and the Needle

There was once a girl whose father and mother died while she was still
a little child. All alone, in a small house at the end of the village,
dwelt her godmother, who supported herself by spinning, weaving, and
sewing. The old woman took the forlorn child to live with her, kept her
to her work, and educated her in all that is good. When the girl was
fifteen years old, the old woman became ill, called the child to her
bedside, and said, “Dear daughter, I feel my end drawing near. I leave
thee the little house, which will protect thee from wind and weather,
and my spindle, shuttle, and needle, with which thou canst earn thy
bread.” Then she laid her hands on the girl’s head, blessed her, and
said, “Only preserve the love of God in thy heart, and all will go well
with thee.” Thereupon she closed her eyes, and when she was laid in the
earth, the maiden followed the coffin, weeping bitterly, and paid her
the last mark of respect. And now the maiden lived quite alone in the
little house, and was industrious, and span, wove, and sewed, and the
blessing of the good old woman was on all that she did. It seemed as if
the flax in the room increased of its own accord, and whenever she wove
a piece of cloth or carpet, or had made a shirt, she at once found a
buyer who paid her amply for it, so that she was in want of nothing,
and even had something to share with others. About this time, the son of the King was travelling about the country
looking for a bride. He was not to choose a poor one, and did not want
to have a rich one. So he said, “She shall be my wife who is the
poorest, and at the same time the richest.” When he came to the village
where the maiden dwelt, he inquired, as he did wherever he went, who
was the richest and also the poorest girl in the place? They first
named the richest; the poorest, they said, was the girl who lived in
the small house quite at the end of the village. The rich girl was
sitting in all her splendour before the door of her house, and when the
prince approached her, she got up, went to meet him, and made him a low
curtsey. He looked at her, said nothing, and rode on. When he came to
the house of the poor girl, she was not standing at the door, but
sitting in her little room. He stopped his horse, and saw through the
window, on which the bright sun was shining, the girl sitting at her
spinning-wheel, busily spinning. She looked up, and when she saw that
the prince was looking in, she blushed all over her face, let her eyes
fall, and went on spinning. I do not know whether, just at that moment,
the thread was quite even; but she went on spinning until the King’s
son had ridden away again. Then she went to the window, opened it, and
said, “It is so warm in this room!” but she still looked after him as
long as she could distinguish the white feathers in his hat. Then she
sat down to work again in her own room and went on with her spinning,
and a saying which the old woman had often repeated when she was
sitting at her work, came into her mind, and she sang these words to
herself,—

“Spindle, my spindle, haste, haste thee away,
And here to my house bring the wooer, I pray.”


And what do you think happened? The spindle sprang out of her hand in
an instant, and out of the door, and when, in her astonishment, she got
up and looked after it, she saw that it was dancing out merrily into
the open country, and drawing a shining golden thread after it. Before
long, it had entirely vanished from her sight. As she had now no
spindle, the girl took the weaver’s shuttle in her hand, sat down to
her loom, and began to weave. The spindle, however, danced continually onwards, and just as the
thread came to an end, reached the prince. “What do I see?” he cried;
“the spindle certainly wants to show me the way!” turned his horse
about, and rode back with the golden thread. The girl was, however,
sitting at her work singing,

“Shuttle, my shuttle, weave well this day,
And guide the wooer to me, I pray.”


Immediately the shuttle sprang out of her hand and out by the door. Before the threshold, however, it began to weave a carpet which was
more beautiful than the eyes of man had ever yet beheld. Lilies and
roses blossomed on both sides of it, and on a golden ground in the
centre green branches ascended, under which bounded hares and rabbits,
stags and deer stretched their heads in between them, brightly-coloured
birds were sitting in the branches above; they lacked nothing but the
gift of song. The shuttle leapt hither and thither, and everything
seemed to grow of its own accord. As the shuttle had run away, the girl sat down to sew. She held the
needle in her hand and sang,

“Needle, my needle, sharp-pointed and fine,
Prepare for a wooer this house of mine.”


Then the needle leapt out of her fingers, and flew everywhere about the
room as quick as lightning. It was just as if invisible spirits were
working; they covered tables and benches with green cloth in an
instant, and the chairs with velvet, and hung the windows with silken
curtains.