<h3><SPAN name="chap188"></SPAN>188 The Spindle, The Shuttle, and the Needle</h3>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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,—</p>
<p class="poem">
“Spindle, my spindle, haste, haste thee away,<br/>
And here to my house bring the wooer, I pray.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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,</p>
<p class="poem">
“Shuttle, my shuttle, weave well this day,<br/>
And guide the wooer to me, I pray.”</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>As the shuttle had run away, the girl sat down to sew. She held the needle in
her hand and sang,</p>
<p class="poem">
“Needle, my needle, sharp-pointed and fine,<br/>
Prepare for a wooer this house of mine.”</p>
<p>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. Hardly had the needle put in
the last stitch than the maiden saw through the window the white feathers of
the prince, whom the spindle had brought thither by the golden thread. He
alighted, stepped over the carpet into the house, and when he entered the room,
there stood the maiden in her poor garments, but she shone out from within them
like a rose surrounded by leaves. “Thou art the poorest and also the
richest,” said he to her. “Come with me, thou shalt be my
bride.” She did not speak, but she gave him her hand. Then he gave her a
kiss, led her forth, lifted her on to his horse, and took her to the royal
castle, where the wedding was solemnized with great rejoicings. The spindle,
shuttle, and needle were preserved in the treasure-chamber, and held in great
honour.</p>
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