One-eye, Two-eyes, and Three-eyes

There was once a woman who had three daughters, the eldest of whom was
called One-eye, because she had only one eye in the middle of her
forehead, and the second, Two-eyes, because she had two eyes like other
folks, and the youngest, Three-eyes, because she had three eyes; and
her third eye was also in the centre of her forehead. However, as
Two-eyes saw just as other human beings did, her sisters and her mother
could not endure her. They said to her, "Thou, with thy two eyes, art
no better than the common people; thou dost not belong to us!" They
pushed her about, and threw old clothes to her, and gave her nothing to
eat but what they left, and did everything that they could to make her
unhappy. It came to pass that Two-eyes had to go out into the fields
and tend the goat, but she was still quite hungry, because her sisters
had given her so little to eat. So she sat down on a ridge and began to
weep, and so bitterly that two streams ran down from her eyes. And once
when she looked up in her grief, a woman was standing beside her, who
said, "Why art thou weeping, little Two-eyes?" Two-Eyes answered, "Have
I not reason to weep, when I have two eyes like other people, and my
sisters and mother hate me for it, and push me from one corner to
another, throw old clothes at me, and give me nothing to eat but the
scraps they leave? To-day they have given me so little that I am still
quite hungry." Then the wise woman said, "Wipe away thy tears,
Two-eyes, and I will tell thee something to stop thee ever suffering
from hunger again; just say to thy goat,

"Bleat, my little goat, bleat,
Cover the table with something to eat,"


and then a clean well-spread little table will stand before thee, with
the most delicious food upon it of which thou mayst eat as much as thou
art inclined for, and when thou hast had enough, and hast no more need
of the little table, just say,

"Bleat, bleat, my little goat, I pray,
And take the table quite away,"


and then it will vanish again from thy sight." Hereupon the wise woman
departed. But Two-eyes thought, "I must instantly make a trial, and see
if what she said is true, for I am far too hungry," and she said,

"Bleat, my little goat, bleat,
Cover the table with something to eat,"


and scarcely had she spoken the words than a little table, covered with
a white cloth, was standing there, and on it was a plate with a knife
and fork, and a silver spoon; and the most delicious food was there
also, warm and smoking as if it had just come out of the kitchen. Then
Two-eyes said the shortest prayer she knew, "Lord God, be with us
always, Amen," and helped herself to some food, and enjoyed it. And
when she was satisfied, she said, as the wise woman had taught her,

"Bleat, bleat, my little goat, I pray,
And take the table quite away,"


and immediately the little table and everything on it was gone again.
"That is a delightful way of keeping house!" thought Two-eyes, and was
quite glad and happy.

In the evening, when she went home with her goat, she found a small
earthenware dish with some food, which her sisters had set ready for
her, but she did not touch it. Next day she again went out with her
goat, and left the few bits of broken bread which had been handed to
her, lying untouched. The first and second time that she did this, her
sisters did not remark it at all, but as it happened every time, they
did observe it, and said, "There is something wrong about Two-eyes, she
always leaves her food untasted, and she used to eat up everything that
was given her; she must have discovered other ways of getting food." In
order that they might learn the truth, they resolved to send One-eye
with Two-eyes when she went to drive her goat to the pasture, to
observe what Two-eyes did when she was there, and whether any one
brought her anything to eat and drink. So when Two-eyes set out the
next time, One-eye went to her and said, "I will go with you to the
pasture, and see that the goat is well taken care of, and driven where
there is food." But Two-eyes knew what was in One-eye's mind, and drove
the goat into high grass and said, "Come, One-eye, we will sit down,
and I will sing something to you." One-eye sat down and was tired with
the unaccustomed walk and the heat of the sun, and Two-eyes sang
constantly,

"One eye, wakest thou?
One eye, sleepest thou?"


until One-eye shut her one eye, and fell asleep, and as soon as
Two-eyes saw that One-eye was fast asleep, and could discover nothing,
she said,

"Bleat, my little goat, bleat,
Cover the table with something to eat,"


and seated herself at her table, and ate and drank until she was
satisfied, and then she again cried,

"Bleat, bleat, my little goat, I pray,
And take the table quite away,"


and in an instant all was gone. Two-eyes now awakened One-eye, and
said, "One-eye, you want to take care of the goat, and go to sleep
while you are doing it, and in the meantime the goat might run all over
the world. Come, let us go home again." So they went home, and again
Two-eyes let her little dish stand untouched, and One-eye could not
tell her mother why she would not eat it, and to excuse herself said,
"I fell asleep when I was out."

Next day the mother said to Three-eyes, "This time thou shalt go and
observe if Two-eyes eats anything when she is out, and if any one
fetches her food and drink, for she must eat and drink in secret." So
Three-eyes went to Two-eyes, and said, "I will go with you and see if
the goat is taken proper care of, and driven where there is food." But
Two-eyes knew what was in Three-eyes' mind, and drove the goat into
high grass and said, "We will sit down, and I will sing something to
you, Three-eyes." Three-eyes sat down and was tired with the walk and
with the heat of the sun, and Two-eyes began the same song as before,
and sang,

"Three eyes, are you waking?"


but then, instead of singing,

"Three eyes, are you sleeping?"


as she ought to have done, she thoughtlessly sang,

"Two eyes, are you sleeping?"


and sang all the time,

"Three eyes, are you waking?
Two eyes, are you sleeping?"


Then two of the eyes which Three-eyes had, shut and fell asleep, but
the third, as it had not been named in the song, did not sleep. It is
true that Three-eyes shut it, but only in her cunning, to pretend it
was asleep too, but it blinked, and could see everything very well. And
when Two-eyes thought that Three-eyes was fast asleep, she used her
little charm,

"Bleat, my little goat, bleat,
Cover the table with something to eat,"


and ate and drank as much as her heart desired, and then ordered the
table to go away again,

"Bleat, bleat, my little goat, I pray,
And take the table quite away,"


and Three-eyes had seen everything. Then Two-eyes came to her, waked
her and said, "Have you been asleep, Three-eyes? You are a good
care-taker! Come, we will go home." And when they got home, Two-eyes
again did not eat, and Three-eyes said to the mother, "Now, I know why
that high-minded thing there does not eat. When she is out, she says to
the goat,

"Bleat, my little goat, bleat,
Cover the table with something to eat,"


and then a little table appears before her covered with the best of
food, much better than any we have here, and when she has eaten all she
wants, she says,

"Bleat, bleat, my little goat, I pray,
And take the table quite away,"


and all disappears. I watched everything closely. She put two of my
eyes to sleep by using a certain form of words, but luckily the one in
my forehead kept awake." Then the envious mother cried, "Dost thou want
to fare better than we do? The desire shall pass away," and she fetched
a butcher's knife, and thrust it into the heart of the goat, which fell
down dead.

When Two-eyes saw that, she went out full of trouble, seated herself on
the ridge of grass at the edge of the field, and wept bitter tears.
Suddenly the wise woman once more stood by her side, and said,
"Two-eyes, why art thou weeping?" "Have I not reason to weep?" she
answered. "The goat which covered the table for me every day when I
spoke your charm, has been killed by my mother, and now I shall again
have to bear hunger and want." The wise woman said, "Two-eyes, I will
give thee a piece of good advice; ask thy sisters to give thee the
entrails of the slaughtered goat, and bury them in the ground in front
of the house, and thy fortune will be made." Then she vanished, and
Two-eyes went home and said to her sisters, "Dear sisters, do give me
some part of my goat; I don't wish for what is good, but give me the
entrails." Then they laughed and said, "If that's all you want, you can
have it." So Two-eyes took the entrails and buried them quietly in the
evening, in front of the house-door, as the wise woman had counselled
her to do.

Next morning, when they all awoke, and went to the house-door, there
stood a strangely magnificent tree with leaves of silver, and fruit of
gold hanging among them, so that in all the wide world there was
nothing more beautiful or precious. They did not know how the tree
could have come there during the night, but Two-eyes saw that it had
grown up out of the entrails of the goat, for it was standing on the
exact spot where she had buried them. Then the mother said to One-eye,
"Climb up, my child, and gather some of the fruit of the tree for us."
One-eye climbed up, but when she was about to get hold of one of the
golden apples, the branch escaped from her hands, and that happened
each time, so that she could not pluck a single apple, let her do what
she might. Then said the mother, "Three-eyes, do you climb up; you with
your three eyes can look about you better than One-eye." One-eye
slipped down, and Three-eyes climbed up. Three-eyes was not more
skilful, and might search as she liked, but the golden apples always
escaped her. At length the mother grew impatient, and climbed up
herself, but could get hold of the fruit no better than One-eye and
Three-eyes, for she always clutched empty air. Then said Two-eyes, "I
will just go up, perhaps I may succeed better." The sisters cried, "You
indeed, with your two eyes, what can you do?" But Two-eyes climbed up,
and the golden apples did get out of her way, but came into her hand of
their own accord, so that she could pluck them one after the other, and
brought a whole apronful down with her. The mother took them away from
her, and instead of treating poor Two-eyes any better for this, she and
One-eye and Three-eyes were only envious, because Two-eyes alone had
been able to get the fruit, and they treated her still more cruelly.

It so befell that once when they were all standing together by the
tree, a young knight came up. "Quick, Two-eyes," cried the two sisters,
"creep under this, and don't disgrace us!" and with all speed they
turned an empty barrel which was standing close by the tree over poor
Two-eyes, and they pushed the golden apples which she had been
gathering, under it too. When the knight came nearer he was a handsome
lord, who stopped and admired the magnificent gold and silver tree, and
said to the two sisters, "To whom does this fine tree belong? Any one
who would bestow one branch of it on me might in return for it ask
whatsoever he desired." Then One-eye and Three-eyes replied that the
tree belonged to them, and that they would give him a branch. They both
took great trouble, but they were not able to do it, for the branches
and fruit both moved away from them every time. Then said the knight,
"It is very strange that the tree should belong to you, and that you
should still not be able to break a piece off." They again asserted
that the tree was their property. Whilst they were saying so, Two-eyes
rolled out a couple of golden apples from under the barrel to the feet
of the knight, for she was vexed with One-eye and Three-eyes, for not
speaking the truth. When the knight saw the apples he was astonished,
and asked where they came from. One-eye and Three-eyes answered that
they had another sister, who was not allowed to show herself, for she
had only two eyes like any common person. The knight, however, desired
to see her, and cried, "Two-eyes, come forth." Then Two-eyes, quite
comforted, came from beneath the barrel, and the knight was surprised
at her great beauty, and said, "Thou, Two-eyes, canst certainly break
off a branch from the tree for me." "Yes," replied Two-eyes, "that I
certainly shall be able to do, for the tree belongs to me." And she
climbed up, and with the greatest ease broke off a branch with
beautiful silver leaves and golden fruit, and gave it to the knight.
Then said the knight, "Two-eyes, what shall I give thee for it?"
"Alas!" answered Two-eyes, "I suffer from hunger and thirst, grief and
want, from early morning till late night; if you would take me with
you, and deliver me from these things, I should be happy." So the
knight lifted Two-eyes on to his horse, and took her home with him to
his father's castle, and there he gave her beautiful clothes, and meat
and drink to her heart's content, and as he loved her so much he
married her, and the wedding was solemnized with great rejoicing. When
Two-eyes was thus carried away by the handsome knight, her two sisters
grudged her good fortune in downright earnest. "The wonderful tree,
however, still remains with us," thought they, "and even if we can
gather no fruit from it, still every one will stand still and look at
it, and come to us and admire it. Who knows what good things may be in
store for us?" But next morning, the tree had vanished, and all their
hopes were at an end. And when Two-eyes looked out of the window of her
own little room, to her great delight it was standing in front of it,
and so it had followed her.

Two-eyes lived a long time in happiness. Once two poor women came to
her in her castle, and begged for alms. She looked in their faces, and
recognized her sisters, One-eye, and Three-eyes, who had fallen into
such poverty that they had to wander about and beg their bread from
door to door. Two-eyes, however, made them welcome, and was kind to
them, and took care of them, so that they both with all their hearts
repented the evil that they had done their sister in their youth.
