Mother Holle – A Tale by the Brothers Grimm

Once upon a time there was a little girl called Marie. She lived at the edge of a village, right beside an old well where folk had drawn water for as long as anyone could remember. Marie was cheerful and hard-working, and she loved to rise at dawn, when the birds were still asleep and the air smelled cool and fresh. Every day she sat beside the well and spun. The well was very old indeed, and all around it grew soft daisies, and long green grass swayed gently in the breeze.

One morning, while Marie was spinning away, the spindle slipped from her fingers and fell — splash — straight down into the well. Marie was startled, but she could not bear to lose it. Bravely she climbed over the edge of the well — and fell, slowly, softly, like a feather drifting on the wind, down and down and down. It was not dark, and it was not frightening. Instead, tiny sparks of light glimmered all around her, and the air smelled of fresh hay and ripe apples. Marie landed gently on a wide, green meadow.

Marie stood up and gazed around in wonder. She had arrived in quite another world — a world that looked like a beautiful, enchanted forest, like the Silbenwald itself. Warm lanterns hung from the branches of the trees, and fireflies danced through a soft, silver mist. The meadows glowed a lush and living green, and bright flowers lifted their heads to greet her. Marie felt a flutter of excitement, and a flutter of curiosity too. She took a deep breath, smoothed down her plaits, and set off to discover where on earth she had landed.

Marie had not gone far along the soft path when a baker's oven called out to her in a friendly voice: "Oh, dear Marie, please help me — the bread is baked through and must come out!" Marie did not hesitate for a moment. She picked up the long bread-peel, opened the oven door with care, and drew out each golden loaf one by one. The smell was so wonderfully warm and sweet that Marie could have stood there dreaming for ever. But she tucked the loaves neatly aside and went cheerfully on her way.

Before long, Marie came upon an apple tree so heavy with ripe red apples that its branches bent almost to the ground. The tree spoke to her in a gentle rustle of leaves: "Oh, dear Marie, please shake me — shake me! Every one of my apples is ready!" Marie wrapped her arms around the trunk and shook it with all her might. Down rained the apples — round and red and glorious — and Marie gathered every last one and arranged them in a neat and tidy pile. The tree thanked her with a warm and whispering sigh.

Then Marie spotted a little, cosy house. Sitting before the door was an old woman with a kind, wrinkled face and large, gentle eyes. Her hair was white as snow and her teeth were rather long and shaggy — but her smile was so warm and so welcoming that Marie felt safe the very instant she saw it. "I am Mother Holle," said the old woman, in a voice like warm milk and honey. "Will you stay with me and help me? I shall take good care of you." Marie nodded, and stepped inside.

Marie was very happy living with Mother Holle. Each morning she rose early, swept and tidied the house, cooked the meals, and helped wherever she was needed. But her favourite task of all was shaking the great feather quilts. For whenever Marie shook them, millions of soft feathers rose up into the air — and far above, in Marie's home village, gentle white snow came drifting down. Marie loved to picture it every time: the children rushing outside, laughing and shouting, tumbling in the snow that she, Marie, had sent them with her busy hands.

One day, Marie noticed a quiet ache in her chest. She found herself thinking of home — the familiar smells, the creak of the old staircase, the chatter of the birds at first light. Mother Holle saw the faraway look on Marie's face and smiled her gentle smile. "I can see that you are homesick, dear Marie," she said softly. "And that is as it should be. You have worked with such cheerfulness and care, and now it is time for you to go home." Marie hugged Mother Holle long and tight, and Mother Holle held her just as firmly in return.

Mother Holle led Marie to a special gateway deep in the Silbenwald. The very moment Marie stepped through it, a soft rain of pure gold fell upon her — drop by shining drop, like warm and liquid light. The gold clung to Marie's dress and glowed there brightly. "You have earned this, dear Marie," said Mother Holle with a smile, "through your kindness and your glad and willing heart." Then the gateway closed, quietly and gently, and Marie found herself standing beside the old well at home — with her spindle lying right there in the grass beside her.

Marie stood in a golden shimmer beside the old well and smiled. The warmth of the gold wrapped around her like an embrace. She looked up at the sky, where the first stars of the evening were beginning to twinkle, and whispered softly: "Thank you, Mother Holle." Perhaps a gentle breeze moved through the trees just then, as if in answer — and perhaps, high up above, there was the tiniest glimmer of light among the clouds. Marie picked up her spindle, walked home, and that night she dreamed of feathers falling like snowflakes through the Silbenwald.