Mother Holle
In a modest house, nestled between thick groves of evergreen and holly, lived a woman and her two daughters. The woman was mother to both girls, but only one was hers by choice. Her ‘true’ daughter, as she sometimes called her favorite child, was short-sighted and lazy. She slept most of the day, and both she and her mother relied on the other girl to spin the wool, sow the garden, and mind the house.
The other girl, the stepdaughter, was the Cinderella of the family. She was kind and hard-working, not only because her family expected as much, but because being of service was the way she chose to live. She saw no benefit to cursing the hand she was dealt. Besides, magical beings and peculiar circumstances often arise from the most mundane of tasks…
Each day, after the stepdaughter boiled the coffee, scrubbed the floors, hung the wash, and watered and pruned the garden, she would set out into the woods with her spindle. The forest was cool, quiet, and home to the family well. While the girl sat spinning on the well’s edge, she chatted with the water spirits, sharing stories about life up top and asking questions about life down below.
The small well was at least a century old and nearly obscured by trees. Holly leaves crept up the stone border and dangled down into the abyss. As the girl admired Mother Nature’s weaving skills, she spun and spun and spun, and then spun some more. She kept her eyes downcast, scanning the darkness for any glint of movement.
It was only when her spindle began to drag that she looked up and realized she’d spun one of the holly vines into the yarn. The girl laughed at her mistake, and while she was untangling the vine from the thread, she accidentally pricked her finger, and a single drop of blood fell into the well.
Before she could react, the spindle hopped out of her hands and followed the droplet of blood into the dark.
The girl knew that her stepmother would berate her for losing such a precious tool and therefore had no choice other than to venture into the well. She took three holly branches, braided them into a sturdy rope, and lowered herself into the well. She was amazed to see that the tunnel wasn’t nearly as scary or dark as it appeared from her perch above. In fact, the further down she went, the brighter it became. Eventually, when she reached the bottom, where water should have been, she stood atop a meadow of flowers.
The girl looked around but didn’t see her spindle. Unsure of what else to do, she set off in the direction of a small house barely visible in the distance. On her way, she came across an oven that smelled of delicious bread. She could hear the loaves inside singing for their release.
“Help us, kind stranger, for we are just about to burn!”
The girl removed each loaf of bread, which were indeed cooked through, and one by one, she placed them on the rocks to cool.
Next, she came across an apple tree that was hunched over in exhaustion.
“Help me, kind stranger, for every one of my apples is ripe for the picking, but I have no hands to lighten my load.”
The girl gave the tree a gentle shake, and the apples fell into a neat pile at her feet.
When she finally made it to the house, an old woman stood in the doorway. The woman’s face was full of wrinkles, and when she smiled, her teeth resembled those of a wolf. But her voice was soft and kind, and she offered the girl a place to rest.
The woman said the girl could stay with her so long as she helped with the chores. The only other rule was this—each morning while making the beds, she should shake the comforters three times, again and again until feathers scattered throughout the room. While the feathers swirled around, she should say:
“Down in the meadow, deep in the well, up in the heavens, and at my feet, it is snowing, for I am Mother Holle.”
Compared to the chores at her stepmother’s house, the girl believed these rules to be quite simple. Plus, she was tired from a day spent cleaning, spinning, and exploring the meadow. She agreed to stay and thanked the grandmother for her hospitality.
Both the girl and Mother Holle honored their agreement. The old woman was kind to the maiden. She gave the girl new clothes and boiled hearty stews that they shared in the evenings. In return, the girl took care of the house, and each morning she would shake the comforters three times, creating a storm that rained feathers throughout the old woman’s house.
Despite her good fortune, after a while, the girl became homesick. She shared her concerns with the old woman, whose knowing eyes glistened with tears. She handed the girl her spindle, and together they walked past the apple tree, the bread oven, and back into the center of the meadow where the rope made from holly was waiting. After thanking the grandmother for all she’d done, the girl climbed up, up, up, until she could smell the damp rocks and the evergreen groves she knew so well.
And to her surprise, when she emerged from the well, her body was covered in a fine layer of gold.
The girl rushed home, where her stepmother and stepsister had nearly perished in her absence. When they saw the golden girl, they cursed her for abandoning them. But when she told her stepmother the story of the well, the meadow, and how she’d come to be covered in a layer of fine gold dust, the woman tore the spindle from her hands. She threw it at her ‘true’ daughter and insisted that she go spin by the well and find the mysterious old woman who bathed her visitors in gold.
The lazy daughter went into the woods but refused to spin. She pricked her finger on a thorn, waited for a single drop to fall into the well, threw the spindle into the darkness, and then jumped in after it.
The girl landed in the same meadow of flowers as her sister, but when she came across the oven, and the bread begged to be saved, she mocked their cries for help. She told the loaves that if they weren’t so sensitive, they wouldn’t mind the heat.
When she saw the apple tree, which again was hunched over from the weight of ripe fruit, she laughed and told the tree it should take better care of itself.
Once she reached the house, Mother Holle, who’d been watching the girl since her fall into the meadow, invited her visitor inside. She offered the girl a place to stay, so long as she followed the same rules as her stepsister. The girl agreed even though she had no intention of listening to an ugly woman who lived in a well. The lazy girl spent the first two days sleeping, making messes, and taunting the old woman for her wrinkles and unsightly teeth.
By the third day, the girl had yet to finish a single chore or shake the feathers from the comforters, so the old woman told her it was time to go.
What good luck, thought the girl. She’d hardly spent any time in this odd place and would soon be rewarded with gold and riches!
The old woman did not appear upset to see her visitor leave. Her eyes never filled with tears when she handed the girl her spindle.
Or when they walked past the apple tree, whose fruit had dropped and soured.
Or when they neared the bread oven, which smelled of smoke and charred bits.
Or when they reached the holly rope in the center of the meadow.
Without saying thank you or bidding Mother Holle farewell, the girl climbed up the rope. When she emerged from the well, it was not gold that glistened atop her skin, but a thick layer of pitch.
The girl slapped, picked, and rubbed at her skin, but the pitch stayed. She began crying and ran home to her mother, who embraced the girl before realizing she was coated in sticky sap. No matter how much they washed themselves and cursed the woman from the well, the pitch persisted. The mother and her favorite daughter were stuck together for good, united in a permanent state of misery.
The other girl, finally free from the hand she’d been dealt, returned to the woods one last time. She took a pinch of gold dust and sprinkled it into the well to repay Mother Holle and the rest of the well spirits.
Then, she took the remainder of her riches and set out in search of a new life. Although she didn’t know where she would end up, thanks to Mother Holle, the old well, and the house in the meadow, she wasn’t worried. She knew that happy surprises were often found in peculiar places.
This retelling was adapted from “Mother Holle” by Brothers Grimm.
