I swear by my life and my love of it that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine.
John Galt in «Atlas Shrugged» by Ayn Rand
The Grimm version is rather short and direct, and admittedly, this version has some «Atlas Shrugged» influences. I also added elements from «The Fairy»/«Diamonds and Toads». But while long it does have a natural waypoint.
The result is a fairy tale about learning to do things well enough that your judgment, work, and life can become truly your own — and about the difference between accepting correction and endlessly shifting burdens onto others.
Its harsher second half asks what happens when someone wants the rewards of competence without the discipline, responsibility, or self-command that make those rewards possible.
Took rather long to (re-)write and I learned a bit about the process from fleece to cloth, and about drowning.
Mother Holle
There was once a widow who had two daughters. The two girls were nearly of an age, though in everything else they grew less alike each year.
The first was her stepdaughter, whose mother had died when she was still a little girl. The widow did not like that she had to care for a child who was not her own, so from early on the girl had to work for her keep.
The second was her own, and she took after her mother. Because she was quite charming and her mother doted on her, she found life effortless and pleasant. If there were twenty logs to carry, she carried one while her mother was looking and left nineteen for her stepsister. If sewing needed finishing, she handed her the tedious seams. Her stepsister could never refuse her, for she knew where the mother’s favor lay.
The stepdaughter had inherited her mother’s spinning wheel and earned what little money she could with it. Though the stepmother took the money, she did not want the dead woman’s wheel beneath her roof. So the girl had to spin outside. She had found a quiet place at an old well beyond the last houses, where she could spin in peace.
One day, while she was spinning, there came a poor woman who begged her for a drink. The girl took a pitcher and filled it with the clearest water from the well, then held up the pitcher that the poor woman might drink.
«Thank you for your kindness,» said the poor woman. «I will repay it in kind. If ever you need to descend into the well, throw down three dandelions and steps will appear. But know that you may do so only once.»
The girl thanked her, but wondered why she would ever want to go down a well.
That was until the next day, when a sharp burr hidden in the wool pricked her finger and a drop of blood stained the bobbin. She stopped the wheel and took out the bobbin to wash off the blood. She had brought an apple with her, and being hungry, took a bite and set it upon the rim of the well. While washing the bobbin, she reached for the apple with one hand. The wet bobbin slipped from the other and tumbled down the well.
At first the girl ran to her stepmother, but she scolded her sharply.
«You stupid girl! You let it fall, so you must fetch it again. And do not come back until you can earn your keep.»
So the girl went back to the well and, looking down, saw only darkness. Then she remembered the poor woman’s advice and threw down three dandelions. They had scarcely begun to fall when stairs appeared along the side of the well. First the girl touched the stairs with her hand. Then she set one foot carefully upon them, and when she knew they would carry her weight, she slowly descended into the well.
As she went down the well, she suddenly found herself climbing upward again. Not long after, she came out into a lovely meadow where the sun was shining and many thousands of flowers were growing.
She could not see her bobbin anywhere, so along the meadow she went. At last she came to a baker’s oven full of bread, and the bread cried out:
«Oh, take us out! Take us out! Or we shall burn. We have been baked a long time!»
«Oh, this will not do,» said the girl, and went up to the oven.
One after another she drew out the loaves with the bread-shovel, though the heat made her sweat and singed the hair on her arms. She did not stop until all the bread was out and cooling on a wooden board.
After that she went on until she came to a tree covered with apples, which called to her:
«Oh, shake us! Shake us! We apples are all ripe!»
«Oh, this will not do,» said the girl.
So she shook the tree until the apples fell like rain. Leaves fell as well, and insects and spiders, and one apple struck her shoulder. Often she had to stop to gather the fruit into a nearby basket, but she kept on shaking until the tree cried out, «That will do.»
So the girl put the last apples into the basket, shook the debris from her hair, and went on.
At last she came to a little house, out of which an old woman peeped. She had such large teeth that the girl was frightened and was about to run away.
«What are you afraid of, dear child?» said the old woman. «If you must run, take this with you.»
And she threw the lost bobbin to her.
The girl caught it and was glad to have it back. She looked at the old woman again, who said:
«If you want, you may stay with me. If you will do all the work in the house properly, you shall be the better for it. Only you must take care to make my bed well and shake it thoroughly till the feathers fly — for then there is snow on the earth. I am Mother Holle.»
The girl looked past her teeth and asked, «How will I be the better for it?»
«I know a thing or two about wool, spinning, and weaving, and I will gladly share that knowledge with you,» replied Mother Holle.
So the girl took courage and agreed to enter her service.
In the morning she attended to everything to the satisfaction of her mistress. She always shook the bed so vigorously that the feathers flew about like snowflakes. At noon they ate, often bread and apples.
In the afternoon Mother Holle taught her about wool, spinning, and weaving. At first the girl was proud that she had been spinning for years. But Mother Holle examined her yarn and said:
«Strong enough for coarse cloth, but not for anything you would want next to your skin.»
The girl was embarrassed by her work, but listened when Mother Holle showed her what she was doing wrong. Too much twist here, uneven drafting there, her fingers held at the wrong angle. When the girl followed her instructions, the yarn did indeed come out much better. So she began to trust Mother Holle’s judgment, and because Mother Holle praised her when the work improved as readily as she corrected it when it did not, the girl listened more carefully still.
But before the afternoon was over, the girl’s attention wandered and her hand crept back into its old position.
«Again,» said Mother Holle.
The girl sighed and set her fingers right.
«A hand taught wrongly must learn twice,» said Mother Holle.
It took her a long while to unlearn what her hands had practiced wrongly for years, but the reminders were needed less and less often, and her yarn grew better and better.
‹How many miles of coarse thread have I spun because I did not know the right way?› thought the girl.
After she had learned to use the spinning wheel properly, Mother Holle had her weave simple cloth from the yarn. At first Mother Holle corrected her often. The girl groaned in frustration when she had to undo a piece of weaving she had worked on all afternoon.
«But I worked so hard on that,» she cried.
«Yes,» replied Mother Holle.
Then the girl looked closely at it and saw the faults herself, and she unpicked it. Her stepmother would have called it wasted labor and used the faulty cloth as it was. But the girl learned from it.
Over time Mother Holle had to correct her less often, until the girl began to notice errors before Mother Holle did. One day she looked at the weaving she had begun and said to herself:
«No, this will not do.»
So she undid it and began again properly, and the cloth was better for it. Only when the simple cloth was done right did they move on to finer cloth.
When the girl wanted to make a dress for herself, Mother Holle asked her to choose the wool for it. The girl first picked the prettiest, softest fleece. Mother Holle took a little of the fleece, drew it out very fine, and laid it against the girl’s cheek.
«For a veil,» she said.
Then she twisted another strand hard between her fingers and pulled. It broke.
«And for your working dress?» she asked.
The girl shook her head and put the fleece back.
Then she chose a fleece better suited to what she meant to make and began to sort it. As she was eager to get to the spinning and weaving, she overlooked a few little burrs. They caught during carding, and the girl had to stop to remove them. Growing impatient, she left a small tangled place. It made a thick slub in the yarn when she spun it. She tried to smooth it with her fingers, but at the loom it caught.
«No,» said the girl. «This will not do. It gets worse and worse.»
She looked at Mother Holle, who was watching her closely.
«Can I mend it here?» asked the girl.
«You can,» said Mother Holle. «But it would have taken you only a moment to remove the tangle before you spun it.»
The girl looked at the troublesome thread.
«And less still when I was sorting the fleece,» she said.
Mother Holle nodded.
«A fault is cheapest where it begins.»
So the girl began anew. When she had sorted the fleece well, it carded cleanly. The fibers drafted evenly, and the yarn passed smoothly through the loom. Mother Holle helped her finish and cut the cloth, and because the cloth was sound, the needle had sound cloth to join. Before long, the dress was finished, and it was well made.
The girl ran her hand over the cloth and was pleased that it was sound. Under her stepmother she had worked because work was laid upon her. Here she knew what she was making and why each part must be done well. The work was hers to answer for, and she took pleasure in answering for it well.
After a long time the girl had developed a steady hand and a keen eye. One day she said to Mother Holle:
«I thank you for all I have learned here, but I have a longing for home. However well off I am down here, I cannot stay any longer, for I wish to put what I have learned to use.»
Mother Holle said:
«I am pleased that you long for your home again, and as you have served me so truly, I myself will take you up again.»
She led the girl to a great door and said:
«Go through that door. You have shown me what you can do with what you have. You will receive enough to do more.»
And when the girl went through the doorway, a shower of golden rain fell upon her. All the gold stuck fast to her until she was completely covered with it. The girl looked in amazement at her clothes and skin, thanked Mother Holle for all she had given her, and went on.
Then the girl found herself above upon the earth, beside the well.
She stared at the apple she had been eating before her descent. It still lay upon the well-stone, and the flesh around the single bite had scarcely browned.
She gathered the gold into her apron, took her spinning wheel, and went on to a neighboring village.
There she bought a small cottage. It had one good window, and after paying for it she had enough left for wool, a good loom, and food for the first winter.
She began by spinning fine thread and weaving sound cloth.
When a wool seller brought her a fleece that he called well sorted, she opened it and found burrs still caught in the wool and tangled locks among the clean ones.
«Take it for half the price,» said the man.
«At half the price I should still lose half the morning sorting it,» she replied. «Bring it back properly done.»
When he brought it back properly sorted, she paid him the fair price. After that they understood each other.
Once, when she found a weak place near the end of a bolt of cloth, she cut it away rather than roll it inward where the buyer would find it later.
One day a merchant asked her to make him stout cloth for a traveling coat from a fine, soft fleece. She tested the wool between her fingers.
«Not from this,» she said.
«I will pay you another silver piece,» said the merchant.
She pulled a lock apart and laid the broken fibers before him.
«Your silver will not strengthen these,» she said. «Bring me stronger wool and I will make you the cloth. Keep this wool for a veil when your daughter marries.»
A tailor asked her to dye her cloth blue, so that he might save himself a step.
«I can weave it,» she said. «For the blue, take it to Marta beyond the bridge.»
«Can you not do it?» asked the tailor.
«Not as well as she can,» she replied.
So she became known among the tailors and merchants as the woman whose cloth could be trusted and whose work looked better the closer one looked.
And sometimes, when the day’s work was done, she would sit by the good window and look at the cloth upon her loom, the wool laid ready for morning, and the little cottage that her work kept warm.
Then she would nod and say, «Yes. This will do.»
Possible Continuation
Since the stepdaughter had not returned to the widow’s house, her stepmother was forced to look for a maid.
«After everything I did for that girl,» cried the stepmother, «she abandons us and leaves me with the whole house on my hands.»
«She might at least have stayed until we found a proper maid,» added the stepsister.
But no maid stayed long in the widow’s house. One left before harvest, another before winter, and a third left as soon as her first month’s wages were paid.
«Good servants have become impossible to find,» said the widow. «No one wants to work hard anymore.»
Her daughter agreed.
Come spring, they learned of a young woman in a neighboring village who made fine cloth, and they went to see her wares for themselves.
When they arrived at her cottage, they saw a well-kept spinning wheel and loom, clean wool, and bolts of fine cloth. There was work everywhere, but nothing lay neglected. The cottage was cleaner than their own house.
They were more surprised still when they recognized the young woman.
They asked her how she had come by these riches, and the girl told them frankly what had happened. She told of the poor woman at the well, the bobbin falling down, the three dandelions, the descent, the bread and apples in the meadow, and how she had worked for Mother Holle, and that when she returned, scarcely an hour had passed in the world above.
Finally she said:
«Mother Holle taught me for a long time. I learned to sort wool, card it, spin it, weave it, cut it, and sew it. She was very exact. When I left, she gave me enough gold to begin my own work.»
At the word gold, both the widow and her daughter looked up.
«Gold?» they said together.
«Yes,» said the young woman. «Enough to begin my own work and earn my own keep.»
«You have enough now,» said the stepmother. «Surely you will keep your mother, after all I spent raising you.»
«No,» replied the young woman. «Your house is yours to keep. Mine is mine.»
The stepsister looked over the wares. She picked up a bolt of fine cloth.
«At least you might give me enough cloth for a dress.»
«If you want the cloth,» replied the young woman, «I will sell it to you.»
«Sell it to me?» exclaimed her stepsister. «I am your sister.»
«It was no less work because you are my sister,» replied the young woman.
«Then at least sell it cheaper,» demanded her stepsister.
«No,» replied the young woman.
The stepsister had to put the cloth back.
‹It was not fine enough for me anyway,› she thought.
So the stepmother and stepsister left with empty hands. But once they were outside, the stepmother said to her daughter:
«You must go where she went and bring back what she brought.»
«Why do I have to go and work for an old woman?» replied the daughter.
«Because I am too old for it and you are not,» shot her mother back. «Now go, and hurry.»
The girl went to the well, grumbling all the way. She looked for the stairs but found none. Then she threw in three dandelions.
Still there were no stairs.
«Why are you throwing flowers down the well?» said a voice behind her. «Would you please give me a pitcher of water to drink instead?»
The girl turned and saw a fine lady standing behind her. She had never seen such rich clothes or such beautiful rings.
«With rings like those,» replied the girl, «you should have servants for such things. Why should I do it for you?»
«You are scarcely polite,» said the lady.
At once the fine clothes and rings were gone, and there stood the poor woman.
The girl shrank back, then hurried to fetch water.
«There,» said the girl. «Now tell me how to get down the well.»
«Your sister had something to seek below,» said the woman. «The flowers showed her the way. But the way may be taken only once.»
Then the woman looked kindly at her.
«Mind what you seek below. You may find it.»
Once the woman had left, the girl hurried home for an old bobbin. She pricked her finger upon a thorn until a drop of blood came, smeared it upon the bobbin, and threw the bobbin into the well. Then she cast three dandelions after it.
Now the stairs appeared.
‹So that was all,› thought the girl, and hurried down.
Like her stepsister, she soon came to the beautiful meadow and walked along the same path.
When she reached the oven, the bread again cried:
«Oh, take us out! Take us out! Or we shall burn. We have been baked a long time!»
The girl remembered well what her stepsister had done, but she looked around and called:
«Is no one coming to help?»
No one came.
So she took the bread-shovel and began to draw out the loaves at the front. But when the heat became unpleasant and she feared it might stain her dress, she said:
«I have done enough. I should not have had to do any of it.»
Then she left the loaves in the back, closed the oven, and ignored their screams.
Soon she came to the apple tree, which cried:
«Oh, shake us! Shake us! We apples are all ripe!»
Again she remembered what her stepsister had said, and again she looked around.
«Someone ought to do something,» she said.
No one replied.
So she went to the tree and gave it a few shakes, and the apples began to fall. She shrieked when an insect dropped into her hair, then quickly gathered a few of the fallen apples and put them into the basket. More remained upon the ground and upon the tree.
«I have helped,» she declared, and no one could gainsay it, though there was no one there to praise her either. «I shook the tree. I picked up apples. Someone else should do the rest.»
When she came to Mother Holle’s house, she was not afraid, for she had already heard of the old woman’s large teeth. Mother Holle returned the old bobbin, and the girl slipped it into her pocket and entered her service at once.
The first morning she forced herself to work diligently and did whatever Mother Holle set before her, for she was thinking of all the gold she would receive.
But on the second morning she realized that no one praised her for every task and there was no one to do the tedious parts.
And on the third morning, lying in her soft, warm bed, she realized how much work there was.
So she worked only when Mother Holle was looking and lay in the sun when she was away. Nor did she make Mother Holle’s bed as she ought, or shake it until the feathers flew, and so little snow fell upon the earth.
The afternoons went the same way.
Thinking of the gold, the girl was willing to spin on the first afternoon, though first she tried flattery.
«No one spins as finely as you, Mother Holle.»
«No,» said Mother Holle. «But we are speaking of your yarn.»
So the girl began to spin. When Mother Holle showed her that the thread was uneven, she quickly retorted:
«Then someone else can spin it.»
«Very well,» said Mother Holle. «What do you do well?»
The girl showed her some embroidery upon her dress. It was a pretty thing — a flower and a bird, with an elegant border.
«The front is pretty,» said Mother Holle.
The girl smiled.
Then Mother Holle turned the work over. The underside was a mess — long floating threads, knots, wasteful crossings, and poor fastening.
«A fine thing must be well made where it is seen and where it is not,» said Mother Holle.
«But no one looks at the back,» the girl retorted.
«It does not need to be seen to come loose,» replied Mother Holle. «And this will not survive a washing.»
«If the washerwoman ruins it, that is her fault,» said the girl.
Stung by the correction, she went to wash the embroidery. But no matter how careful she was, it scarcely held its form. Then one of the long threads caught upon the washboard, and one wing of the bird came loose.
«That would not have happened,» fumed the girl, «if you had not made me wash it in haste.»
«I did not ask you to wash it,» replied Mother Holle evenly. «And it would have happened at the first washing, no matter how skillful the washerwoman.»
Then she said:
«I do not fault you for stitching poorly. But I will not call poor stitching good. If you want to learn, I will teach you.»
The girl agreed, though only half-heartedly, and soon lost patience with the simple stitches Mother Holle gave her to practice. She wanted birds and pretty flowers.
«It is plain,» she complained.
«You cannot master the impressive stitching before you master the plain,» replied Mother Holle.
But the girl only grumbled and began to jerk the thread. It broke, and then broke again. And again.
Furious, she cried, «A worthless thing!» and threw her work into the ditch.
The next afternoon the girl wanted to do something else, so Mother Holle offered to teach her how to weave cloth.
«Why should I waste my time weaving cloth,» replied the girl, «when I can simply buy good cloth and embroider it?»
«Then would you rather embroider?» asked Mother Holle.
«No,» replied the girl. «I am not good at it.»
Then she walked away and lay in the sun.
«Very well,» replied Mother Holle evenly.
On the third afternoon she declared that she wanted to learn nothing more and would spend her afternoons in the sun.
The next day the girl slept late. When she came to eat at noon, there was only burned bread and no apples.
«This bread is burned,» exclaimed the girl.
«Yes,» said Mother Holle. «Those were the loaves you left in the oven.»
«Where are the apples?» asked the girl.
«The last harvest spoiled.»
«Well, someone ought to have collected the apples,» retorted the girl.
«Yes,» said Mother Holle.
«This is not fair,» exclaimed the girl. «How do you expect me to do good work if you give me burned bread and no apples?»
«I do not,» replied Mother Holle. «You may leave whenever you please.»
«Fine,» said the girl defiantly, and she was quite glad to leave. «Give me what you gave my stepsister, and I will go.»
So Mother Holle led her to a great door and said:
«There is the way home.»
And when the girl went through the doorway, a shower of golden rain fell upon her. All the gold stuck fast to her until she was completely covered with it.
The girl cried out in delight and left without saying another word.
She found herself above upon the earth, standing beside the well. Now that she was free of Mother Holle’s sharp eye, she laughed at the gold upon her body.
‹Mother wanted the gold,› she thought. ‹But I went down the well. I did the work. Mother has enough at home, and she is growing old besides. Why should I give it to her?›
But the gold had already begun to drip from her clothes and body, falling upon the ground and sinking into it.
«No!» cried the girl, and tried to catch it.
But it ran through her fingers, and not a drop remained. She began to dig in the ground but found only dirt.
Then a great anger came over her.
«After all the work I did for her! This is the reward for my service?» she cried. «The old woman has cheated me!»
She leaned over the well.
«Give me my gold back!» she screamed.
No one answered.
There was only darkness below, and for a moment it frightened her. Then she threw a stone into the well. After a little while she heard a soft splash as it struck the water far below.
She took out the old bobbin, pricked her finger again, and smeared it with blood. Then she threw the bobbin and three dandelions into the well.
No steps appeared.
She reached out, but the air held no stairs.
‹Mother Holle must still be below,› she thought. ‹If I jump, she cannot let me fall. She will have to open the way.›
So she climbed onto the rim. For a moment she hesitated.
Then she bit her lip and jumped.
But this time the well was only a well, stone was just stone, and water just water.
She struck the water far below and came up gasping. Above her was the round mouth of the well, small and very far away. There were no stairs and no meadow beyond the stones. She called for help, but no one heard her. And as she could not climb the smooth walls, she drowned.
Her mother expected her back before supper, for she knew that scarcely any time had passed while the other girl was below. But supper came and went, and her daughter did not return. When darkness fell, the widow would not go out beyond the last houses to the old well.
The next morning she went to the well and looked down, but saw only darkness. She called and received no answer. Then she lowered the bucket until she heard it strike the water and waited, but no hand caught the rope and no voice came from below.
‹She must have gotten the gold and left me,› thought the mother. ‹Like the other. Ungrateful girls! After everything I have done for them!›
Then she returned to her empty house.
In the neighboring village, the young woman heard that her stepsister had not returned.
One winter she sat beside her own window, weaving a fine wedding veil, when snow began to fall.
She wondered whether Mother Holle had taken another girl into her house, whether another pair of hands now shook the great feather-bed until the feathers flew, and what that girl was learning.
And she hoped the girl would learn well.