Hansel and Gretel

Near a wide wood lived a poor woodcutter, his wife, and their two children—Hansel the boy and Gretel the girl. Food was scarce at the best of times; when famine struck the country he could not purchase even their daily loaf. As he lay in bed one night thinking, he groaned and told his wife what was to become of them—they had nothing for themselves, still less for the children. She answered that at dawn they should lead the children into the wood, hand each a crust, kindle a fire, go off to cut timber, and abandon them—lost, unable to find the path home, and off the parents’ hands. “No,” said the man. “I will not do that; how could I leave my children alone in the forest?” The wild animals would soon tear them to pieces. “O you fool,” she said—then we must all four die of hunger; you may as well plane the planks for our coffins—and she left him no peace until he agreed. The two children had also not slept for hunger and had heard everything. Gretel wept; Hansel comforted her—he would find a way to help them.

When the old folks had fallen asleep he got up, put on his little coat, opened the door, and slipped out. The moon shone bright; the white pebbles in front of the house glittered like silver coins. Hansel stuffed his pocket full. Then he went back and told Gretel to sleep—God would not forsake them.

At daybreak the woman came and woke the children. Get up, you lazybones—we are going into the forest for wood. She gave each a little piece of bread, saying that was for dinner—they must not eat it sooner, for they would get nothing else. Gretel carried the bread under her apron, for Hansel’s pockets were full of stones. They all set out together. When they had walked a little way Hansel stood still and looked back at the house. His father said that was not behaving carefully—come on. “Oh, father,” said Hansel, “I am looking at my little white kitten, sitting on the roof and wanting to say goodbye”. Fool, said the woman—that is not your kitten; it is the morning sun shining on the chimney. But Hansel had not been looking at the kitten; he had been dropping one of his white pebbles on the path.

In the heart of the wood the father told them to heap sticks for a blaze while he cut more timber. They built a brushwood mound; once it burned, the woman told them to rest beside it—she and their father would work deeper in and return for them at dusk. Hansel and Gretel sat by the fire; at noon each ate a little bread, and they slept until evening. No one came. They woke in the dark and were frightened; but the moon rose, and Hansel took his sister’s hand—the pebbles shone like new coins and showed the way. They walked all night and by break of day came to their father’s house. They knocked; the woman opened, saying you naughty children, why did you sleep so long in the forest? We thought you would never come back. The father rejoiced, for it had cut him to the heart to leave them so.

Famine returned. The children overheard her say only half a loaf remained, then starvation—the young ones must be abandoned farther in, past any hope of finding the road. The father’s heart was heavier, yet having yielded before he yielded again. When the old folks slept Hansel got up to collect pebbles as before, but the woman had locked the door and he could not get out. He comforted Gretel—sleep; God would help them.

Early the woman took them from their beds. Their piece of bread was smaller than last time. On the way Hansel crumbled his in his pocket and stopped often to throw a crumb on the ground. “Looking back, father,” he said—my little pigeon is sitting on the roof and wants to say goodbye. Fool, said the woman—that is not a pigeon; it is the morning sun on the chimney. But little by little he strewed all the crumbs on the path.

She took them farther than they had ever walked. Another great fire was lit; she told them to sleep while the adults cut wood and to expect a dusk return. Midday they shared Gretel’s crust alone—Hansel’s lay as crumbs on the path. They slept; dusk came; nobody arrived. At night Hansel tried to follow his trail, but every crumb was gone—forest birds had eaten the line clean away. They walked on but only went deeper. They were hungry; only a few berries helped. When they were so tired their legs would carry them no farther, they lay under a tree and fell asleep.

It was now the third morning since they left home. They walked again, but the forest grew denser and they found no way out. Toward noon a snow-white bird on a branch sang so sweetly they halted to hear it. When the song ended it flew ahead; they followed to a cottage. The bird settled on the rooftop. Closer, they saw walls of bread, a roof of cake, and windowpanes of clear sugar. “We will set to work on that,” said Hansel, and have a good meal. I will eat a bit of the roof; you, Gretel, can eat some of the window—that will taste sweet. Hansel reached up and broke off a little of the roof to try; Gretel stood by the panes and nibbled. Then a soft voice cried from within:

Nibble, nibble, gnaw,
Who is nibbling at my little house?

The children answered:

The wind, the wind,
The heaven-born wind,

and went on eating. Hansel, who liked the roof, tore down a great piece; Gretel pushed out a whole round window-pane and sat down to enjoy it. Suddenly the door opened and a woman as old as the hills, leaning on a crutch, came creeping out. Hansel and Gretel were so frightened they dropped what they held. But she nodded and said sweetly that dear children should come in and stay—no harm would befall them. She took them by the hand into her little house. Good food was set before them—milk and pancakes with sugar, apples and nuts. Afterward two pretty little beds were made ready; Hansel and Gretel lay down and thought they were in heaven.

Her kindness was a mask. She was a witch who hunted children, baited them with an edible house, and whenever she caught one she slaughtered, roasted, and ate it as a holiday meal. In this tale the witch has poor eyesight but an unusually keen sense of smell, which tells her when people approach. As Hansel and Gretel arrived she laughed to herself: they are mine—they will not get away.

Early in the morning, before they woke, she got up, looked at them sleeping so sweetly with round red cheeks, and muttered that would be a dainty mouthful. She seized Hansel with her skinny hand, carried him to a little stable, and shut him behind a grated door; he might scream as he liked—it was useless. Then she shook Gretel awake: get up, lazy thing—fetch water and cook something good for your brother; he is outside in the stable and must be fattened. When he is fat I will eat him. Gretel began to weep, but it was all in vain; she had to do what the wicked witch ordered. Now the best food was cooked for poor Hansel, but Gretel got nothing but crab-shells. Each morning she crept to the cage and ordered Hansel to poke out a finger so she could judge his fat. He held out a thin bone instead; her weak eyes mistook it for flesh. Week after week she grumbled that he stayed lean.

Her patience snapped. Gretel, she snapped—hurry with water; fat or thin, tomorrow Hansel dies for the pot. The sister’s grief spilled as she hauled the pail; she prayed that if beasts had killed them in the wood they might at least have died side by side. “Keep your tears,” said the witch—they buy you nothing.

Next morning Gretel was ordered to hang a cauldron and start the fire. Baking first, said the witch—the oven is hot and the dough ready. She shoved Gretel toward the mouth where flames already danced. Climb inside and test the heat for the loaves, she said. Her plan was to slam the door once the girl was in and roast her too. Gretel saw the trap and pretended confusion: I cannot tell how to climb in. Foolish child, snapped the witch—the opening is wide; watch, I fit easily!—and she poked her own head in. Gretel shoved hard, sent her deep inside, slammed the iron door, and shot the bolt. Horrible howls rose from within; Gretel fled, leaving the witch to the fire.

Gretel raced to the cage, flung it open, and shouted that the witch was dead and they were free. Hansel burst out like a bird from a snare. They hugged, kissed, and spun for joy. Fearless now, they searched the cottage; chests of pearls and jewels stood in every corner. Better than white stones, said Hansel, stuffing his pockets; Gretel loaded her apron as well. Time to leave this wood, he said. When they had walked two hours they came to a great stretch of water. “We cannot cross,” said Hansel—“I see no foot-plank or bridge”. And there is no ferry, answered Gretel—but there swims a white duck; if I ask her she will help us over. Then she cried:

Little duck, little duck, can you see?
Hansel and Gretel are waiting—come free!
No path, no bridge, only water and sun;
Take us across, and our thanks you have won!

The duck swam up. Hansel climbed on and told Gretel to share the seat. No, she said—too heavy for one small bird; let her ferry us one by one. So the duck did. Safe on the far bank, they walked until the trees looked known, then sighted their father’s roof. They ran, burst in, and clung to his neck. He had known no easy hour since abandoning them; the stepmother, though, was dead. Gretel poured her apron out—pearls and jewels spilled across the floor—and Hansel emptied pocket after pocket. Fear ended, and want left that house for good.

Where this story comes from

“Hansel and Gretel” is in Edgar Taylor’s English Grimm (Gutenberg 2591)—breadcrumbs, a sugar-window house, and a sister who outwits the oven.

This is a condensed retelling of the linked English edition. The duck’s verse has been freely rewritten, while the two abandonments, the witch’s captivity and the separate crossings remain part of the narrative.

Read the original: Grimm’s Fairy Tales (Project Gutenberg)

Best for ages 9–12 with an adult who knows the reader: hunger, deliberate abandonment, threats to eat children and a witch burned in an oven. The children’s survival does not excuse their father’s decision to leave them.

Reading the story closely

The same plan cannot work twice because the conditions change: the locked door prevents Hansel from gathering stones, and edible crumbs attract birds. Gretel later adapts again, using the witch’s demand for a demonstration to escape and insisting on separate duck crossings. Agency moves between the siblings; neither is simply carried through the story by the other.

Compare three offers of food: the parents’ ration, the cottage feast and Hansel’s fattening meals. Who controls each offer, and what purpose does it serve? The edible house exploits an urgent need the adults at home failed to meet. At the reunion, jewels remove scarcity, but the father’s regret and the children’s relief are not the same as an account of how trust will be rebuilt.

Talk about it

• How do Hansel’s pebbles and crumbs each help—or fail?
• How does the witch try to fatten Hansel, and how does he fool her?
• How does Gretel turn the oven against the witch?

Related stories

• Mother Holle — a girl who escapes a cruel household
• The Seven Ravens — a sister’s courage in the wild wood
• Sweetheart Roland — flight from a murderous witch