Lily and the Lion

A merchant with three daughters was setting out on a journey. Before he left he asked each girl what gift she wanted when he returned. The eldest asked for pearls; the second for jewels; but the third, Lily, said, “Dear father, bring me a rose.” Finding a rose in midwinter was no easy task, yet because she was his prettiest daughter and loved flowers, he promised to try. He kissed all three and said goodbye.

When it was time to go home he had pearls and jewels for the two eldest, but he had searched everywhere for a rose in vain. Gardeners laughed and asked whether he thought roses grew in snow. That grieved him, for Lily was his dearest child. Riding home, still thinking what he might bring her, he came to a fine castle whose garden was half summer and half winter: on one side flowers bloomed in full beauty; on the other everything was buried in snow. “A lucky find!” he said, and told his servant to take one of the finest roses from a beautiful bed.

They rode off well pleased—until a fierce lion sprang up and roared that whoever had stolen his roses should be eaten alive. The merchant said he had not known the garden belonged to the lion, and asked if anything could save his life. “Nothing,” said the lion, unless the merchant promised to give whatever met him first on his return home; then the lion would spare him and let him keep the rose for his daughter. The merchant hesitated: it might be his youngest daughter, who always ran to meet him. The servant, badly frightened, said it might only be a cat or a dog. At last, with a heavy heart, the merchant agreed, took the rose, and rode on.

Near home it was Lily who met him—running, kissing him, welcoming him. When she saw the rose she was gladder still. But her father grew sorrowful and wept: he had bought that flower at a high price, for he had promised her to a wild lion who would tear her to pieces. He told her everything and said she must not go, whatever happened. Lily comforted him: the word he had given must be kept; she would go to the lion and soothe him, and perhaps she would come safely home again.

Next morning she asked the way, took leave of her father, and went boldly into the wood. The lion was an enchanted prince. By day he and all his court were lions; in the evening they took their true shapes. When Lily reached the castle he welcomed her so courteously that she agreed to marry him. The wedding feast was held, and they lived happily for a long time. She saw the prince only after evening came, when he held court; every morning he left her and went away alone until night returned.

After some time he told her there would be a great feast at her father’s house, for her eldest sister was to marry, and if she wished to visit, his lions would lead her. She rejoiced at seeing her father again and set out with the lions. Everyone was overjoyed, for they had long thought her dead. She told them how happy she was, stayed till the feast ended, and went back to the wood.

Her second sister married soon after. When Lily was asked to that wedding she told the prince she would not go alone this time—he must come too. He refused: it would be very dangerous, for if the least ray of torch-light fell on him his enchantment would grow worse; he would become a dove and wander the world for seven long years. She gave him no rest and promised to keep light from him. At last they set out with their little child. She chose a thick-walled hall for him while the wedding torches were lit, but no one noticed a crack in the door. The wedding went with great pomp; as the train passed the hall with torches, a tiny ray fell on the prince. In a moment he vanished. When his wife looked for him she found only a white dove, which said: for seven years he must fly over the earth, but now and then he would drop a white feather to show the way; she must follow, and at last she might overtake him and set him free.

He flew out; poor Lily followed. Feather after feather showed her the road. She wandered the wide world, looking neither right nor left, taking no rest, for seven years. Near the end she began to hope her troubles were almost over—yet rest was still far off. One day she missed the white feather, and when she lifted her eyes she could nowhere see the dove. No help of man could serve her now, she thought. So she went to the sun and said it shone on hilltop and valley—had it seen her white dove anywhere? No, said the sun, but it gave her a casket to open when her hour of need came.

She thanked the sun and went on till evening. When the moon rose she cried that it shone through the night over field and grove—had it seen her white dove? No, said the moon, but it gave her an egg to break when need came. She thanked the moon and went on till the night-wind blew. She asked whether it had seen her white dove, since it blew through every tree and under every leaf. No, said the night-wind, but it would ask three other winds. The east and west winds had not seen the dove; the south wind said it had: the white dove had fled to the Red Sea and was a lion again, for the seven years were over, and there he was fighting a dragon—an enchanted princess who meant to part him from Lily.

The night-wind gave counsel: go to the Red Sea; on the right shore stand many rods; count them, break off the eleventh, and strike the dragon with it; then the lion will win, and both will appear in their own forms. Look round and you will see a griffin by the Red Sea; jump on its back with your beloved as fast as you can, and it will carry you home over the water. The night-wind also gave her a nut: halfway across, throw it down, and a high nut-tree will spring from the water for the griffin to rest on; without that rest it cannot bear you the whole way, and if you forget the nut it will drop you both into the sea.

The wanderer went forth and found all as the night-wind had said. She plucked the eleventh rod, struck the dragon, and at once the lion became a prince and the dragon a princess again. But no sooner was the princess free than she seized the prince by the arm, sprang onto the griffin’s back, and flew off with him. Once more Lily was forsaken. She took heart and said that as far as the wind blows and as long as the cock crows she would journey on until she found him again. She went a long, long way until she came to the castle where the princess had carried the prince. A feast was ready; she heard a wedding was about to be held. “Heaven help me now,” she said. She opened the sun’s casket and found a dress as dazzling as the sun itself. She put it on and entered the palace. Everyone gazed; the dress pleased the bride so much that she asked whether it was for sale. “Not for gold and silver,” said Lily, “but for flesh and blood.” The princess asked what she meant. “Let me speak with the bridegroom tonight in his chamber,” Lily answered, “and I will give you the dress.” At last the princess agreed, but told her chamberlain to give the prince a sleeping draught so he would neither hear nor see. When evening came and he slept, Lily was led in. She sat at his feet and said she had followed him seven years, had gone to the sun, the moon, and the night-wind to seek him, and at last had helped him overcome the dragon—would he then forget her quite? But he slept so soundly that her voice only passed over him like wind among fir-trees.

She was led away and forced to give up the golden dress. Seeing no help, she went into a meadow, sat down, and wept. Then she thought of the moon’s egg. When she broke it, out ran a hen and twelve chickens of pure gold that played and nestled under the old one’s wings—the most beautiful sight in the world. She rose and drove them before her until the bride saw them from a window, was so pleased that she came out, and asked if the brood was for sale. “Not for gold or silver, but for flesh and blood,” said Lily. “Let me speak with the bridegroom in his chamber this evening, and I will give you the whole brood.”

The princess meant to cheat her the same way and agreed. But when the prince went to his chamber he asked the chamberlain why the wind had whistled so in the night. The chamberlain told all—how he had given a sleeping draught, and how a poor maiden had spoken to him and was to return that night. Then the prince took care to throw the draught away. When Lily came and told what woes had befallen her and how faithful she had been, he knew his wife’s voice, sprang up, and said she had awakened him as from a dream: the strange princess had cast a spell so that he had altogether forgotten Lily, but Heaven had sent her in a lucky hour.

They stole out of the palace by night, seated themselves on the griffin, and flew back over the Red Sea. Halfway across Lily let the nut fall into the water; at once a large nut-tree rose from the sea, the griffin rested awhile, then carried them safely home. There they found their child, grown comely and fair; and after all their troubles they lived happily together to the end of their days.

About this story

“Lily and the Lion” is from Project Gutenberg’s Grimms’ Fairy Tales (#2591), an English text based on the translations of Edgar Taylor and Marian Edwardes. The German tale is “Das singende springende Löweneckerchen,” which Margaret Hunt translates as “The Singing, Springing Lark” and numbers 88; there, the father’s promised gift is a lark, not a rose.

Like “Beauty and the Beast,” it begins with a father taking a gift from an enchanted beast’s garden. The long search, helped by the sun, the moon and the winds, is close to the Norwegian “East of the Sun and West of the Moon.” This condensed retelling retains the threatened killing, coerced bargain, separation and drugged bridegroom; its wording is not a verbatim translation.

Read the original: Grimms’ Fairy Tales (Project Gutenberg #2591)

Best for ages 9–12 with adult discussion: a father pledging his daughter under threat, seven years of separation, a fight and a sleeping drug used to obstruct a reunion. Lily’s choice to continue does not mean anyone must accept unlimited harm to prove love.

Reading the story closely

Lily’s gifts have delayed uses. The casket and egg gain access to the prince, but access alone fails while he is drugged; the chamberlain’s account lets him act and listen. The nut, given much earlier, solves the final journey’s limit. Keeping track of these objects shows how the quest depends on information and cooperation as well as persistence.

Compare the father’s promise about Lily with the prince’s warning about torchlight. Who makes each decision, who is exposed to danger, and who takes responsibility afterward? The happy ending brings their child back into view after years offstage. The story does not explain the child’s care during that time, so readers should recognize that gap rather than invent an answer.

Talk about it

• Why did Lily agree to go to the lion when her father came home?
• What made Lily keep searching for seven years when it seemed hopeless?
• Track the sun’s casket, moon’s egg, eleventh rod and nut. At which problem does each become useful?

Related stories

• East of the Sun and West of the Moon — a Norwegian heroine searches the world, helped by the winds, for her lost husband
• The Snake Prince — an enchanted husband who must be won back through long trials
• Jorinda and Jorindel — a Grimm rescue story where a loyal lover breaks a powerful spell