Prince Lindworm

Once upon a time, there was a fine young _King_ who was married to the loveliest of Queens. They were exceedingly happy, all but for one thing–they had no children. And this often made them both sad, because the _Queen_ wanted a dear little child to play with, and the _King_ wanted an heir to the kingdom.

One day the _Queen_ went out for a walk by herself, and she met an ugly old woman. The old woman was just like a witch: but she was a nice kind of witch, not the cantankerous sort. She said, “Why do you look so doleful, pretty lady?” “It’s no use my telling you,” answered the _Queen_, “nobody in the world can help me.” “Oh, you never know,” said the old woman. “Just you let me hear what your trouble is, and maybe I can put things right.”

“My dear woman, how can you?” said the _Queen_: and she told her, “The _King_ and I have no children: that’s why I am so distressed.” “Well, you needn’t be,” said the old witch. “I can set that right in a twinkling, if only you will do exactly as I tell you. Listen. To-night, at sunset, take a little drinking-cup with two ears” (that is, handles), “and put it bottom upwards on the ground in the north-west corner of your garden. Then go and lift it up to-morrow morning at sunrise, and you will find two roses underneath it, one red and one white. If you eat the red rose, a little boy will be born to you: if you eat the white rose, a little girl will be sent. But, whatever you do, you mustn’t eat _both_ the roses, or you’ll be sorry,–that I warn you! Only one: remember that!” “Thank you a thousand times,” said the _Queen_, “this is good news indeed!” And she wanted to give the old woman her gold ring; but the old woman wouldn’t take it.

So the _Queen_ went home and did as she had been told: and next morning at sunrise she stole out into the garden and lifted up the little drinking-cup. She _was_ surprised, for indeed she had hardly expected to see anything. But there were the two roses underneath it, one red and one white. And now she was dreadfully puzzled, for she did not know which to choose. “If I choose the red one,” she thought, “and I have a little boy, he may grow up and go to the wars and get killed. But if I choose the white one, and have a little girl, she will stay at home awhile with us, but later on she will get married and go away and leave us. So, whichever it is, we may be left with no child after all.”

However, at last she decided on the white rose, and she ate it. And it tasted so sweet, that she took and ate the red one too: without ever remembering the old woman’s solemn warning.

Some time after this, the _King_ went away to the wars: and while he was still away, the _Queen_ became the mother of twins. One was a lovely baby-boy, and the other was a _Lindworm_, or Serpent. She was terribly frightened when she saw the _Lindworm_, but he wriggled away out of the room, and nobody seemed to have seen him but herself: so that she thought it must have been a dream. The baby _Prince_ was so beautiful and so healthy, the _Queen_ was full of joy: and likewise, as you may suppose, was the _King_ when he came home and found his son and heir. Not a word was said by anyone about the _Lindworm_: only the _Queen_ thought about it now and then.

Many days and years passed by, and the baby grew up into a handsome young _Prince_, and it was time that he got married. The _King_ sent him off to visit foreign kingdoms, in the Royal coach, with six white horses, to look for a Princess grand enough to be his wife. But at the very first cross-roads, the way was stopped by an enormous _Lindworm_, enough to frighten the bravest. He lay in the middle of the road with a great wide open mouth, and cried, “A bride for me before a bride for you!” Then the _Prince_ made the coach turn round and try another road: but it was all no use. For, at the first cross-ways, there lay the _Lindworm_ again, crying out, “A bride for me before a bride for you!” So the _Prince_ had to turn back home again to the Castle, and give up his visits to the foreign kingdoms. And his mother, the _Queen_, had to confess that what the _Lindworm_ said was true. For he was really the eldest of her twins: and so he ought to have a wedding first.

There seemed nothing for it but to find a bride for the _Lindworm_, if his younger brother, the _Prince_, were to be married at all. So the _King_ wrote to a distant country, and asked for a Princess to marry his son (but, of course, he didn’t say which son), and presently a Princess arrived. But she wasn’t allowed to see her bridegroom until he stood by her side in the great hall and was married to her, and then, of course, it was too late for her to say she wouldn’t have him. But next morning the Princess had disappeared. The _Lindworm_ lay sleeping all alone: and it was quite plain that he had eaten her.

A little while after, the Prince decided that he might now go journeying again in search of a _Princess_. And off he drove in the Royal chariot with the six white horses. But at the first cross-ways, there lay the _Lindworm_, crying with his great wide open mouth, “A bride for me before a bride for you!” So the carriage tried another road, and the same thing happened, and they had to turn back again this time, just as formerly. And the King wrote to several foreign countries, to know if anyone would marry his son. At last another _Princess_ arrived, this time from a very far distant land. And, of course, she was not allowed to see her future husband before the wedding took place,–and then, lo and behold! it was the _Lindworm_ who stood at her side. And next morning the Princess had disappeared: and the _Lindworm_ lay sleeping all alone; and it was quite clear that he had eaten her.

By and by the _Prince_ started on his quest for the third time: and at the first cross-roads there lay the _Lindworm_ with his great wide open mouth, demanding a bride as before. And the _Prince_ went straight back to the castle, and told the _King_: “You must find another bride for my elder brother.”

“I don’t know where I am to find her,” said the _King_, “I have already made enemies of two great Kings who sent their daughters here as brides: and I have no notion how I can obtain a third lady. People are beginning to say strange things, and I am sure no _Princess_ will dare to come.”

Now, down in a little cottage near a wood, there lived the _King’s_ shepherd, an old man with his only daughter. And the _King_ came one day and said to him, “Will you give me your daughter to marry my son the _Lindworm_? And I will make you rich for the rest of your life.”–“No, sire,” said the shepherd, “that I cannot do. She is my only child, and I want her to take care of me when I am old. Besides, if the _Lindworm_ would not spare two beautiful Princesses, he won’t spare her either. He will just gobble her up: and she is much too good for such a fate.”

But the _King_ wouldn’t take “No” for an answer: and at last the old man had to give in.

Well, when the old shepherd told his daughter that she was to be _Prince Lindworm’s_ bride, she was utterly in despair. She went out into the woods, crying and wringing her hands and bewailing her hard fate. And while she wandered to and fro, an old witch-woman suddenly appeared out of a big hollow oak-tree, and asked her, “Why do you look so doleful, pretty lass?” The shepherd-girl said, “It’s no use my telling you, for nobody in the world can help me.”–“Oh, you never know,” said the old woman. “Just you let me hear what your trouble is, and maybe I can put things right.”–“Ah, how can you?” said the girl, “For I am to be married to the _King’s_ eldest son, who is a _Lindworm_. He has already married two beautiful Princesses, and devoured them: and he will eat me too! No wonder I am distressed.”

“Well, you needn’t be,” said the witch-woman. “All that can be set right in a twinkling: if only you will do exactly as I tell you.” So the girl said she would.

“Listen, then,” said the old woman. “After the marriage ceremony is over, and when it is time for you to retire to rest, you must ask to be dressed in ten snow-white shifts. And you must then ask for a tub full of lye,” (that is, washing water prepared with wood-ashes) “and a tub full of fresh milk, and as many whips as a boy can carry in his arms,–and have all these brought into your bed-chamber. Then, when the _Lindworm_ tells you to shed a shift, do you bid him slough a skin. And when all his skins are off, you must dip the whips in the lye and whip him; next, you must wash him in the fresh milk; and, lastly, you must take him and hold him in your arms, if it’s only for one moment.”

“The last is the worst notion–ugh!” said the shepherd’s daughter, and she shuddered at the thought of holding the cold, slimy, scaly _Lindworm_.

“Do just as I have said, and all will go well,” said the old woman. Then she disappeared again in the oak-tree.

When the wedding-day arrived, the girl was fetched in the Royal chariot with the six white horses, and taken to the castle to be decked as a bride. And she asked for ten snow-white shifts to be brought her, and the tub of lye, and the tub of milk, and as many whips as a boy could carry in his arms. The ladies and courtiers in the castle thought, of course, that this was some bit of peasant superstition, all rubbish and nonsense. But the _King_ said, “Let her have whatever she asks for.” She was then arrayed in the most wonderful robes, and looked the loveliest of brides. She was led to the hall where the wedding ceremony was to take place, and she saw the _Lindworm_ for the first time as he came in and stood by her side. So they were married, and a great wedding-feast was held, a banquet fit for the son of a king.

[Illustration: She saw the Lindworm for the first time as he came in and stood by her side.]

When the feast was over, the bridegroom and bride were conducted to their apartment, with music, and torches, and a great procession. As soon as the door was shut, the _Lindworm_ turned to her and said, “Fair maiden, shed a shift!” The shepherd’s daughter answered him, “_Prince Lindworm_, slough a skin!”–“No one has ever dared tell me to do that before!” said he.–“But I command you to do it now!” said she. Then he began to moan and wriggle: and in a few minutes a long snake-skin lay upon the floor beside him. The girl drew off her first shift, and spread it on top of the skin.

The _Lindworm_ said again to her, “Fair maiden, shed a shift.”

The shepherd’s daughter answered him, “_Prince Lindworm_, slough a skin.”

“No one has ever dared tell me to do that before,” said he.–“But I command you to do it now,” said she. Then with groans and moans he cast off the second skin: and she covered it with her second shift. The _Lindworm_ said for the third time, “Fair maiden, shed a shift.” The shepherd’s daughter answered him again, “_Prince Lindworm_, slough a skin.”–“No one has ever dared tell me to do that before,” said he, and his little eyes rolled furiously. But the girl was not afraid, and once more she commanded him to do as she bade.

And so this went on until nine _Lindworm_ skins were lying on the floor, each of them covered with a snow-white shift. And there was nothing left of the _Lindworm_ but a huge thick mass, most horrible to see. Then the girl seized the whips, dipped them in the lye, and whipped him as hard as ever she could. Next, she bathed him all over in the fresh milk. Lastly, she dragged him on to the bed and put her arms round him. And she fell fast asleep that very moment.

Next morning very early, the _King_ and the courtiers came and peeped in through the keyhole. They wanted to know what had become of the girl, but none of them dared enter the room. However, in the end, growing bolder, they opened the door a tiny bit. And there they saw the girl, all fresh and rosy, and beside her lay–no _Lindworm_, but the handsomest prince that anyone could wish to see.

The _King_ ran out and fetched the _Queen_: and after that, there were such rejoicings in the castle as never were known before or since. The wedding took place all over again, much finer than the first, with festivals and banquets and merrymakings for days and weeks. No bride was ever so beloved by a King and Queen as this peasant maid from the shepherd’s cottage. There was no end to their love and their kindness towards her: because, by her sense and her calmness and her courage, she had saved their son, _Prince Lindworm_.

Moral

Compassion and dignity restore what cruelty destroys. The prince’s willingness to marry the lindworm despite revulsion proves that acceptance and kindness break curses more surely than disgust and force ever could.

Historical & Cultural Context

Norse folk tales grew out of Scandinavian oral tradition – sometimes echoing the pre-Christian myths of the Eddas – and were first widely written down by Peter Christen Asbjørnsen and Jørgen Moe in 19th-century Norway.

Lindworm (or lindorm) figures prominently in Scandinavian folklore, a serpent-dragon hybrid inhabiting liminal water-spaces. This Asbjørnsen & Moe tale subverts typical dragon slaying by making the true victory one of heart, not sword. The story mirrors ATU 425 (The Search for the Lost Husband), where supernatural partners demand acceptance.

Reflection & Discussion

1. What brave choice does the youngest princess make that her sisters refused?
2. How is the lindworm like someone society judges unfairly at first sight?
3. Would the curse break if the princess had treated the lindworm with disgust instead of kindness?

Did You Know?

• Ants can carry objects 50 times their own body weight.
• Norse mythology features nine realms connected by Yggdrasil, the great world tree.
• The Vikings believed that brave warriors who died in battle would be taken to Valhalla, Odin’s great hall.

What This Tale Teaches Us Today

Old stories keep their power because their lessons never stop being useful. Here is how this one still applies:

• Folk tales teach ethics without lecturing. A good story can reshape a mind more powerfully than any rule.
• Shared stories are one of the strongest bonds within any community – families, cultures, or whole nations.
• Reading folk tales aloud to children builds vocabulary, imagination, and a sense of cultural inheritance.

Why This Story Still Matters

Prince Lindworm joins a vast global library of folk tales that human beings have been telling one another for thousands of years. Every culture has produced its own stories, but the deepest themes – courage, kindness, cleverness, loyalty, the cost of greed – appear again and again in different clothes. Modern readers who spend time with folk tales inherit something precious: a sense that people have always wrestled with the same basic questions, and that good stories can still help us find good answers. That is why these tales persist. Each one is a small tool for living, handed down quietly through generations.

Cultural Context and Continuing Influence

Folk tales like this one survived for hundreds of years through oral storytelling before any scholar thought to write them down. Grandparents told them to grandchildren, travelers traded them along roads and rivers, and mothers repeated them to babies who would one day repeat them to their own children. Each small retelling sharpened the story, discarded unnecessary parts, and polished the essential lesson. That long process of refinement is why a good folk tale feels so weighty – it has been shaped by thousands of listeners across generations, each contributing something small to the story we read today.

Modern readers sometimes wonder whether folk tales are still relevant in an age of apps and smartphones. The answer is yes, perhaps more than ever. The technology changes, but the underlying questions – about kindness, courage, loyalty, greed, family, fear, love – do not. These are the same questions that children asked around a fire in ancient India, around a hearth in medieval Ireland, around a campfire in 19th-century Korea. And they are the same questions children ask their parents today, just phrased differently. That is why a family that reads folk tales together is doing real cultural and emotional work, not simply entertaining itself.