# King Thrushbeard _Brothers Grimm_ · 9 min read · ages 5-10 A proud princess mocks every suitor at her father’s feast, so the angry king marries her to a ragged fiddler. She fails at weaving and spinning, sells pots, and works as a kitchen maid, until King Thrushbeard tells her he was the fiddler and the hussar, and her father comes with the court to wish her joy. --- Once upon a time there was a king who had a daughter. She was beautiful beyond measure, but so proud and haughty that no suitor was ever good enough for her. She turned them away one after another and made fun of them besides. One day the king held a great feast and invited every man from near and far who hoped to marry. The guests were lined up by rank: first the kings, then the dukes, the princes, the counts, and the barons, and last of all the gentlemen. Then the princess was led down the line, and she found something wrong with every one of them. One was too fat. “A wine barrel!” she said. The next was too tall. “Tall and lank, a wobbly plank!” The third was too short. “Short and squat, as clumsy as a pot!” The fourth was too pale. “Pale as death!” The fifth was too red. “A red rooster!” The sixth did not stand straight enough. “Crooked as a stick warped by the stove!” So it went, all the way down the line. But the one she laughed at most was a good king at the head of the line, whose chin had grown a little crooked. “Oh, look!” she cried. “His chin is just like a thrush’s beak!” And from that day on, everyone called him Thrushbeard. When the old king saw that his daughter did nothing but mock people and turn away every suitor in the hall, he grew angry. He swore that she would marry the first beggar who came to his door. A few days later a fiddler began to sing under the window, hoping to earn a few coins. When the king heard him, he said, “Bring him up here.” In came the fiddler in his dirty, ragged clothes. He sang for the king and the princess, and when he had finished, he asked for a little something. “I liked your song so much,” said the king, “that I will give you my daughter for your wife.” The princess was horrified, but her father said, “I swore an oath to give you to the first beggar who came along, and I mean to keep it.” Nothing she said could change his mind. The priest was sent for, and she had to marry the fiddler then and there. When it was done, the king said, “It isn’t fitting for a beggar’s wife to stay in my castle any longer. You must go away with your husband.” The fiddler led her out by the hand, and she had to set off with him on foot. When they came to a great forest, she asked, Whose is this lovely forest here? The fiddler answered, That is King Thrushbeard’s, through and through; had you taken him, it would belong to you. And she sighed, Poor me! He was the one I jeered. If only I had taken King Thrushbeard! Next they crossed a meadow, and again she asked, Whose is this lovely meadow here? The fiddler answered, That is King Thrushbeard’s, through and through; had you taken him, it would belong to you. And she sighed, Poor me! He was the one I jeered. If only I had taken King Thrushbeard! Then they walked through a great city, and again she asked, Whose is this lovely city here? The fiddler answered, That is King Thrushbeard’s, through and through; had you taken him, it would belong to you. And she sighed, Poor me! He was the one I jeered. If only I had taken King Thrushbeard! “I don’t like this one bit,” said the fiddler. “You keep wishing you had another husband. Am I not good enough for you?” At last they came to a very small house, and she said, Good heavens, what a tiny house! Whose poor little hut can this be? “This is my house and yours,” the fiddler answered. “This is where we’ll live together.” She had to stoop to get through the low door. “Where are the servants?” asked the princess. “Servants!” said her husband. “Whatever you want done, you’ll do yourself. Light the fire right away and put the water on to cook my supper. I’m very tired.” But the princess knew nothing about lighting fires or cooking, and the fiddler had to pitch in himself before anything got done at all. When they had eaten their meager supper, they went to bed. Very early the next morning he woke her and set her to the housework. For a few days they lived like this, getting by as best they could, until they had eaten up everything in the house. Then her husband said, “Wife, we can’t go on like this, eating up what we have and earning nothing. You’ll weave baskets.” He went out, cut some willow branches, and brought them home. She began to weave, but the tough willow scratched her delicate hands raw. “I can see that won’t do,” said her husband. “Try spinning instead. Maybe you’ll be better at that.” She sat down and tried to spin, but soon the hard thread cut into her soft fingers until they bled. “There, you see,” said her husband. “You’re no good for any kind of work. I made a bad bargain with you. Now I’ll start a trade in pots and dishes, and you can sit in the market and sell them.” “Oh,” she thought, “if people from my father’s kingdom come to the market and see me sitting there selling pots, how they’ll laugh at me!” But there was no help for it. She had to give in, or they would both starve. The first time went well: because she was beautiful, people were glad to buy from her and paid whatever she asked. Many even gave her the money and let her keep the pots as well. They lived on what she had earned for as long as it lasted, and then her husband bought a big load of new pots. She took them to a corner of the market, set them out around her, and waited for buyers. All at once a hussar, a soldier on horseback, came galloping along, drunk, and rode straight into her pots. They broke into a thousand pieces. She burst into tears and was so frightened that she didn’t know what to do. “Oh, what will happen to me now?” she said. “What will my husband say?” She ran home and told him about her bad luck. “Who in the world sits at the corner of the market with clay pots?” said her husband. “Stop crying. I can see you’re no use for any proper work. I went up to our king’s castle and asked whether they needed a kitchen maid, and they promised to take you. You’ll get your meals for free.” So the princess became a kitchen maid. She had to help the cook and do the hardest, dirtiest work. She tied a little pot inside each of her pockets, and in them she carried home whatever leftovers came her way. That was what the two of them lived on. Some time later, the king’s eldest son was to be married. The poor young woman went upstairs and stood at the door of the great hall to watch. The candles were lit, the guests came in, each one finer than the last, and everything shone with splendor. Watching it all, she thought of her own fate with a heavy heart. She cursed the pride and haughtiness that had brought her so low and made her so poor. Rich dishes were carried in and out, and their smell rose up to her. Now and then the servants tossed her a few scraps, and she put them in her little pots to take home. Just then the king’s son came in, dressed in silk and velvet, with gold chains around his neck. When he saw the beautiful woman standing in the doorway, he took her by the hand to dance with her. But she pulled back in fright, for she saw that it was King Thrushbeard, who had come to court her and whom she had sent away with mocking words. It did her no good to resist. He drew her into the hall, and the band that held her pockets snapped. Out fell the pots; the soup spilled across the floor and the scraps scattered everywhere. When the guests saw it, the whole hall burst out laughing and jeering. She was so ashamed that she wished the earth would swallow her up. She ran out the door to get away, but on the stairs a man caught up with her and brought her back. When she looked at him, she saw that it was King Thrushbeard again. “Don’t be afraid,” he said kindly. “I am the fiddler who lived with you in that wretched little hut. I put on that disguise for love of you, and I was the hussar who rode through your pots, too. I did all this to bend your proud spirit and to punish you for the scorn you showed me.” Then she wept bitterly and said, “I have done a great wrong, and I’m not worthy to be your wife.” But he said, “Take heart. The bad days are over. Now we will celebrate our wedding.” The ladies-in-waiting came and dressed her in the most splendid clothes. Her father came too, with the whole court, and they all wished her joy in her marriage to King Thrushbeard. And only then did the real happiness begin. --- - Read online: https://talerie.com/en/tales/king-thrushbeard - Wikidata: https://www.wikidata.org/wiki/Q11856 - Tale type: ATU 900 (per Wikidata) - Source: Kinder- und Hausmärchen, 7. Auflage (1857) (https://de.wikisource.org/wiki/König_Drosselbart_(1857)) - Public-domain basis: Talerie contemporary retelling (CC0 2026), based on: Kinder- und Hausmärchen, 7. Auflage (1857) — original: author died 1859/1863 (+70 passed) - License: CC0-1.0 (https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/)