The Spindle, the Shuttle, and the Needle

Once upon a time there was a young girl who lost her mother and father when she was still a small child. Her godmother, an old and wise woman, took her in and taught her everything she knew: how to spin thread, how to weave cloth, and how to sew with a fine hand. The little house stood at the edge of a forest, and the girl soon grew used to working from early morning until late at night, with the spindle turning and the needle flashing in the lamplight.

The years passed. The girl grew up and became skilled in all her work. But when she was fifteen years old, the godmother fell ill. One autumn day the old woman called her to the bedside and took her hand. 'Dear child,' said the godmother in a faint voice, 'I feel that my time has come. I am leaving you the house and the three tools: the spindle, the shuttle, and the needle. Keep them well, they are more precious than you know.' Then the godmother closed her eyes for ever, and the girl stood alone.

The girl mourned her godmother deeply, but she knew that work must go on. Every morning she sat at her spinning wheel, every afternoon she wove, and every evening she sewed by candlelight. Her cloth was more beautiful than anyone else's in the village, and it seemed as though her hands never grew tired. Strangely enough, the more she gave away of what she had earned, the more she had the next morning. It was as though the godmother's blessing still lived in the walls.

Far from there, in a splendid castle, there lived a young prince. His father the king had told him: 'It is time for you to take a wife. But she must be the poorest and the richest at one and the same time.' The prince could barely understand what that meant, but he pondered the words for a long time and at last decided to ride out and search. He had his horses harnessed, packed a simple travel bag, and rode out through the land. He rode from village to village, from farm to farm, asking and looking, but nowhere did he find the one he sought.