The Robber Bridegroom

Once there was a miller who had a clever, kind daughter. One day a well-dressed man came to the mill and asked to marry her. He spoke politely, smiled often, and seemed rich. The miller was pleased and promised his daughter to him. But the girl felt a chill whenever she looked into the man's eyes. They were cold, like water in a deep well. Still, a promise had been made.

“Come and visit me in my house,” the bridegroom said. “It stands at the edge of the forest. Then you will know it and will not be a stranger when we marry.” He gave her a small bag of peas and lentils. “Scatter these on the path for the birds,” he said.

The girl nodded, but she had her own plan. She had heard that the forest was thick and confusing. So, as she walked, she gently let the peas and lentils fall from her pocket, one by one, to mark the way back home.

The trees grew taller and darker as she went. At last, in a lonely clearing, she found a large, silent house. Its shutters were closed. No smoke curled from the chimney. Everything felt too still. A little bird perched on a branch near the door and sang in a thin, hurried voice:

“Turn back, turn back, you lovely bride! In this house you must not bide; Turn back, turn back, and do not stay— For evil waits for you today.”

The girl’s heart squeezed with fear, but she wanted to be sure what kind of place this was. She opened the door. Inside, the halls were quiet, the air heavy with the smell of ashes and spices. In the kitchen she saw a huge table and a block of wood scored with deep cuts. Her feet barely touched the floor, she walked so softly.

Then she met an old woman, bent and quick-eyed, who was tidying a corner. “Oh, poor child,” the old woman whispered, “why have you come here? This house belongs to a band of robbers. If they find you, you will not leave alive. Hide now, and perhaps I can save you.”

The girl could barely breathe. She thanked the old woman and hid behind a big barrel in a dark corner. The old woman threw a cloth over the barrel and began to rattle pots, as if nothing were wrong.

Not long after, heavy footsteps shook the floor. Rough voices filled the hall. The bridegroom had come back with his men. With them they brought a young traveler, a girl who had lost her way. The robbers laughed and poured the traveler red wine, far too much. Her head drooped. Then the men did a terrible thing: they hurt her until she lay still and quiet. The old woman’s hands trembled as she worked, but she did not look toward the barrel, and the hidden girl dared not move or cry out.

One robber noticed a gold ring shining on the traveler’s finger. “It will not come off,” he grumbled, tugging hard. In his greed, he snatched up a knife. With a swift, cruel cut he took the finger for the ring. The small finger leaped from his hand and, as if to hide from the evil deed, flew behind the barrel. It landed in the bride’s lap.

Her heart pounded like a hammer. She kept perfectly still, cupping the finger so it would not fall to the floor. At last the robbers ate and drank and boasted until their eyes grew heavy. One by one they stumbled away and fell asleep.

The old woman slipped to the barrel and lifted the cloth. “Now,” she whispered, “now is our chance. Bring the finger with you. It will tell the truth when words are not enough.”

Together they crept through the silent house, down the back steps, and out into the night. The moon had risen, and something wonderful had happened. The peas and lentils the girl had dropped along the path had sprouted tiny pale shoots and leaves, and in the moonlight they gleamed like a silver thread. Step by step, that shining line led her safely out of the dark forest and all the way home.

The miller rejoiced to see his daughter. She told him everything she could, though her voice shook with fright and anger. He called their neighbors. Word spread. The wedding would still be held the next day, as planned—but now many strong and watchful people would be there, waiting and listening.

The next day the hall was full. The bridegroom arrived, smiling as if nothing were wrong. He bowed to the guests and sat at the head of the table. He tried to take the girl’s hand, but she kept it folded in her lap. “Tell us a story,” he said smoothly, “something cheerful to suit the day.”

“I will tell you a dream,” the girl replied, lifting her eyes so that everyone could hear. “I dreamed I walked into a house at the edge of the forest. A little bird warned me to turn back. Inside I found an old woman, who hid me behind a barrel and begged me to be still, for the house belonged to robbers.”

The bridegroom laughed too loudly. “A dream? Dreams mean nothing,” he scoffed, but his fingers curled on the table.

“In my dream,” the girl continued, “the robbers returned with a traveler, a girl who had lost her way. They gave her too much wine and harmed her so that she did not move again. One robber tried to steal her ring. He could not pull it off, so he used a knife. The finger flew behind the barrel and fell into my lap.”

Now the hall had grown so quiet that everyone could hear the bridegroom’s breath. The girl reached into her pocket. “And here,” she said clearly, “is the finger from my dream, with the ring you once praised.” She set it on the table, and the gold ring shone in the light.

Chairs scraped back. Voices rose in shock and anger. The bridegroom sprang to his feet, but strong hands were ready. The people seized him and his men, who had slipped in among the guests. The robbers were taken away and punished by the law so they could never harm anyone again.

The miller’s daughter held tight to her father’s arm. She thanked the brave old woman in her heart, and sometimes, when she passed the edge of the forest, she listened for the little bird. If the wind was just right, she could almost hear it sing:

“Turn back, turn back, you lovely bride! Trust your heart and guard your stride. The truth, once told, will be your guide.”