In days of old, when wishing still helped one, a father had two sons. The elder was sharp, quick-witted, and knew his way around the world. But the younger son? Ah, he was quite the opposite – simple, slow to understand, and seemingly incapable of learning anything. Folks would shake their heads and mutter, “That one will be a burden to his father for sure!”
Whenever a task needed doing, especially one requiring a bit of cleverness, it was always the elder son who was called upon. Yet, if the father asked him to fetch something late in the evening, or worse, after nightfall, and the path led through the shadowy churchyard or any place whispered to be haunted, the clever son would balk. “Oh no, Father, not there!” he’d exclaim, “It makes me shudder!” For truth be told, he was easily frightened.
Evenings by the crackling fire, when tales were spun that sent shivers down spines, the listeners would often gasp, “Oh, that makes me shudder!” The youngest son would sit quietly in a corner, listening alongside everyone else, but the meaning of this “shuddering” remained a complete mystery to him.
“They’re always saying, ‘It makes me shudder! It makes me shudder!’” he pondered in his simple heart. “But I never shudder. It must be a skill, this shuddering, a skill I simply haven’t grasped.”
One day, his father, observing him idly sitting in his usual corner, finally spoke. “Listen here, you in the corner,” he began, his voice a mix of exasperation and concern. “You’re growing big and strong, and it’s high time you learned something to earn your keep. Look at your brother, always busy, always helpful. But for you… well, hope seems scarce.”
“Father,” the younger son replied earnestly, “I truly want to learn something. In fact, if it’s possible, I’d very much like to learn how to shudder. I don’t understand it at all.” This earnest desire to learn to shudder was genuine and heartfelt.
The elder brother, overhearing this exchange, burst into laughter. “Good heavens, what a simpleton!” he thought to himself, shaking his head. “Nothing good will ever come of him. As the twig is bent, so grows the tree, and that twig is bent quite foolishly.”
The father sighed deeply, a sound of resignation and perhaps a touch of pity. “You may well learn to shudder,” he conceded, “but shuddering won’t put bread on your table.”
Not long after this conversation, the village sexton paid a visit to their home. The father, burdened by his worries, confided in the sexton about his youngest son, lamenting his lack of intelligence and inability to learn. “Imagine,” he said, despair in his voice, “when I asked him what he intended to do to earn a living, he actually asked to learn to shudder!”
The sexton, a man of practicality and a hint of mischief, chuckled. “If that’s all he wishes,” he replied, a twinkle in his eye, “he can certainly learn that with me. Send him my way. I’ll smooth out his rough edges, so to speak.”
The father, grasping at any straw of hope, readily agreed. “It might do the boy some good,” he thought, perhaps clinging to the sexton’s words of “smoothing rough edges” more than the shuddering lesson.
So, the sexton took the younger son into his home, and his first task was to ring the church bell. A few days passed uneventfully. Then, in the dead of night, the sexton woke the boy, instructing him to climb the church tower and ring the bell.
“Tonight,” the sexton thought to himself with a sly grin, “he will learn precisely what it means to shudder.” He secretly hurried ahead, making his way up the winding stairs of the tower. As the boy reached the top, turned towards the bell rope, ready to pull, he froze. A pale, white figure stood on the steps, right beside the sound hole, bathed in the faint moonlight filtering through the tower windows.
“Who’s there?” the boy called out, his voice echoing in the stillness of the tower. But the figure remained silent, unmoving, like a statue carved from moonlight itself. “Answer me!” the boy demanded, his voice gaining a sharper edge. “Or get out of here! You have no business being up here at night!”
The sexton, relishing his prank, stood perfectly still, determined to play the part of a ghost to its fullest. He wanted the boy to truly believe he was facing a spectral apparition.
The boy shouted a second time, his patience wearing thin. “What do you want? Speak, if you’re an honest soul! Or I swear, I’ll throw you down the stairs!”
The sexton, still convinced it was all a harmless jest, thought, “He can’t possibly mean that.” He maintained his ghostly silence, as rigid and unyielding as stone.
Then, for the third time, the boy’s voice rang out, filled with a resolve that brooked no further nonsense. When still no answer came, he charged forward and shoved the “ghost” with all his might. The sexton, completely unprepared, tumbled down the steep stone steps, falling a full ten steps before crashing into a corner below.
Satisfied that he had dealt with the intruder, the boy calmly rang the bell, its deep tones echoing across the sleeping village. He then descended the tower, went home, climbed into bed, and fell soundly asleep, without uttering a single word about his nighttime encounter.
The sexton’s wife, however, grew increasingly anxious as the hours passed and her husband failed to return. Finally, fear gnawing at her, she woke the boy. “Do you know where my husband is?” she asked, her voice trembling. “He went up to the tower before you did.”
“No,” replied the boy, still half-asleep, “but there was someone standing by the sound hole, on the other side of the steps. And because he wouldn’t answer me or go away, I took him for a thief and threw him down the steps. Go check if it was him. I’m sorry if it was.”
The woman, her heart pounding, rushed out into the night and towards the church tower. There, in a crumpled heap in the corner, she found her husband, moaning in pain. His leg was clearly broken. With great effort, she managed to help him down from the tower, and then, her voice filled with tears and outrage, she hurried to the boy’s father. “Your boy!” she cried, bursting into the house. “He’s caused a terrible misfortune! He threw my husband down the tower steps and broke his leg! Take that good-for-nothing away from our house!”
The father, aghast at this news, ran to the sexton’s house, his face a mask of worry and anger. He confronted the boy, scolding him harshly. “What wicked deeds are these? The devil himself must have put you up to this!”
“Father,” the boy replied, his voice calm and even, “please, just listen to me. I am completely innocent. He was standing there in the darkness, acting like someone with ill intent. I didn’t know who it was, and I warned him three times to speak or leave.”
“Oh,” groaned the father, despair washing over him. “All I’ve ever known is trouble with you. Get out of my sight! I don’t want to look at you anymore!”
“Yes, Father, gladly!” the boy responded, relieved to be leaving. “Just wait until daylight, and I will go out into the world and learn how to shudder. Then, at last, I’ll have a skill that can support me.” He was still focused on his original goal: to learn to shudder.
“Learn whatever foolishness you want,” said the father, waving his hand dismissively. “It’s all the same to me now. Here,” he tossed him a small pouch, “take these fifty talers. Go out into the wide world, but tell no one where you come from, or who your father is, because I am utterly ashamed of you.”
“Yes, Father, I’ll do exactly as you wish,” the boy agreed readily. “If that’s all you ask of me, I can certainly remember that.”
As dawn broke, painting the sky with hues of pink and gold, the boy tucked the fifty talers into his pocket and set off down the main road. He walked with a light step, but his mind was fixed on one thing, muttering to himself with unwavering determination, “If only I could shudder! Oh, if only I could shudder!”
He hadn’t walked far when a man approached him on the road. Hearing the boy’s constant refrain, the man listened with curiosity. As they walked a little further, they came to a place where the gallows stood stark against the horizon. The man gestured towards them. “Look there,” he said, a strange glint in his eye, “that’s the tree where seven men were married to the rope maker’s daughter and are now learning how to fly. Sit down beneath it, and wait until night comes. Then, my friend, you will learn how to shudder.”
“If that’s all it takes,” the boy replied, his face brightening with hope, “I can do that easily! And if I learn how to shudder that quickly,” he added, a touch of shrewdness in his voice, “you shall have my fifty talers. Just come back to me tomorrow morning.”
The man, amused by the boy’s confidence, agreed. The boy went to the gallows, sat down beneath the grim structure, and settled in to wait for evening. As darkness crept in, the air grew cold. He gathered some twigs and branches and built himself a fire, seeking warmth against the encroaching chill.
However, as midnight approached, a biting wind swept across the gallows hill. Despite his fire, the boy found himself shivering, but not shuddering in the way he sought. The wind howled, pushing the hanged men’s bodies against each other, making them sway and creak in the darkness. Looking up at the macabre figures, the boy felt a pang of pity. “You’re freezing down here by my fire,” he thought aloud. “Those poor fellows up there must be truly freezing and suffering in this wind.”
Driven by this unexpected empathy, he fetched a ladder, propped it against the gallows, and climbed up. One by one, he untied the hanged men and carefully lowered all seven to the ground.
He then stirred up his fire, blowing on the embers until they glowed brighter. He arranged the seven corpses around the fire, intending to warm them. But they simply sat there, stiff and unmoving, their tattered clothes beginning to smolder in the heat. “Be careful!” he exclaimed, “or you’ll set yourselves alight!”
The dead men, of course, heard nothing and said nothing. They just sat as their rags continued to burn. This made the boy indignant. “If you won’t be careful,” he said, his voice rising in annoyance, “I can’t help you! I don’t want to burn up with you!” With that, he resolutely hung them all back up in a row on the gallows. Then, feeling weary, he sat down again by his fire and soon drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, the man returned, expecting to claim his fifty talers. “Well,” he asked, a smirk playing on his lips, “do you know how to shudder now?”
“No,” the boy replied, shaking his head. “Where would I have learned it? Those fellows up there didn’t open their mouths. They were so foolish they even let their old rags catch fire.”
The man, realizing he wouldn’t be getting the fifty talers that day, simply sighed and walked away, muttering to himself, “Never before have I met such a fellow.”
The boy, unfazed, continued on his way, his quest to learn to shudder still foremost in his mind. Once more, he began muttering to himself, “Oh, if only I could shudder! Oh, if only I could shudder!”
A cart driver, walking behind him on the road, overheard his strange soliloquy. He slowed his pace and called out, “Who are you, boy?”
“I don’t know,” replied the boy truthfully.
The cart driver tried again, “Where do you come from?”
“I don’t know.”
“And who is your father?” he pressed.
“I am not permitted to say,” the boy answered, remembering his father’s instructions.
“What are you always muttering to yourself?” the cart driver asked, finally getting to the heart of his curiosity.
“Oh,” replied the boy, “I desperately want to be able to shudder, but no one can teach me how!”
“Stop that foolish chatter,” said the cart driver, a hint of kindness in his voice. “Come, walk along with me, and I’ll see if I can find a place for you.”
The boy readily agreed and joined the cart driver. That evening, they arrived at a cozy inn where they decided to spend the night. As they entered the common room, the boy, forgetting himself, exclaimed quite loudly, “If only I could shudder! If only I could shudder!”
Hearing this, the innkeeper burst into hearty laughter. “If that’s your desire, young man,” he chuckled, wiping tears from his eyes, “then you’ve come to the right place! There should be a perfect opportunity for you right here!”
“Oh, hush, husband!” the innkeeper’s wife interjected, her voice laced with concern. “Too many meddling souls have already lost their lives in that endeavor. It would be a pity and a shame if this young man’s bright eyes never saw the light of day again.”
But the boy, his interest piqued, pressed on. “I am determined to learn to shudder,” he declared, “however difficult it may be! That’s why I left home!” His singular focus on his peculiar quest was unwavering.
He gave the innkeeper no peace until the man finally relented and told him about a haunted castle nearby. “They say,” the innkeeper whispered, leaning closer, “that a person can very easily learn how to shudder there, if they can just survive watching over it for three nights. The King himself has promised that whoever dares to do this can have his daughter in marriage! And she is the most beautiful maiden under the sun!” He continued, his voice dropping even lower, “Furthermore, they say the castle holds great treasures, guarded by evil spirits. These treasures would be freed by a brave soul, enough to make a poor man rich beyond his wildest dreams! Many have entered that castle, young man, but none have ever returned…”
The very next morning, the boy, undeterred by the innkeeper’s ominous warnings, went directly to the King. “Your Majesty,” he announced, his voice clear and bold, “if it pleases you, I will keep watch for three nights in the haunted castle.”
The King, looking at the earnest young man, was strangely drawn to his unassuming courage. “You may ask for three things to take into the castle with you,” the King granted, “but they must be things that are not alive.”
Without hesitation, the boy replied, “Then I ask for a fire, a lathe, and a woodcarver’s bench with a knife.”
The King, slightly bewildered by these unusual requests, nevertheless ordered these items to be carried into the castle for him that very day. As night approached, casting long shadows across the land, the boy entered the haunted castle. He built a roaring fire in one of the grand halls, placed the woodcarver’s bench and knife beside it, and then settled down at his lathe, ready for whatever the night might bring.
“Oh,” he sighed to himself, his voice echoing in the vast, empty hall, “if only I could shudder! But I doubt I’ll learn it here either.”
As midnight drew near, he decided to tend to his fire. He was just blowing on the embers to revive the flames when a sudden, chilling cry echoed from the shadows of the hall. “Au, meow! How cold we are!”
“You fools!” the boy shouted back into the darkness. “What are you whining about? If you’re cold, come over here and warm yourselves by the fire!”
No sooner had he spoken than two enormous black cats sprang out of the shadows with powerful leaps, landing on either side of him. They sat there, close to the fire, their fiery eyes fixed on him with a savage intensity.
After a while, once they seemed sufficiently warmed, the cats spoke, their voices low and raspy. “Comrade,” one of them purred, “shall we play a game of cards?”
“Why not?” the boy replied, unfazed. “But first, let me see your paws.”
The cats obligingly stretched out their paws, revealing long, wickedly sharp claws.
“Oh,” the boy remarked, feigning concern, “what terribly long nails you have! Wait a moment. First, I’ll have to trim them for you, or you’ll scratch the cards.”
With surprising speed, he seized each cat by the scruff of its neck, dragged them over to the woodcarver’s bench, and clamped their paws securely in the vice. “I’ve been looking at your claws,” he said, his voice hardening, “and suddenly, my desire to play cards has completely vanished!” And with that, he struck each cat dead with a swift blow of his woodcarving knife and tossed their lifeless bodies out into the castle moat.
Having dealt with these unwelcome guests, he returned to his fire, ready to settle down again. But no sooner had he sat than black cats and black dogs, dragging red-hot chains, emerged from every corner and shadow of the hall. More and more of them appeared, their numbers swelling until the boy could barely move. They howled and snarled, then leaped into his fire, scattering the burning logs and attempting to extinguish the flames.
He watched them for a while, his expression unchanging. But finally, his patience wore thin. He grabbed his carving knife and roared, “Away with you, you villains!” He charged into the throng of creatures, hacking and slashing with the knife. Some of the spectral animals fled, yelping, back into the shadows. Others he dispatched, throwing their dissipating forms into the pond outside. When the hall was quiet again, he blew on the embers of his fire until they rekindled, and then warmed himself, unfazed by the chaotic spectral onslaught.
As he sat there, the warmth of the fire began to lull him, and his eyelids grew heavy. He looked around for a place to rest and noticed a large, ornate bed in the corner of the hall. “That’s just what I need,” he thought, and gratefully climbed into it. However, just as he was about to close his eyes, the bed began to move, gliding silently across the floor. It started to move slowly, then faster, and faster, careening through the castle halls.
“Good,” he said, sitting up in the moving bed, “but let’s go a little faster!”
As if in response, the bed lurched forward with even greater speed, rattling over thresholds, bumping down stairways, and careening wildly up and down corridors as if pulled by a team of phantom horses. Suddenly, with a violent jolt, the bed tipped completely upside down, crashing to the floor and pinning him beneath its weight. But the boy, with surprising strength, simply threw the covers and pillows aside, scrambled out from under the overturned bed, and declared, “Now, anyone who wants to drive, may!” He then simply lay down by his fire and slept soundly until morning.
In the morning, the King arrived at the castle, anxious to see what had become of the young man. When he saw him lying on the floor, seemingly lifeless, he assumed the ghosts had finally claimed their victim. “It is indeed a pity,” the King lamented, “to lose such a handsome young man.”
The boy, hearing the King’s mournful words, stirred, sat up, and said, “It hasn’t come to that just yet, Your Majesty.”
The King, astonished and overjoyed to see him alive, peppered him with questions, eager to know how he had fared during the night.
“Very well,” the boy replied casually. “One night is done. The other two will pass just as easily.”
When he returned to the inn, the innkeeper stared at him in disbelief. “I truly didn’t think I’d ever see you alive again!” he exclaimed. “Tell me, young man, did you learn how to shudder in that dreadful place?”
“No,” the boy answered, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “It’s all been in vain. If only someone could just tell me how to shudder!”
The second night, he returned to the old castle, sat down once more by his fire, and began his familiar lament, “If only I could shudder! Oh, if only I could shudder!”
As midnight approached, he heard a strange noise, a growing commotion. At first, it was a soft rustling, but it grew louder and louder, echoing through the castle halls. Then, for a moment, there was a lull, a strange quiet. Finally, with a bloodcurdling scream, half of a man plummeted down the chimney and landed with a thud in front of him.
“Hey!” the boy shouted, looking at the gruesome half-corpse. “The other half belongs here! This is far too little!”
The noise began again, a cacophony of roaring and howling, even more intense than before. And then, with another scream, the other half of the man fell down the chimney, landing beside the first.
“Wait right there,” the boy instructed the two halves. “Let me just blow on the fire and make it burn a little warmer for you.”
When he had done so and looked around again, the two pieces had miraculously rejoined, forming a hideous, complete man who sat in his usual spot by the fire.
“That wasn’t part of our agreement,” the boy protested. “That bench is mine! You can find your own seat!”
The man attempted to shove him aside, but the boy stood his ground, pushing back with surprising force and reclaiming his place on the bench.
Then, an even more bizarre scene unfolded. More men began to fall down the chimney, one after another. They brought with them nine bones from dead men and two skulls. They arranged these macabre objects and began to play a game of bowling with them, using the skulls as balls and the bones as pins.
The boy, intrigued, watched them for a while, then decided to join in. “Listen,” he said to the spectral bowlers, “can I play a game with you?”
“Yes,” one of them rasped, “if you have money to wager.”
“Money enough,” the boy replied, pulling out his pouch of talers. “But your bowling balls are not quite round, you know.” He picked up the skulls, took them to his lathe, and skillfully turned them until they were perfectly spherical.
“There,” he announced, presenting the smoothed skulls. “Now they’ll roll much better! Hey! This will be fun!”
He joined their ghoulish game, playing and even losing some of his money. But as the clock struck twelve, the spectral bowlers, bones, skulls, and all, vanished into thin air, disappearing as suddenly as they had appeared. The boy, yawning, simply lay down and peacefully fell asleep by his fire.
The next morning, the King returned, his curiosity and concern battling within him. “How did you fare this time?” he asked, his voice filled with anticipation.
“I went bowling,” the boy replied, shrugging nonchalantly, “and lost a few pennies. Nothing much to report.”
“And… did you shudder at all?” the King inquired, barely daring to hope.
“Shudder?” the boy repeated, puzzled. “How? I had a great deal of fun, actually. But if only I knew how to shudder!”
On the third and final night, he sat down again on his bench, a deep sigh escaping his lips. “If only I could shudder!” he repeated, his voice tinged with sadness.
As the night deepened, six large men entered the hall, carrying a heavy coffin. Seeing this, the boy’s eyes widened slightly. “Aha,” he said, a flicker of recognition in his voice, “that must be my little cousin, who passed away just a few days ago.” He gestured towards the coffin and called out, “Come in, little cousin, come right in!”
The six men placed the coffin on the ground with a resounding thud. The boy approached it and lifted the heavy lid. Inside lay a dead man, still and cold. He reached out and touched the corpse’s face. It was cold as ice.
“Wait,” he said to the lifeless figure, “I’ll warm you up a little.” He went to the fire, warmed his own hands thoroughly, and then placed them on the dead man’s face, hoping to impart some warmth. But the dead man remained stubbornly cold. Then, he had another idea. He lifted the corpse out of the coffin, carried it over to the bed, and sat down beside the fire, cradling the dead man in his lap. He began to rub the corpse’s arms, trying to stimulate circulation, hoping to bring some life back into the cold flesh.
When even this proved ineffective, a new thought struck him. “When two people lie in bed together,” he reasoned, “they keep each other warm.” So, he carefully carried the dead man to the large bed, tucked him under the covers, and then lay down beside him, sharing the blankets with the uninvited, and very cold, bedfellow.
After a while, something remarkable happened. The dead man’s body began to warm up. Then, it started to move.
“See, little cousin,” the boy said cheerfully, “I told you I’d get you warm, didn’t I?”
But the dead man’s voice was not one of gratitude. It was a chilling growl. “I am going to strangle you!” he rasped.
“What?” the boy exclaimed, jumping back in surprise and indignation. “Is that the thanks I get for warming you up? Get right back into your coffin, then!” He grabbed the reanimated corpse, unceremoniously threw it back into the coffin, and slammed the lid shut. The six men reappeared as if summoned, picked up the coffin, and carried it away once more, disappearing into the shadows.
“I still cannot shudder,” the boy declared, frustration evident in his voice. “I truly don’t think I’ll ever learn it in this place, not if I live here forever.”
Just then, a figure entered the hall. He was taller and more imposing than any of the others the boy had encountered. His appearance was frightful, truly monstrous, but he was also ancient, with a long, flowing white beard that reached his chest.
“You wretched mortal!” the monster roared, his voice echoing through the hall like thunder. “You shall soon learn what it is to shudder, for you are about to die!”
“Not so fast,” the boy retorted, standing his ground. “If I am to die, then I suppose I’ll just have to be here, won’t I?”
“I’ve got you now!” the monster bellowed, advancing menacingly.
“Now, now, don’t boast so much,” the boy cautioned, holding up a hand. “I am just as strong as you are, and probably even stronger.”
“We shall see about that!” the old man challenged. “If you are indeed stronger than I, then I shall let you go. Come, let’s put it to the test!”
The old man led the boy through a maze of dark passageways, eventually arriving at a blacksmith’s forge. He picked up a heavy ax, and with a single mighty blow, drove one of the anvils deep into the earthen floor.
“I can do better than that,” the boy said confidently, stepping towards the other anvil. The old man stood nearby, his long white beard flowing down, eager to witness the boy’s attempt. The boy seized the ax, hefted it high, and with a tremendous swing, brought it down on the anvil. The force of the blow split the anvil in two, cleaving it right down the middle. Incredibly, the force of the blow also wedged the old man’s long white beard deep into the crack of the split anvil, trapping him fast.
“Now I have you!” the boy exclaimed triumphantly. “Now it is your turn to die!” He grabbed a heavy iron bar and began to beat the trapped old man soundly. The monster howled in pain, moaning and begging the boy to stop, promising him great riches if he would just release him. Finally, the boy, satisfied with his victory, pulled the ax free, releasing the old man’s beard.
The old man, true to his word, led the boy back through the passageways, this time to a hidden cellar. There, he showed him three massive chests, overflowing with gold coins.
“Of these,” the old man said, his voice now subdued, “one chest is for the poor of the kingdom, the second one is for the King himself, and the third one is yours, as your reward.”
Just as he finished speaking, the clock in the castle tower struck twelve, and with the final chime, the old man vanished, leaving the boy alone in the dark cellar, surrounded by unimaginable wealth. “I can find my own way out,” the boy said to himself, his confidence unshaken. Feeling his way through the darkness, he eventually found his way back to the bedroom with the fire, and, exhausted but triumphant, fell asleep.
The next morning, the King arrived at the castle, eager to hear the tale of the final night. “By now,” he asked, his voice hopeful, “you must have learned how to shudder, surely?”
“No,” the boy replied, a hint of bewilderment in his tone. “What is this ‘shuddering’ thing anyway? My dead cousin was here, and then a bearded old man came and showed me a great deal of money downstairs, but no one, not a single soul, has shown me how to shudder.”
Then the King, overjoyed and relieved, declared, “You have redeemed the castle from its curse! And as promised, you shall marry my daughter!”
“That is all very well and good, Your Majesty,” said the boy, “but I still have no idea how to shudder.”
Despite his continued lack of understanding about shuddering, the gold was brought forth from the castle cellar, and grand wedding celebrations were prepared. The boy married the King’s daughter, and although the young King loved his beautiful wife deeply and was now a man of considerable wealth, a nagging feeling persisted. He would often find himself saying, with a wistful sigh, “If only I could shudder. Oh, if only I could shudder.” Over time, this constant refrain began to irritate his new Queen.
Her clever chambermaid, noticing the Queen’s growing frustration and hearing the King’s endless lament, finally declared, “Your Majesty, I believe I know how to help the King learn to shudder!”
The chambermaid went out to the clear brook that flowed through the palace gardens and carefully caught a whole bucketful of wriggling minnows. That night, as the young King lay sleeping peacefully beside his Queen, she waited for the perfect moment. Then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, she swiftly pulled back the covers and poured the entire bucketful of ice-cold water and live minnows directly onto her sleeping husband! The tiny, slippery fish wriggled and squirmed all over his body.
The young King awoke with a start, leaping out of bed with a cry. “Oh!” he shouted, his voice filled with genuine surprise and a sensation he had never felt before. “What is this? What is making me… shudder? What is making me shudder, dear wife?” He paused, a look of understanding dawning on his face. “Yes!” he exclaimed, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Yes, now I know! Now, at last, I know how to shudder!” And so, in the most unexpected and comical way, the boy who went forth to learn to shudder finally achieved his peculiar quest.
- Source: Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, Kinder- und Hausmärchen (Children’s and Household Tales — Grimms’ Fairy Tales), no. 4. Translated and adapted for an English-speaking audience.
- Original Source: Märchen von einem, der auszog, das Fürchten zu lernen
- This tale is classified as Aarne-Thompson type 326, a widely recognized folktale motif.
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