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So since I posted the cracktacular story of Hans the Hedgehog, I figure I should cosmically balance the act with one of my favorite of Grimm's fairy tales, "Bearskin." We read this in class the day only four kids showed up, and it was not well-received compared to "The Brave Little Tailor," "The Emperor's New Clothes" or "The Hare and the Hedgehog." They said it was too depressing. Bah.

BEARSKIN
As collected by the Brothers Grimm and retold by me

Once a soldier was discharged from the army with nothing but his rifle and the clothes on his back; the war was over (it's not entirely clear which war, but that he's a soldier is specific) and he wasn't needed anymore. He went home to his family, but they refused to let him freeload, ordering him to find some kind of suitable work to earn his keep; but the soldier had never learned any trade other than killing, and so his family kicked him out. Rejected, the soldier went to the woods to live as a hunter, subsisting on what he could catch; but he couldn't catch enough to feed himself, and soon it became clear that he was going to starve.

Then, one cold day, he was attacked by a bear. The bear came charging at him, roaring, but the hunter wasn't fazed; he took down his rifle and shot the bear through the face, killing it instantly. When he turned around, he found a stranger in a green coat had appeared in the woods with him. (Why does the devil so often wear green?)

"Congratulations," said Greencoat. "You're quite a brave fellow, aren't you?"

"I've fought more frightening enemies," the hunter said, not at all sure about this guy.

"Oh, I'm sure," Greencoat said. "But I wonder if you have the courage for a different sort of challenge."

"What sort?" the hunter asked.

Greencoat pulled a knife and a needle out of his pockets. "Let's call it a test of endurance. I'll make you a coat from the skin of this bear, and you must wear it for seven years—never taking it off, even one sleeve. For seven years you must not bathe, or shave, or cut your hair or nails; you must never sleep in the same bed twice or tell anyone your true name. If you can survive such a life, my friend, you may ask for anything you desire as your reward."

To the hunter, this sounded more or less like a less-hygenic version of his current life; but he asked, "What am I supposed to do about food? I haven't got any now, and giving aliases while wearing a stinky bearskin coat won't help me find work to earn any."

"Oh, I'm not entirely wicked," Greencoat said, and showed the hunter a purse that hung on his belt. "I'll give you this purse in the bargain, which never runs empty for long. You'll have all the money you need to buy what you can."

"And if I change my mind partway through?" the hunter asked. "If I take off the coat, does the bargain end?"

Greencoat laughed. "My friend, if you try to take off your bear's skin before your seven years are done, you will find it very hard to remove; and I should warn you that, if you die while in my power, your soul will be mine forever."

The hunter was naturally alarmed by this statement, but the prospect of money—not to mention a warm bearskin coat—was too tempting. He agreed to Greencoat's terms, and the devil sat down right away to make the bearskin coat.

"Remember," Greencoat said as the hunter pulled the coat on. "Sleep in no bed twice, tell no one your true name, and no grooming." And he gave the hunter his purse, and vanished.

The next day the hunter almost thought the whole matter had been a dream, until he opened the devil's purse and found five huge gold coins inside, more than enough to buy anything he wanted. Mindful of the rule about sleeping in no bed twice, he began to travel with no particular direction in mind, stopping at fine inns and pubs for better meals than he'd tasted in years; and though he could tell no one he met his true name, his gold made him friends enough that he always had a warm bed.

But after a while, the hunter's appearance changed. His hair and bear got shaggy and matted, and his face and hands became dirty. His clothes became ragged and started to smell, but he couldn't change or wash them without taking off the bearskin coat. His nails became long and yellow and jagged where bits broke off, and though he always had five fat gold coins every morning, people became less and less inclined to sell him food or lodging. And since he could tell no one his true name, they gave him another one: Bearskin.

Bearskin traveled further and further from his home in search of a new bed every night, and his appearance became more and more fearsome with each passing month. He lost his rifle, and almost lost the devil's purse, as people tried to rob or murder him for it; sometimes he could not convince anyone to put him up for the night at any price, and spent long, lonely evenings shivering on the side of the road. He want to take off the coat but feared what would happen if he tried; and he feared most of all that this lonely life would kill him before seven years, and his soul would belong to the devil for the rest of time. He gave money to beggars and priests to pray for his safety, and kept walking.

Finally, four years in, Bearskin came to a village where there was no welcome to be had. Shopkeepers shut their doors against him, children screamed and fled from him or threw stones at him, and the innkeeper wouldn't even give him a place in the stable for the night, because he might scare the horses. After much pleading and the transfer of five fat gold coins, however, he agreed to let Bearskin sleep in the shed, as long as nobody saw him, since this was a family establishment and filthy monsters in the outbuildings would give him a bad name.

Bearskin went out to the shed and tried to make himself comfortable to sleep, but soon his mind turned to home, and to his life before the bearskin coat, and he started to weep. However, he soon realized he wasn't the only one crying, and went around the side of the shed to find an old man sitting there, weeping bitterly.

The man was terrified of Bearskin at first, as most people were—this tall figure, looking so huge inside his bearskin coat, smelly and hairy and barely human. But Bearskin managed to talk to him, and the old man eventually shared his grief. "I can't work any more and I've run out of money," he confessed. "I'm in debt, and if I can't pay it off I'll go to prison. I have three daughters to care for and I'm afraid they'll starve without me, or be put to prostitution."

Bearskin was moved by a story so like his own, and resolved that the devil's money should be put to a good use. "Old man, if you take me home with you, I will give you all the money you need and more; only give me food and a warm place to sleep. Well, a few warm places to sleep. This might take a while."

The old man was skeptical of Bearskin's help, but he took him home anyway and made him up a bed by the fire. The following morning, Bearskin paid him the five gold coins, and the old man was so overjoyed that he wept again, and offered Bearskin anything he wanted, including one of his daughters as a wife. (This being eighteenth-century Germany, he could get away with that sort of thing.)

Now, the old man had three daughters, and the first one was so terrified of Bearskin that she shut herself up in her room and wouldn't come out until he left the house. The second daughter was disgusted by him, and won't speak to him. "How can you let that animal in the house?" she asked loudly, and often, when she knew Bearskin could hear. "Just because it's learned to walk upright doesn't mean it should eat at the table with us."

The third daughter, however, plucked up her courage and said, "Underneath all that hair and dirt must be an honorable man, or you wouldn't have helped us so. If you want to take me to wife, I will keep my father's promise."

But Bearskin said, "I'm not really in a marrying place in my life right now. I wouldn't be a good husband for you. But thank you for your kind words, and maybe we'll meet again some day."

Bearskin dwelled with the old man and his daughters for some time, every morning giving over his five gold coins; soon the old man had paid off his debts and collected a sizable dowry for each of the girls. And Bearskin, while he stayed there, learned the old man's trade and helped him with his business. But every night he had to sleep in a different bed, per the devil's instructions: he slept in every room of the house, in the barn, in the carrot patch, and on the roof. Finally, there was nowhere new for him to sleep, and he had to take his leave.

"Don't go," the youngest daughter said, for she'd quite come to fancy Bearskin. "Stay here, be my father's apprentice, be my husband. We'll cut your hair and make you new clothes and burn this filthy bearskin coat."

"I can't stay, or the devil will take me," Bearskin said.

"At least tell me your real name," the girl said, but Bearskin could not. Instead he took a ring from his finger and gave it to the girl, telling her that he'd be back for it when his seven years were done. And the girl gave Bearskin a ring of hers, so that she would know him when he was cleaned up, because, damn. He hasn't had a bath in four years at this point.

So Bearskin continued to wander, but now he had the small flame of his love to sustain him, even when he faced rejection and contempt all around. And the girl waited for him, wearing his ring on a chain, even though her sisters mocked her for it. And when seven years had passed, Bearskin returned to that spot in the forest where he'd killed the bear and called out, "Well, devil, I've bested you in this. Now it's time to claim my reward."

Just like that, Greencoat appeared. "What is it you want, Bearskin?" he asked. "Money I can give you, in sums more than five coins. Kingdoms and armies are yours at a word. Women you can have in numbers. What prize will you claim?"

"Clean clothes," Bearskin answered, "and a fast horse, and money enough for a long journey. Oh, and you are going to personally give me a haircut."

"The hell I am," Greencoat answered.

"I've still got your purse, asshole," Bearskin said. "You were fancy with the needle seven years ago, let's see what you can do with scissors."

So Greencoat cut Bearskin's hair and shaved his beard, drew him a bath so he could wash up, gave him a pedicure and a manicure and made him a fine new suit. When he was done, Bearskin looked like a different, slightly metrosexual person, but he had his clothes and his horse and a perfectly mundane bag of money. And the first thing he did was ride home to the girl he loved.

But when he arrived at her door, he found that her father had died; and for her part, she didn't recognize him and wouldn't even receive him. "I'm waiting for my husband, if the devil hasn't taken him," she said sternly. "Go away and don't come back."

"You can come call on us!" her sisters cried, and all but threw themselves at this handsome man on their doorstep. Bearskin shoved them off and went back to the inn (which had been happy to receive him this time around) to think.

Late that night, in the darkness, he put on the manky old bearskin coat again—just as filthy and smelly as it had ever been. He covered his face with a scarf and went to the house a second time. The girls all recognized him this time, and the oldest daughter fled to her room while the middle one tried to beat him off with a skillet. But the youngest daughter received him joyfully, saying, "Seven years are done and we can be together now. Take off your coat and let me see you as you really are."

So Bearskin took off the scarf and coat, and for a moment the girl was uncertain if this was really her beloved, because he looked so different; but then he showed her the ring she had given him, and asked after his, and she knew who he was. They were married and lived happily ever after.

(The older sisters, however—at least in the Grimm version of the story—did not; live, I mean. When they realized that the handsome suitor they were flinging themselves at the day before was really Bearskin, they were so distraught that one hung herself and the other jumped down a well; and one cold night the devil came back to bid Bearskin a final farewell, and to say, "See? Here I got two souls instead of just your one." But that's creepy and I'm not going to endorse it.)