The Devil with the Three Golden Hairs
The Lucky Caul: A Real Folk Belief
Did you know that being born with a caul—a piece of amniotic membrane covering the head—was once considered a sign of extraordinary luck? In European folklore, caulbearers were thought to be protected from drowning and destined for greatness. This belief inspired many fairy tales, including the story of the boy with the lucky caul who outwits a king and steals hairs from the Devil himself!
In a humble cottage at the edge of a vast forest, a poor couple lived a life of quiet hardship. The husband chopped wood from dawn till dusk, and the wife fetched water and tended their small garden. They had little, but they had each other, and they were content. One cold winter night, the wife gave birth to a baby boy. As the midwife lifted the newborn, she gasped. A thin, translucent membrane—a lucky caul—covered his tiny head. "This child is blessed," she whispered. "He will marry the king's daughter." The couple marveled at the prophecy, but they dared not speak of it beyond their walls. The baby, whom they named Hans, grew strong and kind. The caul was carefully preserved in a linen cloth and tucked away in a wooden chest. The couple believed their son was destined for greatness, but they also knew that fate could be cruel. They kept the prophecy secret, fearing the king's wrath. Yet whispers travel far, and the king's spies were everywhere. The boy's lucky caul was a sign, and signs could not be hidden forever.
The king, a cruel and jealous ruler, heard the prophecy from a wandering minstrel. His face darkened with fury. "A common brat marry my daughter? Never!" He summoned his most trusted servant and devised a plan. Under the cover of night, the king himself rode to the poor couple's cottage. He knocked on the door and, with a false smile, offered them a purse of gold. "Your child is destined for greatness," he said. "Let me take him to the palace, where he will be raised as a prince." The couple, dazzled by the gold and the king's words, reluctantly agreed. But the king had lied. He placed the baby in a sturdy wooden box, sealed it tight, and rode to the river. With a mighty heave, he threw the box into the rushing water. "Let the river decide your fate," he sneered. The box bobbed and spun in the current, disappearing into the darkness. The king returned to his castle, convinced he had thwarted the prophecy. But the river had other plans.
The wooden box floated downstream for miles, carried by the gentle current. It passed through forests and meadows, under bridges and over fallen logs. Early one morning, a miller named Otto was walking along the riverbank, inspecting his mill wheel. He noticed the box caught in the reeds and waded in to retrieve it. Inside, he found a baby boy, wrapped in a thin blanket, with a lucky caul still covering his head. "By the heavens!" Otto exclaimed. "A child!" He looked around for the mother, but there was no one in sight. Otto, a kind and childless man, took the baby home to his wife. They named him Hans and raised him as their own son. The miller's wife sewed him warm clothes, and Otto taught him to fish and tend the mill. Hans grew up strong and cheerful, unaware of his royal destiny. The lucky caul was kept in a drawer, a curious relic of his mysterious past. The miller and his wife never spoke of the prophecy, for they did not know it. They only knew that the river had given them a gift, and they cherished it.
Years passed, and Hans grew into a fine young man. One day, the king, while traveling through the countryside, stopped at the miller's house for a drink of water. He saw Hans and was struck by his resemblance to the baby he had thrown into the river. The king's heart raced. He questioned the miller and learned the boy's story. "So, the river did not take you," the king muttered under his breath. He devised a new plan. He wrote a letter to the queen, sealed it with his royal seal, and handed it to Hans. "Take this to the queen at the castle," he said. "It is a matter of great importance." Hans, eager to serve, set off at once. But the king's letter contained an order: "Kill the bearer of this letter immediately." Hans walked through the forest, but he lost his way. As night fell, he saw a small house and knocked on the door. An old woman answered. "I am lost," Hans said. "May I rest here?" The old woman welcomed him in, but she warned, "Robbers live nearby. They will surely come tonight." Hans, brave and trusting, decided to stay.
The old woman hid Hans in a corner and covered him with a blanket. Soon, the robbers arrived, a rough band of men with scarred faces and heavy boots. They sat around the fire, counting their loot. One of them noticed the letter in Hans's pocket and pulled it out. "What's this?" he grunted. He broke the seal and read aloud: "Kill the bearer of this letter immediately." The robbers exchanged glances. "The king wants this boy dead," one said. "But he seems harmless." Another robber, older and wiser, said, "I know the king. He is a cruel man. This boy must be innocent." They took pity on Hans. The oldest robber produced a fresh sheet of parchment and a quill. He wrote a new letter: "Marry the bearer of this letter to the princess at once." He sealed it with the king's seal, which he had stolen long ago. Then they placed the letter back in Hans's pocket. In the morning, Hans woke to find the robbers gone. He thanked the old woman and continued on his way, unaware that his fate had been rewritten.
Hans arrived at the king's castle and presented the letter to the queen. She read it and, though surprised, obeyed the king's command. The princess, a kind and gentle young woman, was summoned. She looked at Hans and saw a brave and handsome young man. The wedding was held that very day, and Hans and the princess were married. They were happy, and the kingdom rejoiced. But when the king returned, he was furious. "What have you done?" he roared. The queen showed him the letter. The king read it and turned pale. "This is not my writing!" he cried. He realized that his plan had been foiled. He summoned Hans and demanded, "You must prove your worth. Bring me three golden hairs from the Devil's head. Only then will I accept you as my son-in-law." Hans, though daunted, agreed. He loved the princess and would do anything to keep her. He set out on a long and dangerous journey, determined to succeed.
Hans traveled for many days, through dark forests and over high mountains. He asked everyone he met where he might find the Devil, but no one could tell him. Finally, he came to a desolate land where the sky was always gray and the trees were bare. He saw a cave and, mustering his courage, entered. Inside, he found the Devil's grandmother, an old woman with kind eyes and a gentle smile. "I know why you are here," she said. "You seek three golden hairs from my grandson's head. He is a fearsome creature, but I will help you." She hid Hans behind a large stove and told him to stay silent. "When the Devil returns, he will be tired. I will pluck the hairs while he sleeps." Hans waited, his heart pounding. At midnight, the Devil stormed in, his three golden hairs gleaming in the firelight. He sniffed the air. "I smell a human!" he growled. But his grandmother soothed him, and soon he fell asleep. The old woman carefully plucked one golden hair. The Devil stirred. "What are you doing?" he mumbled. "I had a dream," she said. "I dreamed of a ferryman who must row back and forth forever." The Devil grunted, "He must give his oar to someone else." Then he fell back asleep.
The next morning, Hans thanked the Devil's grandmother and, with the first golden hair safely tucked in his pocket, continued his journey. He had not gone far when he came to a wide river. A ferryman stood by a small boat, his face weary and sad. "Why do you look so troubled?" Hans asked. The ferryman sighed. "I am doomed to row back and forth across this river until someone takes my oar. I have been doing this for years, and no one has ever offered to help." Hans remembered the Devil's words. "I will find out how to free you," he promised. The ferryman's eyes lit up with hope. "If you can help me, I will be forever grateful." Hans nodded and stepped into the boat. The ferryman rowed him across, and Hans continued on his way, determined to solve the ferryman's riddle. He knew that the answer lay with the Devil, and he still had two more hairs to fetch. The river crossing was behind him, but the journey ahead was long and full of danger.
The boy walked for many days, his feet sore and his heart heavy with the weight of his quest. He had crossed the river and left the ferryman behind, but the road ahead wound through unfamiliar lands. At last, he came to a great city, its walls high and its gates open. Yet as he entered, he noticed a strange stillness. The streets were quiet, and the people moved with downcast eyes. In the center of the city stood a magnificent fountain, carved with figures of dolphins and sea nymphs, but it was dry. Not a single drop of water fell from its spouts, and the basin was cracked and empty. The boy approached a group of elders who sat nearby, their faces lined with worry. "Good sirs," he said, "why is your fountain dry?" The eldest among them looked up and sighed. "We do not know," he replied. "Once, this fountain flowed with the sweetest water in all the land, but now it is silent. Our crops wither, and our children thirst. We have offered a great reward to anyone who can solve the mystery, but no one has succeeded." The boy felt a pang of sympathy. "I am on my way to the Devil's house," he said. "If you wish, I will ask him why your fountain has dried up." The elders gasped. "You would do that for us?" they asked. "We will reward you richly if you bring us the answer." The boy nodded. "I will ask the Devil," he promised. "But I must continue my journey now." And with that, he left the city, the elders' hopeful eyes following him as he walked toward the dark mountains in the distance.
The boy journeyed on, through valleys and over hills, until he came to another city. This city was even grander than the first, with tall towers and bustling markets. But here too, a sorrow hung in the air. In the main square stood a great tree, its branches spreading wide, but it was bare. No leaves, no blossoms, and certainly no fruit. The boy remembered the stories he had heard of a tree that once bore golden apples, and he guessed this was the same one. He approached a group of townsfolk who were gathered near the tree, their faces sad. "Why does your tree bear no golden apples?" he asked. A woman with tears in her eyes turned to him. "We don't know," she said. "For generations, this tree has given us golden apples every year, but now it is barren. We have tried everything—pruning, watering, even singing to it—but nothing helps. We have promised a reward to anyone who can tell us what is wrong." The boy's heart went out to them. "I am going to the Devil's house," he said. "I will ask him why your tree is barren." The townsfolk looked at him with wonder. "You would dare to face the Devil?" they asked. "We will give you a great reward if you return with the answer." The boy smiled bravely. "I will ask the Devil," he said. "And I will return with the answer." He continued on his way, the townsfolk's grateful words echoing in his ears.
After many more days of travel, the boy reached a dark and desolate land. The sky was gray, and the trees were twisted and bare. In the distance, he saw a house—a strange, crooked house with a chimney that smoked black. He knew this must be the Devil's house. His heart pounded, but he remembered his promise and walked boldly to the door. He knocked, and the door creaked open. An old woman stood there, her face wrinkled like a dried apple, but her eyes were kind. "What do you want, child?" she asked. "I am looking for the Devil's grandmother," the boy said. "I need her help." The old woman smiled. "I am the Devil's grandmother," she said. "Why would you seek me?" The boy told her everything—the king's cruelty, the prophecy, the three golden hairs, and the questions from the ferryman and the two cities. The grandmother listened carefully. "You are brave to come here," she said. "The Devil is my grandson, and he is fierce. But I can help you if you are not afraid." The boy nodded. "I am not afraid," he said. "I will do whatever it takes." The grandmother looked at him with approval. "Very well," she said. "I will hide you, and when the Devil comes home, I will ask him your questions. But you must be silent and still, for if he finds you, he will tear you apart." The boy agreed, and the grandmother led him inside, where she hid him under a great bed in a dark corner of the room.
The boy hid under the bed, his heart beating loudly in his chest. The grandmother went about her work, preparing a meal. As night fell, a terrible noise filled the air—a roaring, howling sound that made the boy tremble. The Devil burst through the door, his eyes blazing like fire. "Grandmother!" he bellowed. "I smell a human!" The grandmother remained calm. "Nonsense," she said. "You smell the soup I am cooking. Sit down and eat." The Devil grumbled but sat at the table. As he ate, the grandmother spoke casually. "Grandson, I heard a strange thing today. There is a ferryman who must row back and forth across a river day and night. He cannot rest. Do you know how he can be freed?" The Devil laughed. "Foolish ferryman!" he said. "He only needs to hand his oar to someone else. Then he will be free, and the other will be bound." The grandmother nodded and continued. "And what about a city where the fountain has dried up?" she asked. The Devil took a bite of bread. "There is a toad sitting under a stone in the fountain," he said. "If they remove the stone and kill the toad, the water will flow again." The grandmother smiled. "And a tree that once bore golden apples but is now barren?" The Devil wiped his mouth. "A mouse is gnawing at its roots," he said. "If they kill the mouse, the tree will bear fruit again." The boy listened carefully, memorizing every word. The grandmother glanced at the bed and winked.
The Devil finished his meal and grew drowsy. He stretched out on a bench near the fire, and soon his snoring filled the room. The grandmother waited until she was sure he was asleep, then she crept over to the bed and whispered to the boy. "Did you hear everything?" she asked. The boy nodded. "Yes," he whispered back. "The ferryman must hand his oar to someone else; the fountain is blocked by a toad under a stone; and the tree has a mouse gnawing at its roots." The grandmother smiled. "Good," she said. "Now, I must pluck three golden hairs from his head. You must be ready to take them and run." The boy's eyes widened. "But won't he wake?" he asked. "He sleeps deeply after a meal," the grandmother assured him. "But you must be quick and silent." She tiptoed to the Devil and carefully plucked one golden hair. The Devil stirred and muttered, "What is it?" "Nothing, my dear," the grandmother said softly. "You are dreaming." She plucked a second hair. The Devil twitched. "What are you doing?" he mumbled. "I am just brushing away a fly," she said. She plucked the third hair. The Devil snorted but did not wake. The grandmother hurried to the boy and placed the three golden hairs in his hand. "Go now," she whispered. "Run as fast as you can, and do not look back." The boy thanked her and slipped out the door into the dark night.
The boy ran through the dark land, the three golden hairs clutched tightly in his hand. They glowed faintly, lighting his way. He did not stop until he was far from the Devil's house, and then he paused to catch his breath. He looked at the hairs—they were indeed made of pure gold, and they shimmered with a magical light. He knew he had to return quickly to the cities and the ferryman with the answers. As he walked, he thought about the grandmother's kindness and the Devil's words. He felt a new strength in his heart. The journey back seemed easier, for he had the answers he needed. He reached the first city, where the fountain was dry. The elders rushed to meet him. "Did you ask the Devil?" they cried. "Yes," the boy said. "There is a toad sitting under a stone in the fountain. Remove the stone and kill the toad, and the water will flow again." The elders were overjoyed. They searched the fountain and found the toad under a large stone. They killed it, and immediately, water began to bubble up and flow from the fountain. The people cheered and gave the boy a great reward—a bag of gold and a fine horse. The boy thanked them and rode on to the next city.
The boy rode on to the second city, where the tree stood barren. The townsfolk gathered around him. "Did you ask the Devil?" they asked. "Yes," the boy said. "A mouse is gnawing at the roots of your tree. Kill the mouse, and the tree will bear golden apples again." The townsfolk quickly dug around the roots and found the mouse. They killed it, and within moments, the tree burst into blossom and then into golden fruit. The people rejoiced and gave the boy another reward—a chest of silver and a fine suit of clothes. The boy thanked them and continued on his way. At last, he reached the river where the ferryman waited. The ferryman saw him and called out, "Did you ask the Devil?" "Yes," the boy said. "The next time someone comes to cross, hand them your oar. Then you will be free." The ferryman was overjoyed. "Thank you!" he cried. "I will do as you say." He ferried the boy across the river without charge, and the boy rode on toward the king's palace, the three golden hairs safely tucked in his pocket.
The boy arrived at the king's palace, his heart full of hope. He had the three golden hairs and the answers to the mysteries. The king was astonished to see him alive. "You have returned!" he exclaimed. "And with the three golden hairs?" The boy held them up, and they shone like stars. "Yes, Your Majesty," he said. "I have them, and I have also helped many people along the way." The king's face fell. He had hoped the boy would perish. But the boy continued, "I have fulfilled your task. Now, as you promised, I ask for the hand of your daughter, the princess." The princess, who had been watching from the doorway, stepped forward. She had heard of the boy's bravery and kindness, and she smiled at him. The king, seeing that he could not break his word, admitted defeat. "You have won," he said grudgingly. "The princess shall marry you." And so the boy and the princess were married, and they lived happily together. The king, however, was punished for his cruelty, and the boy's lucky caul brought him good fortune for the rest of his days. The three golden hairs were kept as a treasure, a reminder of the boy's brave journey and the kindness of the Devil's grandmother.
And so the wheel of fortune turned full circle, as wheels are wont to do. The boy who had been cast into the river in a wooden box, the boy who had been born with a lucky caul upon his head, now stood in the great hall of the castle with the princess at his side, and the golden light of a hundred candles fell upon them both. The king, however, did not stand. He sat slumped upon his throne, his crown askew, his fingers gripping the armrests as though the carved oak might save him from what was coming.
For the boy had returned from the Devil's house with the three golden hairs, and with them the answers to three questions, and with those answers he had freed the ferryman from his endless labor. The ferryman, a gaunt man with river-water in his beard and despair in his eyes, had listened to the boy's words upon the bank. "Take the oar," the boy had said, "and place it in the hand of the next traveler who steps aboard, and you shall be free." And the ferryman had wept, and done as he was told, and the oar had passed to another hand.
That other hand, as it happened, belonged to the king. For the king, in his cruelty, had rowed out to the middle of the river to drown the boy's letters, and there the ferryman had met him, and there the oar had been pressed into his royal grip. Now the king could not let go. The oar was fixed to his palms as though grown there, and the river called to him with its slow, patient voice, and he knew, with a cold sinking in his chest, that he would row that crossing until some other hand relieved him.
"You shall have the kingdom," the king whispered, his voice cracked and small. "Take it. Take the crown. Only let me go."
But the boy shook his head, and there was no cruelty in his face, only a quiet and terrible justice. "The river decides," he said. "Not I." And the princess took his hand, and together they watched the old king rise from his throne and walk, stiff-legged and silent, down through the gates and toward the water, where the ferry waited with its single oar.
The kingdom did not mourn the king long, for a cruel ruler leaves little behind but relief. Instead, the people gathered in the square before the castle, and they cheered until the stones rang, for the boy who had been a miller's son and the princess who had been a king's daughter stood upon the balcony and promised to rule with kindness. And the three golden hairs, exactly three and no more, were set in a crystal case upon a velvet cushion, and all who came to the castle could see them and hear the tale of how they were won.
But the boy did not tell the tale for his own glory. When the people asked how he had done it, he spoke first of the miller who had pulled him from the river, and of the miller's wife who had fed him and clothed him and called him son. He spoke of the ferryman and the three questions, and of the Devil's grandmother, that old woman with the sharp eyes and the kind hands, who had hidden him beneath the great bed and plucked the hairs from the sleeping Devil's head while the boy held his breath in the dark.
"I was not brave," the boy said, and his voice carried across the square. "I was afraid every moment. But I was not alone, and that is the whole of it. Kindness met me at every turn, and I only had to keep walking toward it."
The princess smiled at him then, and the people saw that she loved him, and they loved him the more for it. The prophecy that had frightened the old king so badly, the prophecy that a child born with a caul would one day marry his daughter, had come true not through trickery or force but through patience and a good heart. And the caul itself, the lucky caul that had been wrapped about his head at birth, was kept in a small silk pouch, and the boy wore it always, and it never brought him anything but good.
There is a moral to this story, as there is to all stories worth telling, and it is not the moral you might expect. It is not that the wicked are always punished, though the king was punished, and it is not that the good are always rewarded, though the boy was rewarded beyond all measure. The moral is smaller and stranger and truer than that.
The moral is this: a good heart is a door that opens both ways. The boy was kind to the miller, and the miller saved his life. The boy was courteous to the ferryman, and the ferryman carried him across the water. The boy was gentle with the Devil's grandmother, and she, who had no reason to love any human soul, hid him and fed him and plucked the three golden hairs from her own grandson's head while he slept. Kindness given is kindness returned, though not always from the same hand, and not always in the same season.
The boy and the princess ruled for many years, and they were not perfect rulers, for no ruler is perfect. But they listened, and they remembered the poor, and they kept the miller and his wife close at court, and the old ferryman, when at last he was freed, came to live in a cottage by the castle wall and told the story to every child who would listen. And the children would ask him, "Was the boy afraid?" and the ferryman would say, "Yes. He was afraid the whole way. That is what courage is."
And so the story ends not with a crown or a treasure but with a simple truth, passed from hand to hand like an oar across a river: that a good heart brings rewards, and the greatest reward is the good heart itself, which grows larger the more it is given away.
The kingdom prospered, as kingdoms do when their rulers are wise and their people are fed. The boy and the princess sat together upon the single throne, and they did not sit idly. They opened the granaries in the lean years and kept the roads safe in the fat ones. They built a school beside the mill, and the miller's wife taught the children their letters, and the miller himself taught them to swim, for he said no child should ever fear the water that had once saved a baby in a box.
The three golden hairs remained in their crystal case, and once a year, on the anniversary of the boy's return, the case was carried through the streets so that all might see it. And the people would cheer, not for the gold, which was only gold, but for what it meant: that a child cast away had come back, that a cruel king had been unseated, that a ferryman had been freed, and that an old woman in a dark house beneath the earth had chosen to be kind.
The boy never forgot the Devil's grandmother. He sent her gifts, though he never knew if she received them, and he spoke her name with honor at every feast. "She is the reason I am here," he would say, and the princess would nod, for she had heard the story a hundred times and loved it better each time.
And the kingdom, under their care, grew green and quiet and content. The river still ran, and the ferry still crossed, and somewhere upon it a man with an oar rowed back and forth, waiting for a hand to take it from him. But that is another story, and this one is nearly done.
The Devil's grandmother was remembered, though not in the way you might think. No statue was raised to her, for who would raise a statue to the grandmother of the Devil? No church was named for her, and no holiday was kept in her honor. But in the castle there was a small room, and in that room there was a single old spinning wheel, exactly one and no other, and upon that wheel the princess herself would sometimes sit and spin, though she had no need to, for the kingdom was rich.
She spun because the grandmother had spun, and because the boy had told her how the old woman had sat at her wheel in the dark house beneath the earth, humming to herself while the Devil slept, and how she had hidden the boy beneath the great bed and brought him bread and milk, and how she had plucked the three golden hairs one by one, quick as a thought, while the Devil snored and the fire crackled and the boy's heart hammered in his chest.
"Even unexpected allies can aid a good cause," the boy said, and the princess wound the thread about her fingers and smiled. "She was not good," she said. "She was kind. There is a difference, and the difference is everything."
And so the spinning wheel turned, and the thread grew, and the story of the grandmother was told to every child in the kingdom, so that they might learn that help comes from strange places, and that a hand extended in the dark is a hand all the same, and that even the grandmother of the Devil may choose, on a given night, to be merciful. The wheel turned, and the thread held, and the kingdom remembered.
And so we come to the end, which is also a beginning, as all true endings are. The boy who was born with a lucky caul, the boy who was cast into the river and pulled out by a kind miller, the boy who walked to the Devil's house and came back with three golden hairs and the answers to three questions, the boy who freed a ferryman and unseated a king and married a princess and ruled a kingdom wisely, that boy grew old, and his hair turned from gold to silver, and still he wore the caul in its silk pouch about his neck.
And when the children of the kingdom asked him, as children will, what he had learned upon his journey, he did not speak of the Devil or the golden hairs or the crystal case. He spoke of the miller's hands lifting him from the water. He spoke of the ferryman's weary voice and the three questions he had carried across the river. He spoke of the grandmother's sharp eyes and kind hands in the dark. And he said, "I began with nothing but a caul and a box, and I ended with a kingdom and a wife and a story. And the whole of it came from this: that I was kind when I could be, and brave when I had to be, and I never once turned away from a hand that was offered."
And the children nodded, and some of them believed him, and some of them did not, but all of them remembered. For that is how stories work, and that is how kindness travels, from hand to hand, from heart to heart, across rivers and through dark houses and down through the years, until it comes at last to you, reading this, and the door opens both ways, and the story begins again.
