English Original
There was once a girl whose parents died when she was a child. Her godmother, a kind old woman who lived alone at the end of the village and supported herself by spinning, weaving, and sewing, took the orphan in. She raised the girl, taught her to work, and instilled in her all that is good.
When the girl was fifteen, the old woman fell ill. Calling the girl to her bedside, she said, "Dear daughter, my end is near. I leave you this little house for shelter and my spindle, shuttle, and needle to earn your bread." She laid her hands on the girl's head, blessed her, and said, "Keep the love of God in your heart, and all will be well." With that, she closed her eyes and passed away. The maiden followed the coffin, weeping, and paid her last respects.
Now living alone, the maiden was industrious. She spun, wove, and sewed. A blessing seemed upon her work; the flax multiplied, and she always found buyers who paid well for her cloth, carpets, and shirts. She lacked for nothing and even had enough to share.
Around this time, the King's son traveled the land seeking a bride. He declared, "She shall be my wife who is the poorest, and at the same time the richest." Arriving at the maiden's village, he asked who was the richest and poorest girl. They named the richest first; the poorest, they said, was the girl in the small house at the village's end.
The rich girl sat splendidly before her door. When the prince approached, she rose, curtseyed low. He looked at her, said nothing, and rode on. At the poor girl's house, she was not at the door but inside her little room. The prince halted his horse and saw through the sunlit window the girl busily spinning at her wheel. She looked up, blushed deeply, lowered her eyes, and continued spinning. She spun until the prince rode away. Then she went to the window, opened it, saying, "It is so warm in here!" yet watched him until his hat's white feathers vanished from sight.
Returning to her spinning, a rhyme her godmother used to say came to mind, and she sang softly:
"Spindle, my spindle, haste, haste thee away,
And here to my house bring the wooer, I pray."
Instantly, the spindle sprang from her hand and out the door. To her astonishment, it danced merrily into the open country, trailing a shining golden thread, and soon vanished. Having no spindle, the girl took up her shuttle, sat at her loom, and began to weave.
The spindle danced on until, just as the thread ended, it reached the prince. "What do I see?" he cried. "The spindle shows me the way!" He turned his horse and rode back, following the golden thread.
Meanwhile, the girl sat weaving and sang:
"Shuttle, my shuttle, weave well this day,
And guide the wooer to me, I pray."
Immediately, the shuttle sprang from her hand and out the door. Before the threshold, it began to weave a carpet more beautiful than any ever seen. Lilies and roses bloomed on its sides; on a golden center, green branches ascended, under which hares and rabbits bounded, and stags and deer peered. Brightly colored birds sat in the branches—lacking only song. The shuttle leapt hither and thither, as if everything grew of its own accord.
With the shuttle gone, the girl sat to sew. Holding her needle, she sang:
"Needle, my needle, sharp-pointed and fine,
Prepare for a wooer this house of mine."
The needle leapt from her fingers and flew about the room like lightning. Invisible spirits seemed to work: tables and benches were covered with green cloth, chairs with velvet, and windows hung with silken curtains—all in an instant.
Just as the needle made its last stitch, the maiden saw through the window the prince, led by the spindle's golden thread. He dismounted, stepped over the magnificent carpet, and entered. There stood the maiden in her poor garments, yet she shone from within like a rose among leaves.
"You are the poorest and also the richest," he said to her. "Come with me; you shall be my bride." She did not speak but gave him her hand. He kissed her, led her forth, lifted her onto his horse, and took her to the royal castle, where their wedding was celebrated with great joy. The spindle, shuttle, and needle were preserved in the treasure chamber and held in great honor.
中文翻译
从前有个小女孩，父母很早就去世了。她的教母是一位善良的老妇人，独自住在村头的一间小屋里，以纺纱、织布和缝纫为生。她收养了这个孤儿，抚养她长大，教她干活，并把一切美好的品德传授给她。
女孩十五岁那年，老妇人生病了。她把女孩叫到床边，说：“亲爱的女儿，我时日不多了。我把这间小屋留给你遮风避雨，还有我的纺锤、梭子和针，你可以用它们谋生。”她把手放在女孩头上，祝福道：“只要你心中保有对上帝的爱，一切都会顺利的。”说完，她便闭上了眼睛，与世长辞。女孩哭着跟随棺材，送了教母最后一程。
从此，女孩独自一人生活，她非常勤勉，纺纱、织布、缝纫。她的工作仿佛受到了祝福：亚麻好像自己会变多，她织的布、地毯和缝的衬衫总能很快找到买主，而且报酬丰厚。她衣食无忧，甚至还有余力帮助他人。
大约这时，国王的儿子周游全国寻找新娘。他宣布：“我要娶那位最贫穷，同时又最富有的姑娘为妻。”他来到女孩居住的村庄，照例询问当地最富有和最贫穷的姑娘是谁。人们先说了最富有的那位；最贫穷的，他们说，就是住在村头小屋里的那个女孩。
富家女衣着华丽地坐在自家门前。王子走近时，她起身相迎，深深行了个屈膝礼。王子看了看她，一言不发，骑马离开了。来到穷女孩家，她没在门口，而是坐在她的小房间里。王子勒住马，透过阳光明媚的窗户，看见女孩正坐在纺车前忙碌地纺纱。她抬起头，看到王子正望着里面，顿时满脸通红，垂下眼帘，继续纺纱。她一直纺到王子骑马离开。然后她走到窗边，打开窗户，说：“房间里真热啊！”但她仍目送着他，直到他帽子上白色的羽毛消失在视线尽头。
回到纺车前，她想起了教母干活时常念叨的歌谣，便轻声唱道：
“纺锤，我的纺锤，快快跑出去，
把求婚者带到我的屋子里。”
刹那间，纺锤从她手中跳起，飞出门去。她惊讶地起身看去，只见纺锤欢快地跳着舞奔向旷野，身后拖着一根闪亮的金线，很快就不见了踪影。没有了纺锤，女孩拿起织布梭，坐到织布机前，开始织布。
纺锤继续向前舞动，就在金线到头时，它来到了王子面前。“我看到了什么？”王子喊道，“这纺锤是要给我指路啊！”他调转马头，沿着金线折返。
与此同时，女孩坐着织布，唱道：
“梭子，我的梭子，今天好好织，
把求婚者引到我这里。”
梭子立刻从她手中跳起，飞出门外。然而，在门槛前，它开始编织一块前所未有的美丽地毯。地毯两侧盛开着百合与玫瑰；中央的金色底子上，绿色的枝条向上生长，枝条下有野兔和家兔蹦跳，雄鹿和麋鹿探头张望，色彩鲜艳的鸟儿栖息在枝头——只差不会歌唱。梭子来回飞跃，仿佛万物自行生长。
梭子跑掉了，女孩坐下缝纫。她拿着针唱道：
“针儿，我的针儿，尖锐又精细，
为求婚者准备好我的屋子。”
针从她指间跳出，闪电般在房间里四处飞舞。仿佛有无形的精灵在干活：转眼间，桌凳铺上了绿布，椅子罩上了天鹅绒，窗户挂起了丝绸窗帘。
就在针缝完最后一针时，女孩透过窗户看到了王子——纺锤用金线把他引来了。他下了马，踏过华丽的地毯走进屋。女孩穿着朴素的衣服站在那里，但她从内而外散发着光彩，犹如绿叶环绕的玫瑰。
“你是最贫穷的，也是最富有的，”他对她说，“跟我来，你将是我的新娘。”她没有说话，但把手递给了他。他吻了她，领她出来，扶她上马，带她回到了皇家城堡。在那里，他们的婚礼在巨大的欢庆中举行。纺锤、梭子和针被珍藏在宝库里，备受尊崇。