The Cabbage Stalk

The Cabbage Stalk

At the edge of a small Portuguese village stood a modest house with a vegetable garden. A family lived there with little wealth, but every bed was tended so carefully that it might have been a royal garden.

The daughter loved the garden most of all. She watered beans, tied up tomatoes, loosened the earth around the onions, and was always the first to see what had changed overnight.

She was especially proud of one cabbage.

It grew beyond belief.

First its leaves became wider than a bowl. Then its stalk grew above her knees, above her waist, and at last almost reached her own height.

“What will become of you?” she laughed as she watered it. “A bell tower?”

One morning the girl noticed something strange on the stalk. Little steps had appeared between the leaves. They did not lead upward, but downward, straight into the earth.

She crouched and touched the first step.

It was firm.

The second was firm too.

“I will only see where they lead,” she whispered.

She went down a few steps, then a few more. The daylight above her turned green and distant, while a warm golden glow appeared ahead.

Beyond the last step was an underground palace.

It was not dark or frightening, but wonderfully welcoming. Lamps shone in the halls, coloured stones gleamed on the walls, and water murmured in a fountain. In the middle of a great room stood a set table with bread, fruit, cheese, honey, and warm soup.

“Is anyone here?” called the girl.

No one answered.

On the table lay a card: “For the guest who comes with a good heart.”

The girl hesitated, but she was hungry after her morning work. She ate a little bread and fruit, thanked the unknown host aloud, and returned home.

The next day she went down again. Then once more the day after.

She liked the mysterious palace. It was always quiet there. Sometimes she found a new book on the table, sometimes fresh flowers, sometimes she heard faraway music.

One evening she stayed longer than she meant to. Tired, she sat on a soft sofa and fell asleep before she knew it.

She woke to a faint rustle.

In the opposite corner of the room stood a large, unfamiliar creature. It was covered in dark fur, had long arms, and very sad eyes.

The girl was frightened, but the creature stepped back at once.

“Do not be afraid,” it said in a human voice. “I will not harm you.”

“Is this your palace?”

“Once it was my home. Now it has become my hiding place.”

“Who are you?”

The creature was silent for a moment.

“A person under an old spell. While it lasts, I have this shape. I do not ask you to believe me at once. Only do not tell anyone what you have seen here. If the secret is revealed before its time, the path between our worlds will vanish.”

The girl promised.

From then on, they spoke often. She told him about the village, the garden, and how the hens quarrelled every morning over the same sunny spot. The palace’s master told her about distant cities, seas, and books.

The girl quickly understood that his strange appearance said nothing about his character. He was attentive, a little shy, and loved hearing human laughter.

But the girl’s mother noticed that her daughter sometimes disappeared.

“Where do you go?”

“Only walking by the garden.”

“For half a day?”

The girl did not want to lie, but she could not break her promise.

One evening, her mother decided to follow quietly. She saw the steps on the cabbage stalk and went down to the palace.

The hall was dark. The enchanted master slept on the sofa, while the girl sat nearby reading.

The mother was frightened of the unknown creature. She lit a candle and came closer.

“Mother, please do not!” whispered the girl.

But it was too late.

A few drops of warm wax fell onto the floor beside the sleeping master.

The hall flashed with white light.

When it faded, a young prince stood where the dark creature had been. He looked at his hands as if he could scarcely believe them.

“The spell has changed,” he said. “My own form has returned, but now I must leave this palace. That was the condition of the magic: if the secret were revealed before its time, the road to me would close.”

The girl went pale.

“Is it because of me?”

“No. You kept your word. Your mother acted from fear for you, not from cruelty.”

The palace began to grow dim.

The prince quickly brought the girl a sturdy staff and a pair of strange iron shoes.

“If you wish to find me, these shoes will lead you. But the journey will be long. When their soles are worn thin by the road, you will be close.”

“And if I do not go?”

The prince smiled.

“Then that too will be your choice. I do not want you to travel out of duty.”

Everything around them melted like mist.

The girl stood by the cabbage in her garden. The steps on the stalk were gone.

For several days she lived as before. She watered the beds, helped her parents, and went to the market. But whenever she heard distant music, she remembered the underground palace and the friend who had vanished.

At last she told her parents, “I want to set out. Not because I must. I want to know whether he is well.”

Her mother embraced her.

“Then go. And come back if you feel the road is no longer yours.”

The girl put on the iron shoes, took the staff, and began her journey.

She walked through vineyards, villages, and hills. She crossed bridges, slept at inns, helped people along the way, and received help in return.

In a mountain village, she met an old craftswoman spinning thread by her door.

“Are you going far?” the woman asked.

“Until I wear through these iron shoes.”

“That is a serious route.”

The girl told her story.

The old woman listened closely.

“I have heard of a palace beyond three passes,” she said. “A prince lives there who recently returned after a long disappearance. They say festivities are being prepared for him and people wish to arrange an alliance with a neighbouring kingdom.”

The girl’s heart tightened.

“Then I am too late?”

“I do not know,” the craftswoman replied. “But if you have already travelled so far, it is better to hear the answer from him than from rumours.”

Before she left, the old woman gave her three things: a little golden spindle, a spool of fine thread, and a round golden stone.

“Not for riches,” she explained. “Sometimes a beautiful thing opens a door, but after that your own words must speak.”

A few days later, the iron soles were nearly as thin as leaves.

Over the next hill, a palace appeared.

The girl came to the gate and asked the guards to tell the prince that an old acquaintance was looking for him. But they did not allow her inside.

“The palace is preparing for a great reception. Without an invitation, it cannot be done.”

So the girl sat nearby and began spinning with the golden spindle.

A daughter of a neighbouring king, visiting the palace, saw it and became interested.

“I would like to buy that spindle.”

“I do not sell it,” said the girl. “But I will give it to you if I may speak with the prince for ten minutes while a palace servant is present.”

It seemed a strange but safe request, and the guest agreed.

But the prince was in a council meeting. The girl waited in an anteroom, then was told that her time was over.

The next day she brought out the golden spool.

Again someone asked to exchange something for it.

“Only for a conversation with the prince,” the girl repeated.

This time she was led to the library, but a messenger urgently summoned the prince away, and they did not meet.

The girl had almost lost hope.

That evening she sat by the gates, rolling the last golden stone in her palm.

An elderly servant passed by and stopped.

“Have you waited for someone for three days?”

“Yes.”

“What do you wish to say?”

The girl looked at her worn iron shoes.

“Only that I came. After that, he must choose for himself.”

The servant looked at her carefully.

“Wait here.”

That night, the prince himself came to the gate.

The girl stood up so quickly that her staff fell to the ground.

He looked at her shoes, her worn cloak, and said softly, “You came after all.”

“Yes.”

“Why did no one tell me sooner?”

“Perhaps palaces always have too many doors and too few people who listen.”

The prince laughed, exactly as he had once laughed in the underground hall.

They spoke for a long time. The girl learned that no wedding had been decided. The neighbouring families had discussed an alliance, but the prince had given no agreement.

“I did not want to promise a life to a person I barely knew,” he said. “All this time I wondered whether you would find the road, but I feared it would be unfair to ask you.”

“And I feared I had come for nothing.”

“It seems we were both very afraid and spoke far too little.”

“That can be mended.”

So they began there.

There was no instant fairy-tale wedding the next morning. The girl stayed at the palace as a guest. She met the people there and saw what the prince was like not in an enchanted underground hall but in ordinary life. He learned that she loved not luxury, but gardens, honest conversations, and the freedom to make her own choices.

Time passed. Only then did they both understand that they wanted to keep walking the same road.

In spring, the girl returned to her parents and brought a little bag of seeds.

“What are they?” her mother asked.

“Cabbage,” the daughter answered seriously.

Her mother’s eyes grew round.

“Ordinary cabbage?”

The girl thought, then smiled.

“I very much hope so.”

They planted the seeds in the old bed. The cabbage grew juicy, green, and entirely ordinary.

There were no steps underground.

Though the girl still looked at every stalk more closely than anyone else.

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨