There was once a miller who had a beautiful daughter, and when she came of age, he wished to see her well provided for and married to a worthy husband. “If a suitable young man comes along and asks for her hand,” he thought, “I will give her to him.”

Not long after this decision, a suitor appeared who seemed very wealthy. The miller knew nothing about him, but the stranger’s fine clothes and polished manners impressed him so much that he agreed to the marriage. The daughter, however, did not feel the love for this suitor that a bride should feel for her bridegroom. Something about him made her uneasy, though she could not explain why. Whenever she looked at him or thought of him, she felt a secret shudder run through her heart.

One day, the suitor said to her, “You are my betrothed, yet you have never visited me in my home. It is time you came to see where we will live after our wedding.”

The maiden made excuses, saying she did not know the way to his house. The bridegroom replied, “Next Sunday, you must come to visit me. I have already invited guests, and I will strew ashes along the forest path so you cannot lose your way.”

When Sunday arrived, the maiden prepared to set out, but she was filled with an unexplainable dread. To be safe, she filled her pockets with peas and lentils. At the edge of the forest, she found the path of ashes and followed it carefully, dropping a few peas every few steps along the way.

The forest grew darker and wilder the deeper she went. After walking several hours, she came upon a solitary house in a clearing. The house looked strangely grim and forbidding. No sound came from within, and no living creature stirred outside. A bird in a cage hanging by the door sang a warning:

“Turn back, turn back, young maiden fair, A murderer’s house you enter there.”

The young woman looked up at the bird, her heart pounding with fear. But then she heard a voice from within call, “Do not linger outside, my bride. The guests have arrived and are waiting for you.”

She stepped inside and found her bridegroom, who greeted her with a smile that did not reach his eyes. “You have come at last,” he said. “But where are the guests you mentioned?” asked the maiden, looking around the empty, dimly lit hall.

“They will arrive soon,” he replied. “First, let me show you my home.”

He led her through many strange rooms. In each one, the maiden noticed peculiar objects and dark stains that made her increasingly fearful. The house was vast and maze-like, filled with shadows and eerie silence.

As they moved deeper into the house, the maiden heard muffled voices. The bridegroom opened a heavy door to reveal a smoke-filled kitchen where several rough-looking men sat around a fire. They fell silent as she entered, eyeing her with expressions that sent chills down her spine.

“These are some of my servants,” the bridegroom explained hastily, closing the door again. As they continued their tour, the maiden realized with horror that she had entered not the home of a respectable man, but the den of robbers and murderers.

An old woman in a corner beckoned to her. “Come here, my child,” she whispered when the bridegroom stepped away for a moment. “If you value your life, you must listen to me. You have entered a murderer’s house. Your bridegroom intends to marry you only to kill you afterward, as he has done to other young women before you. If I do not help you, you are lost.”

The old woman led her behind a large barrel, where they could not be seen. “Stay hidden here until midnight,” she instructed. “When the robbers are asleep, we will flee together. I have waited long for a chance to escape this dreadful place.”

From her hiding place, the maiden watched as a beautiful young woman was brought in, clearly drugged or enchanted, for she moved as if in a dream. The robbers forced her to drink wine, and as the wine flowed, her fine white dress became stained red. Then, to the maiden’s horror, her bridegroom and his companions tore the jewels from the poor woman’s arms and fingers.

When they began to cut the young woman’s body into pieces, a finger with a golden ring flew off and landed near the barrel where the miller’s daughter was hiding. The robbers searched for it briefly, but the old woman quickly covered it with her foot until they gave up.

“Now you see what would have been your fate,” whispered the old woman once the robbers had fallen into a drunken sleep. “We must leave immediately.”

They crept out of the house, the maiden’s heart racing with terror and determination. The old woman had planned to escape with her, but she was too frail to move quickly. “I cannot keep up with you,” she said. “Go on ahead. Follow the path of peas you scattered—the ashes have been blown away by the wind, but your peas will have sprouted and will mark your way home.”

Indeed, in the moonlight, the maiden could see tiny sprouts that had already emerged from the peas she had dropped. She followed them through the dark forest, running as fast as her legs would carry her, and reached her father’s house just as dawn was breaking.

She told her father everything she had witnessed. Though shocked and horrified, he insisted they proceed carefully. “Say nothing for now,” he advised. “On your wedding day, the truth will be revealed.”

The day of the wedding arrived, and guests gathered at the miller’s house. The bridegroom appeared, smiling and handsome in fine clothes, showing no sign of his true nature. One by one, the guests began telling stories and anecdotes as was the custom.

When it came to the bride’s turn, she said quietly, “Let me tell you a dream I had.” The room fell silent as she began her tale:

“I dreamed I walked alone through a forest, following a path of ashes, until I came to a house deep in the woods. No bird sang there, no living creature stirred, but in a cage by the door, a single bird gave warning:

‘Turn back, turn back, young maiden fair, A murderer’s house you enter there.’

But it was only a dream, of course.”

She looked directly at her bridegroom, whose face had grown pale. “In my dream,” she continued, “I entered that house and found it strange and terrible. An old woman hid me behind a barrel, and I watched as a beautiful young woman was brought in. The people of the house gave her wine to drink, and her white dress turned red with it.”

The bridegroom tried to interrupt, but the miller silenced him, saying, “Let her finish her tale.”

“In my dream,” the bride went on, “they tore the jewels from the poor woman’s body and then cut her into pieces. One of her fingers, wearing a golden ring, flew off and landed near my hiding place.”

With these words, she produced the finger and ring she had kept hidden in her dress, holding it up for all to see. “This is no dream,” she declared, her voice strong and clear. “This man is not a worthy bridegroom but a murderer and robber!”

The bridegroom, now ashen-faced, leaped up to flee, but the guests, who had come prepared at the miller’s warning, seized him. The authorities were summoned, and the robber and all his band were brought to justice for their crimes.

The grateful miller embraced his daughter, marveling at her courage and quick thinking. “Your wisdom saved not only your own life,” he said, “but surely the lives of many other innocent young women who might have fallen into his trap.”

In time, when the shock of her ordeal had faded, the miller’s daughter did find a true and honest husband, one who brought warmth to her heart rather than a secret shudder. Their wedding feast was a genuinely joyful occasion, with tales of happier dreams shared among the guests.

And whenever young women of the region prepared for marriage, the story of the robber bridegroom was told as a reminder to trust one’s instincts and to ensure that peas and lentils were always kept close at hand for any journey into unknown territory—literal or otherwise.