The Complete Fairy Tales Read online

  “You may not say that!” exclaimed Big Claus. “Only one of the horses is yours.”

  But Little Claus forgot very quickly what Big Claus had said, and the next time someone went by and nodded kindly in his direction, he shouted, “Gee up, all my horses!”

  Big Claus turned around and shouted! “I beg you for the last time not to call all those horses yours because if you do it once more I’ll take the mallet that I use to drive in the stake for tethering my four horses and hit your one horse so hard that it will drop dead on the spot.”

  “I promise never to say it again,” said Little Claus meekly. But the words were hardly out of his mouth when still another group of churchgoers stopped to watch him plow. They smiled and said good morning in a very friendly way. “What a fine figure I must cut, driving five horses,” he thought; and without realizing what he was doing, he cracked the whip and cried, “Gee up, all my horses!”

  “I’ll give your horse gee up!” screamed Big Claus in a rage; and he took his tethering mallet and hit Little Claus’s only horse so hard on the forehead that it fell down quite dead.

  “Poor me!” cried Little Claus. “Now I don’t have any horse at all!” And he sat down and wept. But as there was nothing else to do he flayed the horse and hung the hide up to dry. When the wind had done its work, Little Claus put the hide in a sack and set off for town to sell it in the market place.

  It was a long way and the road led through a forest. The weather turned bad and among the dark shadows Little Claus lost his way. He turned first in one direction and then in another. Finally he did find his way again; but by then it was late afternoon and too late to reach town before nightfall.

  Not far from the road he saw a farmhouse. The shutters were closed but above them there shone tiny streams of light. “There I may ask for shelter for the night,” Little Claus thought, and made his way to the front door and knocked.

  The farmer’s wife answered the door, but when she heard what he wanted she shook her head. “You’ll have to go away,” she ordered. “My husband isn’t home and I cannot allow a stranger to come in.”

  “Then I’ll have to sleep outside,” said Little Claus. The farmer’s wife shut the door without another word; and Little Claus looked about him. Near the house was a haystack, and between that and the dwelling there was a shed with a flat thatched roof.

  “I’ll stretch out on that,” Little Claus mumbled, looking at the roof. “It will make a fine bed and I doubt that the stork will fly down and bite me.” The latter was said in jest because there was a stork’s nest on the roof of the farmhouse.

  Little Claus climbed up on the roof of the shack; and while he was twisting and turning to make himself comfortable, he realized that from where he lay he could see right into the kitchen of the farmhouse because, at the top, the shutters did not close tightly.

  A fine white linen cloth covered the large table and on it were not only a roast and wine but a platter of fish as well. On one side of the table sat the farmer’s wife and on the other the deacon; and while she filled his glass with wine, he filled himself with fish because that was his favorite food.

  “If only I had been invited too!” Little Claus sighed, and pushed himself as near to the window as he could without touching the shutters. There was a cake on the table too; this was better than a party, it was a feast!

  He heard someone galloping on the road; he turned and saw the rider: it was the farmer coming home.

  Now this farmer was known for two things: one, that he was a good fellow, and the other, that he suffered from a strange disease; he couldn’t bear the sight of a deacon. One glance and he went into a rage. And that, of course, was the reason why the deacon had come visiting on a day when the farmer wasn’t at home; and that too was why the farmer’s wife had made the most delicious food she could for her guest.

  When they heard the farmer riding up to the door of his house, both the farmer’s wife and the deacon were terrified; and she told him to climb into a large empty chest that stood in the corner. The poor man, trembling with fear, obeyed her. Then the woman hid all the food and the wine in the oven, for she knew that if her husband saw all the delicacies he was certain to ask her why she had made them.

  “Ow!” groaned Little Claus when he saw the last of the food disappear into the bread oven.

  “Is there someone up there?” the farmer called, and when he saw Little Claus lying on the roof of the shed he told him to come down. “What were you doing up there?”

  Little Claus explained how he had lost his way in the forest and asked the farmer to be allowed to spend the night in his house.

  “You are most welcome,” said the farmer, who was the kindest of men, as long as there was no deacon in sight. “But first let’s have a bite to eat.”

  The farmer’s wife greeted them both very politely, set the table, and served them a large bowl of porridge. The farmer, who was very hungry, ate with relish; but Little Claus kept thinking of all the delicious food in the oven and couldn’t swallow a spoonful.

  At his feet under the table lay the sack with the horse hide in it. He stepped on the sack and the horse hide squeaked. “Shhhhhhhh!” whispered Little Claus to the sack; but at the same time he pressed his foot down on it even harder and it squeaked even louder.

  “What have you got in the bag?” asked the farmer.

  “Oh, it’s only a wizard,” Little Claus replied. “He was telling me that there’s no reason for us to eat porridge when he has just conjured both fish and meat for us, and even a cake. Look in the oven.”

  “What!” exclaimed the farmer; and he ran to the oven and opened it. There he saw all the good food that his wife had made for the deacon; and she—not daring to tell him the truth—silently served the roast, the fish, and the cake.

  After he had taken a few mouthfuls, Little Claus stepped on the sack again so that the hide squeaked.

  “What is the wizard saying now?” asked the farmer eagerly.

  “He says that he has conjured three bottles of wine for us and that you will find them in the corner next to the oven.”

  The farmer’s poor wife brought out the wine, which she had hidden, and poured it for Little Claus and her husband, who made so many toasts to each other’s health that they were soon very merry. Then the farmer began to think about Little Claus’s sack and what a wonderful thing it must be to have a wizard.

  “Do you think he could conjure the Devil?” the farmer asked. “For now that I have the courage I wouldn’t mind seeing what he looks like.”

  “Why not?” replied Little Claus. “My wizard will do anything I tell him to.… Won’t you?” he added, stepping on the sack so that it squeaked. Turning to the farmer, Little Claus smiled. “Can’t you hear that he said yes? But the Devil has such an ugly face that he’s not worth looking at.”

  “I’m not afraid,” said the farmer, and hiccupped. “How terrible can he look?”

  “He looks just like a deacon!”

  “Pooh!” returned the farmer. “That’s worse than I thought! I must confess that I cannot stand the sight of a deacon; but now that I know that it is only the Devil I will be looking at, maybe I can bear it. But don’t let him come too near me and let’s get it over with before I lose my courage.”

  “I’ll tell my wizard,” said Little Claus and stepped on the hide; then he cocked his head as if he were listening to someone.

  “What is he saying?” asked the farmer, who could only hear the hide squeak.

  “He says that if we go over to the chest in the corner and open it up we shall see the Devil sitting inside. But we must be careful when we lift the lid, not to lift it too high, so the Devil can escape.”

  “Then you must hold onto the lid while I lift it,” whispered the farmer to Little Claus as he tiptoed to the chest in which the deacon was hiding. This poor fellow had heard every word that Little Claus and the farmer had said and was quaking with fear.

  The farmer opened the chest no more than an inch o
r two and peeped inside. “Ah!” he screamed and jumped up, letting the lid fall back into place. “I saw him! He looked exactly like our deacon! It was a dreadful sight!”

  After such an experience you need a drink; and Little Claus and the farmer had many, for they drank late into the night.

  “You must sell me that wizard,” the farmer finally said. “Ask whatever you want for it.… I’ll give you a bushel basket full of money, if that’s what you’d like.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it,” replied Little Claus. “You have seen for yourself all the marvelous things that wizard can do.”

  “But I want it with all my heart,” begged the farmer; and he kept on pleading with Little Claus until at last he agreed.

  “I cannot forget that you gave me a night’s lodging,” Little Claus said. “Take my wizard, but remember to fill the bushel basket to the very top.”

  “I shall! I shall!” exclaimed the farmer. “But you must take the chest along too. I won’t have it in my house. Who knows but that the Devil isn’t still inside it?”

  And that’s how it happened that Little Claus gave the farmer a sack with a horse hide in it and in return was given not only a bushel full of money and a chest but a wheelbarrow to carry them away.

  “Good-by!” called Little Claus, and off he went.

  On the other side of the forest there was a deep river with a current that flowed so swiftly that you could not swim against it. But the river had to be crossed and so a bridge had been built. When Little Claus reached the middle of that bridge, he said very loudly—so the deacon, who was still inside the chest, could hear him—“What’s the point of dragging this chest any farther? It’s so heavy, you’d think it was filled with stones. I’m all worn out. I know what I’ll do, I’ll dump the chest into the stream and if the current carries it home to me, all well and good; and if not, it doesn’t matter.” Then he took hold of the chest and pushed it, as if he were about to lift it out of the wheelbarrow and let it fall into the water.

  “No, stop it!” cried the deacon from inside the chest. “Let me out! Please, let me out!”

  “Oh!” shouted Little Claus as if he were frightened. “The Devil is still in there. I’d better throw the chest right into the river and drown him.”

  “No! No!” screamed the deacon. “I’ll give you a bushel of money if you’ll let me out!”

  “That’s a different tune,” said Little Claus, and opened the chest. The deacon climbed out and shoved the chest into the river. Together Little Claus and the deacon went to the deacon’s home, where he gave Little Claus the bushel of coins that he had promised him. Now Little Claus had a whole wheelbarrow full of money.

  “That wasn’t bad payment for my old horse,” he said to himself as he dumped all the coins out on the floor of his own living room. “What a big pile it is! It will annoy Big Claus to find out how rich I have become, all because of my horse. I won’t tell him but let him find out for himself.”

  A few minutes later a boy banged on Big Claus’s door and asked him if he could borrow his grain measure for Little Claus.

  “I wonder what he is going to use that for,” thought Big Claus; and in order to find out he dabbed a bit of tar in the bottom of the measuring pail, which was quite clever of him because when it was returned he found a silver coin stuck to the spot.

  “Where did that come from?” shouted Big Claus, and ran as fast as he could to Little Claus’s house. When he saw Little Claus in the midst of his riches, he shouted even louder, “Where did you get all that money from?”

  “Oh, that was for my horse hide, I sold it last night.”

  “You were certainly well paid!” said Big Claus; and hurried home where he took an ax and killed all four of his horses; then he flayed them and set off for town with their hides.

  “Hides for sale! Hides for sale! Who wants to buy hides?” Big Claus shouted from street to street.

  All the shoemakers and tanners came out of their workshops to ask him the price of his wares.

  “A bushel full of coins for each hide,” he replied.

  “You must be mad!” they all shouted at once. “Do you think we count money by the bushel?”

  “Hides for sale! Hides for sale!” Big Claus repeated. And every time that someone asked him the price he said again, “A bushel full of coins.”

  “Are you trying to make fools of us?” the shoemakers and the tanners shouted. And while the crowd continued to gather around them, the tanners took their leather aprons and the shoemakers their straps and began to beat Big Claus.

  “Hides …” screamed one of the tanners. “We’ll see to it that your hide spits red!”

  “Out of town with him!” they shouted. And certainly Big Claus did his best to get out of town as fast as he could; never in his whole life had he gotten such a beating.

  “Little Claus is going to pay for this!” he decided when he got home. “He is going to pay with his life.”

  But while Big Claus was in town, something unfortunate had occurred: Little Claus’s grandmother had died. And although she had been a very mean and scolding hag, who had never been kind to Little Claus, he felt very sad. Thinking that it might bring her back to life, he put his old grandmother in his own warm bed and decided to let her stay there all night, even though this meant that he would have to sleep in a chair.

  It was not the first time that Little Claus had tried sleeping in a chair, but he could not sleep anyway; so he was wide awake when Big Claus came and tiptoed across the room to the bed in which he thought Little Claus was sleeping.

  With an ax Big Claus hit the old grandmother on top of the head as hard as he could. “That’s what you get for making a fool out of me,” he explained. “And now you won’t be able to do it again,” he added and went home.

  “What a wicked man!” thought Little Claus. “If my grandmother hadn’t already been dead, he would have killed her.”

  Very early the next morning he dressed his grandmother in her Sunday best; then he borrowed a horse from his neighbor and harnessed it to his cart. On the small seat in the back of the cart, he put the old woman in a sitting position with bundles on either side of her, so she wouldn’t fall out of the cart while he was driving. He went through the forest and just as the sun was rising he reached an inn. “I’d better stop to get something to keep me alive,” he said.

  It was a large inn, and the innkeeper was very rich. He was also very kind, but he had a ferocious temper, as if he had nothing inside him but pepper and tobacco.

  “Good morning,” he said to Little Claus. “You’re dressed very finely for so early in the morning.”

  “I’m driving to town with my grandmother,” he replied. “She’s sitting out in the cart because I couldn’t persuade her to come in here with me. I wonder if you would be so kind as to take a glass of mead out to her; but speak a little loudly because she is a bit hard of hearing.”

  “No sooner said than done,” answered the innkeeper; and he poured a large glass of mead which he carried out to the dead woman.

  “Here is a glass of mead, which your son ordered for you,” said the innkeeper loudly but politely; but the dead woman sat perfectly still and said not a word.

  “Can’t you hear me?” he shouted. “Here is mead from your son!”

  He shouted the same words again as loud as he could, and still the old woman sat staring straight ahead. The more he shouted, the madder the innkeeper got, until finally he lost his temper and threw the mead, glass and all, right into the woman’s face. With the mead dripping down her nose, she fell over backward, for Little Claus had not tied her to the seat.

  “What have you done?” shouted Little Claus as he flung open the door of the inn. “Why, you have killed my grandmother!” he cried, grabbing the innkeeper by the shirt. “Look at the wound she has on her head!”

  “Oh, what a calamity!” the innkeeper exclaimed, and wrung his hands. “It is all because of that temper of mine! Sweet, good Little Claus, I will give you a bus
hel full of money and bury your grandmother as if she were my own, as long as you’ll keep quiet about what really happened, because if you don’t they’ll chop my head off; and that’s so nasty.”

  And that was how Little Claus got another bushel full of coins; and the innkeeper, true to his word, buried the old woman as well as he would have had she been his own grandmother.

  As soon as he got home Little Claus sent his boy to borrow Big Claus’s grain measure.

  “What, haven’t I killed him?” Big Claus exclaimed. “I must find out what’s happened. I’ll take the measure over there myself.”

  When he arrived at Little Claus’s and saw all the money, his eyes grew wide with wonder and greed. “Where did you get all that from?” he demanded.

  “It was my grandmother and not me that you killed, and now I have sold her body for a bushel full of money.”

  “You were certainly well paid,” said Big Claus, and hurried home. When he got there he took an ax and killed his old grandmother; then he dumped the poor old woman’s body in his carriage and drove into town. He went at once to the apothecary and asked if he wanted to buy a corpse.

  “Who is it and where did you get it from?” the apothecary inquired.

  “Oh, it is my grandmother, and I have killed her so I could sell her body for a bushel of money,” Big Claus said.

  “God save us!” cried the apothecary. “You don’t know what you’re saying.… If you talk like that you’ll lose your head.” And the apothecary lectured him, telling him how wicked a crime murder was and that it was committed only by the most evil of men, who deserved the severest punishment. Big Claus was terrified and leaped into his carriage. He set off in the direction of his home, wildly whipping his horses. But no one tried to stop him, for everyone believed that he had gone mad.

  “I’ll make you pay for this!” Big Claus cried as soon as he was well out of town. “Little Claus is going to pay for this,” he repeated when he got home. Then he took a large sack and went to see Little Claus.