“Gee, I’d better go along too!” said Clod-Hans, and his brothers laughed at him and rode away.
“Father, let me have a horse!” shouted Clod-Hans. “I’ve got a fancy to get married! If she’ll take me, she’ll take me. And if she won’t take me, I’ll take her anyway.”
“What nonsense!” said his father. “I won’t give you a horse. You have nothing to talk about! But your brothers are splendid fellows!”
“If I can’t have a horse,” said Clod-Hans, “then I’ll take the goat. He’s mine, and can easily carry me.” Then he straddled the goat, stuck his heels in its sides, and took off down the road. Wow, what speed! “Here I come,” said Clod-Hans, and he sang shrilly.
The brothers rode silently in front. They didn’t say a word. They had to think over all the good ideas they would talk about because they had to be clever.
“Hey, hallo,” shouted Clod-Hans. “Here I come! Look what I found on the road!” and he showed them a dead crow he’d found.
“Clod!” they said, “What do you want that for?”
“I’m going to give it to the princess!”
“Yes, you do that!” they said, as they laughed and rode on.
“Hey, hallo! Here I come! Look what I found now—You don’t find something like this on the road every day!”
And the brothers turned back again to see what it was. “Clod!” they said, “It’s just an old wooden shoe with the top missing. Is that for the princess too?”
“Yes, it is,” said Clod-Hans, and the brothers laughed and rode far ahead of him.
“Hey, hallo. Here I am!” shouted Clod-Hans. “Oh no, it’s getting worse and worse! Hey, hallo! This is marvelous!”
“What did you find now?” asked the brothers.
“Oh!” said Clod-Hans. “It’s unbelievable! How happy the princess will be!”
“Ugh!” said the brothers. “It’s just mud thrown up from the ditch!”
“Yes, that’s what it is!” said Clod-Hans, “and it’s the finest kind. It’s so fine you can’t keep a hold of it,” and he filled his pocket.
But the brothers rode away as fast as they could, and they came an hour early to the city gates. There the suitors received a number as they arrived, and were lined up in a row, six in each rank and so close together that they couldn’t even move their arms. That was a good thing though; otherwise they would have stabbed each other in the back just because one was ahead of the other.
All the inhabitants stood around the castle, right up to the windows, in order to see the princess receive the suitors, and as soon as one came into the room, his powers of speech failed him.
“Won’t do!” said the princess. “Scoot!”
Now the brother who knew the dictionary came, but he had completely forgotten it while waiting in line, and the floor creaked, and the ceiling was a mirror so that he saw himself upside down. And at each window stood three reporters and a guild master, who wrote up everything that was said, so that it could be printed in the papers right away and be sold for two shillings on the corner. It was horrible, and they had fired up the stove so that it was red hot!
“It’s awfully hot in here!” said the suitor.
“That’s because my father is roasting roosters today,” said the princess.
“Duh!” There he stood—he hadn’t expected that. He couldn’t think of a word to say because he wanted to say something amusing. Duh!
“Won’t do!” said the princess. “Scoot!” And so he had to leave. Then came the second brother.
“It’s terribly hot in here,” he said.
“Well, we’re roasting roosters today,” said the princess.
“Excuse—what?” he said, and all the reporters wrote “Excuse—what?”
“Won’t do,” said the princess. “Scoot!”
Then Clod-Hans came. He rode his goat right into the room. “What a terrific heat!” he said.
“That’s because I’m roasting roosters!” said the princess.
“That’s lucky,” said Clod-Hans. “I should be able to get a crow roasted then, shouldn’t I?”
“Yes, you certainly may,” said the princess, “but do you have something to roast it in? Because I have neither a pot nor a pan.
“But I have!” said Clod-Hans. “Here’s a cooker with a handle.” And he took out the old wooden shoe and set the crow in the middle of it.
“That’s an entire meal,” said the princess, “but where will we get the sauce?”
“I have it in my pocket!” said Clod-Hans. “I have a lot of it so I can waste some,” and he poured a little mud out of his pocket.
“I like this!” said the princess. “You sure can answer! And you can talk, and I want you for my husband. But do you know that every word we say and have said is being written up and will appear in the papers tomorrow? There are three reporters and a guild master by each window, and the guild master is the worst because he can’t understand anything!” She said this to scare him. And all the reporters giggled and spilled ink on the floor.
“That must be the gentry,” said Clod-Hans, “and I must give the guild master the best,” and he turned his pocket inside out and threw mud in his face.
“That was well done!” said the princess, “I couldn’t have done that, but I’ll learn.”
And then Clod-Hans became king. Indeed, he got a wife of his own, a crown, and a throne. And we have it right from the guild master’s newspaper—but you can’t rely on that!
WHAT FATHER DOES IS ALWAYS RIGHT
Now I’M GOING TO tell you a story that I heard when I was little, and every time I’ve thought about it since, I think it becomes more lovely. Stories are like many people—they get more and more lovely with age, and that’s a good thing!
Of course you’ve been out in the country? Then you’ve seen a really old farmhouse with a straw roof where moss and herbs grow by themselves. There’s a stork nest on the ridge of the roof—you’ve got to have a stork. The walls are crooked, the windows are low, and there’s only one that can be opened. The oven sticks out like a little chubby stomach, and the elder bush leans over the fence where there’s a tiny pond of water with a duck or ducklings right under the gnarled willow tree. And there’s always a tied watchdog that barks at each and all.
In just such a farmhouse in the country there lived a couple, a farmer and his wife. Even with as little as they had, they could have gotten along without one thing, and that was a horse that grazed in the road ditch. The farmer rode it to town, and the neighbors borrowed it, and gave a favor in return, but they thought it would be more worthwhile to sell the horse or trade it for something even more useful. But what could that be?
“You’ll understand what’s best, father,” said his wife. “There’s a fair in town. Go ahead and ride in there and sell the horse, or make a good trade. Whatever you do is always right. Ride to the fair.”
And she tied his neckerchief because she could do that better than he could. She tied a double knot—it looked elegant—and she brushed his hat with the flat of her hand, and kissed his warm mouth. And then he rode away on the horse that was to be sold or traded. Oh yes, father knew what to do.
The sun was burning hot, and there were no clouds. The road was dusty because there were so many going to the fair, in wagons, on horses, or on foot. It was hot, and there was no shade on the road.
There was one man leading a cow that was as lovely as a cow can be. “It must give delicious milk,” thought the farmer. “That would make a pretty good trade.”
“Say, you there with the cow,” said the farmer. “Let’s have a chat. You know a horse costs more than a cow, I believe, but that doesn’t matter. I have more use for the cow. Shall we trade?”
“Sure,” said the man with the cow, and so they traded.
That was done, and now the farmer could have turned around. After all, he had accomplished what he wanted to do, but since he had decided to go to the fair he wanted to go to the fair, just to look, and so he continued wit
h his cow. He walked fast, and the cow walked fast, and soon they were walking side by side with a man leading a sheep. It was a good sheep, in good shape and with lots of wool.
“I wouldn’t mind owning that,” though the farmer. “It would have plenty to eat grazing in the ditch, and in the winter we could bring it into the house with us. It really makes more sense for us to have a sheep than a cow.”
“Shall we trade?”
Yes, the man who had the sheep wanted to do that. The exchange was made, and the farmer walked along the road with his sheep. By a stile he saw a man with a big goose under his arm.
“That’s a big one you’ve got there,” said the farmer. “It’s got both feathers and fat. It would look good tied up by our pond. That would be something for mother to gather peelings for. She has often said, ‘If only we had a goose!’ Now she can have one, and she shall have one! Will you trade? I’ll give you the sheep for the goose and throw in a thank-you.”
Well, the other man certainly wanted to trade, and so they did. The farmer got the goose. He was close to town, and the road got more crowded. What a throng of man and beast! They walked on the road and in the ditch right up to the toll-keeper’s potato field, where his hen was tied up so she wouldn’t get scared and run away. It was a short-tailed hen that blinked with one eye and looked like a good one. “Cluck, cluck,” it said. What it meant by that I can’t say, but the farmer thought when he saw her: “She’s the prettiest hen I have ever seen. She is prettier than the minister’s brood hen. I’d love to own her! A hen can always find grain, and can almost take care of itself. I think it would be a good trade if I get her for the goose. Shall we trade?” he asked. “Trade?” said the other man, “Well, that wouldn’t be too bad,” and so they traded. The toll-keeper got the goose, and the farmer got the hen.
He had accomplished a lot on his trip to town, but it was warm, and he was tired. He needed a drink and a bite to eat. He was near an inn and was about to go in, but the innkeeper’s servant was just coming out the door. The man had a big bag full of something.
“What have you got there?” asked the farmer.
“Rotten apples,” said the fellow, “a whole bag full for the pigs.”
“That’s an awful lot! I wish mother could see that. Last year we only had one apple on the old tree by the peat shed. That apple had to be saved, and it stood on the chest until it burst. ‘There’s always something,’ said mother. Here she could see something! Yes, I wish she could see this.”
“Well, what will you give me for them?” asked the fellow.
“Give? I’ll trade my hen for them,” and so he gave the hen in exchange, got the apples, and went into the inn, right to the counter. He put his bag with apples up against the stove and didn’t think about the fire burning in it. There were many strangers in the room—horse and cattle dealers, and two Englishmen. They are so rich that their pockets are bursting with gold coins, and they like to gamble. Now listen to this!
“Sizz, sizz!” What was that noise by the stove? The apples were starting to bake.
“What’s that?” Well, they soon heard the whole story about the horse that was traded for a cow, and right down to the rotten apples.
“Well, you’ll get knocked about by your wife when you get home!” said the Englishmen. “She’ll raise the roof!”
“I’ll get kisses, not knocks,” said the farmer. “My wife will say, ‘What father does is always right. ”’
“Shall we bet on that?” they asked. “Pounds of gold coins. A barrel full.”
“A bushel will be enough,” said the farmer, “I can only bet my bushel of apples, and I’ll throw in my wife and me, but that’ll be more than even—a heaping measure.”
“Done! Done!” they said, and the bet was made.
The innkeeper’s wagon was brought out. The Englishmen got in, the farmer got in, the rotten apples were gotten in, and then they got to the farmer’s house.
“Good evening, mother!”
“Welcome home, father!”
“I’ve been trading!”
“Well, you know how to do it,” said his wife and put her arms around his waist. She forgot both the sack and the strangers.
“I traded the horse for a cow!”
“Thank God for the milk!” said his wife. “Now we can have dairy products—butter and cheese on the table. That was a lovely trade!”
“I like that, ” said the Englishmen.
“Yes, but then I traded the cow for a sheep.”
“That’s even better!” said his wife. “You’re always thinking. We have enough grazing for a sheep. Now we can have sheep’s milk and cheese and woolen stockings. Even woolen night-shirts ! A cow can’t give that. She loses her hair. How you think things through!”
“But I traded the sheep for a goose.”
“Will we really have a Martinmas goose this year, dear father ? You always think of pleasing me! What a delightful thought. The goose can be tethered and fattened up for Martinmas.”
“But I traded the goose for a hen,” said the husband.
“Hen! That was a good trade,” said his wife. “A hen will lay eggs, and they’ll hatch. We’ll have chicks, a henyard! That’s something I’ve really wished for.”
“Well, I traded the hen for a sack of rotten apples.”
“I must kiss you!” said his wife. “Thank you, my own dear husband! Now I’ll tell you something. While you were gone, I thought about making you a really good meal—an omelet with chives. I had the eggs, but not the chives. So I went over to the school master’s. I know they have chives, but that woman is stingy, the troll. I asked to borrow—‘borrow?’ she said. Nothing grows in our garden, not even a rotten apple! I can’t even loan her that. Now I can lend her ten, yes, a whole bag full! Isn’t that fun, father!” And then she kissed him right on the lips.
“I like that,” said the Englishmen. “From bad to worse, but always just as happy. That’s worth the money!” And then they paid a bushel of gold coins to the farmer, who got kisses, not knocks.
Yes, it always pays off for a wife to realize and admit that father is the wisest and what he does is always right.
See, there’s the story! I heard it as a child, and now you have heard it too, and know that what father does is always right.
ORIGINAL FAIRY TALES
THE SHADOW
THE SUN REALLY BURNS in the warm countries! People become quite mahogany brown there, and actually in the warmest countries they burn completely black. Now it was to one of these warm countries that a scholar had come from a cold one. He thought that he could run around there like he did at home, but that habit soon changed. He and all other sensible people had to remain indoors. The window shutters and doors had to be closed the entire day. It seemed as if everyone was sleeping, or no one was at home. The small street with the high houses where he lived was built so that the sun shone on it from morning till night. It was really intolerable! The scholar from the cold country—he was a young man, a smart man—felt like he was sitting in a red-hot oven. The heat really took a lot out of him. He became quite thin, and even his shadow shrank. It became much smaller than it was at home. The sun was hard on it as well. The man and his shadow didn’t perk up until evening, after the sun had set.
It was really a pleasure to watch: as soon as the light was brought into the living room, the shadow stretched way up the wall, even onto the ceiling. It had to stretch way out like that to regain its strength. The scholar went out onto the balcony to stretch there, and as the stars came out in the beautiful clear sky, it was as if he came to life again. People came out on all the balconies on the street—and in the warm countries every window has a balcony—because they had to have air even if they were used to being mahogany brown! What life there was up and down the street! Shoemakers and tailors, all the people flowed out into the street. They set up tables and chairs and lit candles, over a thousand candles, and one person talked and another one sang, and people walked about. Coaches went by, the
donkeys walked: cling-a-ling-a-ling because they wore bells. Hymns were sung for funerals, the street urchins shot fire crackers, and the church bells rang. Oh yes, there was plenty of life down in the street. Only one house, straight across from where the scholar lived, was completely quiet. But someone did live there because there were flowers on the balcony. They grew so beautifully in the hot sun and couldn’t have done that unless they had been watered, and someone had to do that. There had to be people there. The balcony door was partly open during the evening, but it was dark in there, at least in the first room. From further inside you could hear music. The foreign scholar thought it was quite incredible, but perhaps he was imagining things because he found everything incredible there in the warm countries. If only it hadn’t been for that sun! The foreigner’s landlord said that he didn’t know who had rented the neighbor’s house. You never saw anyone, and as far as the music was concerned, he thought it was terribly boring. “It’s as if someone is practicing a piece he can’t master, and all the time it’s the same one. ‘I’ll get it,’ he is probably saying, but he won’t get it no matter how long he plays!”
One night the foreigner woke up. He was sleeping by the open balcony door, and the curtain in front of it was fluttering in the wind. It seemed to him that a remarkable radiance was coming from the neighbor’s balcony. All the flowers were shining like flames in the most beautiful colors, and in the middle of the flowers stood a slender, lovely young woman. It was as if she was shining too. It actually hurt his eyes, and then he opened them wide and woke up. He leaped to the floor and slowly moved behind the curtain, but the maiden was gone—the radiance was gone. The flowers weren’t shining at all but stood as they always had. The door was ajar and from deep inside the music played so softly and beautifully that it could really sweep you into sweet dreams. It was almost like magic—but who lived there? Where was the entrance? The entire ground floor was just shops, and people couldn’t constantly be running through them.