As the story ended, the door above suddenly opened, and the Herr Hartman himself came out; and certainly looked somewhat surprised at seeing his good friend sitting there on the lower step.

"Why, my dear Herr Ekstein!" he exclaimed. "Is anything the matter?" and he hastened down the steps.

The literary man jumped up, and saw the Herr holding out his hand.

"Nay, then, my good friend!" he exclaimed, "I have been hearing the merriest tale!"

"But come in! come in!" cried the Herr Hartman. "Some of our friends are with us; let us spend a sociable evening together."

With a pleased and happy face the literary man entered the house, and the warm room, where the company were a.s.sembled; and, amid peals of laughter, related both the story of Captain Jack, and that of the sleigh-ride to Ole's, with the deuse himself as driver!

THE CABBAGES;

OR, THE DISCREET WIFE.

IN a remote part of Swabia there once dwelt a rich peasant, who was noted in all the neighborhood for his shrewdness. No one could get the better of him in a bargain, and no man managed his farm with such extraordinary success. His crops always seemed to flourish when the whole country round was desolated with the blight; his hay was sure to be got in the very night before a flood swept away the ricks of his neighbors; his cows gave the most milk, his oxen were the fattest, and his fields the most fruitful of the whole valley. In short, Wise Peter, for so he was called, became wealthy year after year, in a way which made his less fortunate neighbors shake their heads enviously, declaring "that such marvellous good luck could only be obtained by a bargain with the Evil One, or the a.s.sistance of gnomes." Whenever any of these stories came to the ears of Wise Peter, he would smile and say, "Ah! who knows, indeed!" but not a word more would he utter.

Among his other possessions, Wise Peter owned an immense field, which was planted entirely with cabbages. If one stood in the middle and gazed around, nothing but cabbages and more cabbages grew, as far as the eye could reach; and as the fat burghers of the town were all extremely fond of sauerkraut, these were a source of great profit.

It happened that Peter had a wife as well known for her folly and empty head, as her husband for his sagacity; and as he was rightly named Wise Peter, so was she equally well called Silly Catharine. How the two came to be united was a mystery to every one; for certain it is, that Silly Catharine had nothing to recommend her to a sensible man, but her being young and pretty.

Now Silly Catharine, who was as witless as she could well be, was fonder of cabbages than anything else in the world. She ate sauerkraut for breakfast, cabbage soup for dinner, fried cabbage for supper, and boiled cabbage for a noonday treat. Not even the constant scoldings of her husband, or the jeers of the neighbors at her folly, could distress her in any great degree, if she had only plenty of cabbages.

One morning, Wise Peter loaded his wagon with grain and started off to sell it at the distant market town, a good day's journey to and from the village. "Now, Catharine," he said to his wife as he departed, "I want you to keep your wits about you, such as you possess, while I am gone; therefore attend to me. You must give orders that the men reap the wheat in the large field, take care that the young turkeys do not get among the brambles, and, above all, see that no one enters the little storeroom. They are going to tax every one who is worth five hundred guilders and over; and as I don't choose to give my hard earnings for the support of a parcel of lazy n.o.bles and a useless court, I have hidden all the money bags there; therefore, be careful that n.o.body knows of it but yourself." So saying, Peter mounted his wagon and drove off.

Silly Catharine looked after him as long as he could be seen, and then went back to the kitchen, determined to show her husband how clever she had become.

"Shall I go and tell the goose girl to hunt the turkeys into the coop first?" thought she; "or shall I put on the cabbage to boil? I think I will set my cabbage on first; it will take but a moment, the turkeys are safe till then."

So she went to the larder, got out a fine large cabbage, and hung the pot over the fire, that it might boil quickly. The steam of the cabbage cooking ascended to her nose with a delicious perfume, and at last, what with hanging over the pot enveloped in steam, and the heat of the fire, she felt very drowsy, and falling into her chair, was soon soundly asleep. She had not slept long before in came the goose girl, whose business it was to take charge of the fowls of all sorts, crying out, "Oh, mistress! mistress: the turkeys have got among the brambles, and cannot get out!"

"Mercy upon us!" exclaimed Catharine, springing up and wringing her hands; "what will Peter say to me! He will, doubtless, break his stick over my shoulders. If it were not for the cabbage on the fire, I should certainly throw myself from the window!" So saying, she ran out into the field, but too late; the little turkeys were all in the very middle of a bramble bush, which had tangled in their feathers, until it was impossible to get them out; beside which, a fox had entered the barn yard in the goose girl's absence, by the gate, which she had carelessly left swinging open, and carried off the biggest and handsomest Poland rooster, that Wise Peter valued even more than the turkeys. About this last loss, however, she said nothing, hoping that her mistress wouldn't remark it. This, indeed, proved to be the case; for, without noticing the absence of poor Chanticleer, Catharine burst into tears, exclaiming, "What is to be done? The only way is to cut the bush down."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE FATE OF POOR CHANTICLEER.]

As she spoke, she seized an axe, and with one blow felled the bush to the ground. But what was her horror to find, as she let fall the axe, that she had also struck off the heads of every one of the turkeys!

"Oh heavens! what a misfortune!" cried Catharine; "I am the most unlucky woman in the world! _Now_ Wise Peter will not leave a whole bone in my body! Alas, the turkeys would have sold for eight skillings apiece when they had grown fat and big! The only thing that consoles me is, that I shall have such a famous supper ready for him. When he tastes my fine cabbage soup, I am sure he must forget to be vexed!" There were still, however, the bodies of the turkeys to see after; so she took out her needle and thread, sewed the heads of the turkeys on their necks, and set them upright in the coop, that they might look as though they were still alive.

After this precious piece of cleverness, Silly Catharine returned to the house to see how her cabbage came on. But she had been gone so long that the water in the pot had all boiled away, and the cabbage was burning on hard and fast to the bottom of the pot. "Why, bless me! where can the water have gone to?" cried Silly Catharine. "It must have all drawn up chimney! Nevertheless, it would be a pity to lose it; full of the cabbage juice as it was, it might well have been made into soup; and Wise Peter has told me a hundred times never to waste anything. I will get something to let down the chimney and see if I can dip it up."

So saying, she began to look about for a rope long enough to reach down the chimney; but she couldn't find one. All at once her eye fell on the bucket standing outside the well. Joyfully rushing to it, she cut the rope, and dragging the bucket after her, scrambled out on the roof, and began letting it down the chimney. While she was thus engaged, a poor little frightened swallow, who had built its nest there, suddenly flew up the chimney and darted right in her face. Silly Catharine was so much frightened, that she gave a loud scream and let go of the rope. The bucket, of course, fell into the middle of the fire, and in a twinkling was burnt to cinders. Down from the roof, and into the kitchen, rushed Catherine, but too late; nothing save the iron hoops now remained of the bucket.

"What shall I do?" cried Silly Catharine. "Not an hour pa.s.ses but some new misfortune occurs. Alas! I am no longer able to draw water for my soup! but stay, I think of a way!" So saying, she took the pot from the hook, tied a rope to the handle, let it down the well, with the cabbage still in it, and when it was filled carried it back to the house, and hung it over the fire.

Soon afterward the dairy maid went to draw some water for dinner. She could not find the bucket; so she let down a milk pail instead; but when she came to taste the water, she tasted also the flavor of the cabbage, and ran to her mistress, calling out, "Why, mistress, who has been meddling with our fine well? It had once the best water in the neighborhood, but now the flavor is precisely that of a greasy, horrible cabbage!"

"Nonsense!" cried Silly Catharine, with an air of contempt; "it is all your fancy. Don't tell me that water can taste of cabbages!" Her heart beat with affright, however, and as soon as the servant maid had left the room, she ran in great terror to the wine cellar. "What the servant said must have been true," thought she; "and Wise Peter will never forgive me when he finds out that I have spoilt the well. I will, therefore, pour some wine into the water, to take away the taste of the cabbages." So saying, she seized one of the wine barrels, and in the strength of terror she managed, with great difficulty, to push it up the cellar stairs, and roll it through the kitchen out to the well. Then she removed the spile and tilted the cask forward; when out streamed at least thirty gallons of the finest Tokay down the well!

Having done this, Silly Catharine hid the barrel away with great precipitation; and, determined to leave nothing else undone, she called the reapers and bid them go directly to the large field and reap the wheat. Then she went back, and began eating her dinner, saying, "Thank heaven, I have a good dinner to sit down to, at least; there are always cabbages enough!"

Meanwhile, the reapers made ready to go a-field; and before they went, one of them drew a bucket of water to carry with them. But no sooner had they tasted the water, than they cried out, "'Tis wine! the finest wine!" and scarcely able to believe their senses, they drew up bucket after bucket of this new liquor, drank till they became drunk, and then tumbled senseless among the wheat; for it happened that the well was very low, and what they drew was nearly all wine. While they lay there, a violent hail storm came on, and in an hour's time the whole of the wheat was beaten to the ground, drenched, crushed, and ruined.

Unconscious of this fresh misfortune, Silly Catharine prepared her soup for supper, and then, having finished her work, she sat down in the front porch and began to knit, feeling as if at last all her troubles were over. Presently the gate was opened, and a man entered the garden.

It was he who was appointed to gather the tax, and knowing Wise Peter to be well off, it was to his house that he first came.

"Oh, you are very much mistaken if you think I will pay your outrageous tax!" cried Silly Catharine. "No, no! Wise Peter would know better than that, and his wife will not be behind hand! He told me before he went that he had no money to pay, and if he had, he wouldn't give it to support your lazy n.o.bles; so be off with you!"

While Catharine had been making this tirade, the tax gatherer, to whom she had unwittingly given a valuable hint, hit upon a new plan by which to secure his guilders. So as she paused, out of breath, he exclaimed, in a contemptuous tone: "There is no use in making such a noise, good woman; I see plainly that I was a fool to suppose the owner of this beggarly house was worth five hundred guilders. Five kreutzers would be much nearer the mark!"

"What! do you dare to call the house of Wise Peter beggarly!" cried Catharine in a rage; "beggarly, indeed! you could never get such a fine one if you live a thousand years."

"And I repeat that it is a beggarly house," said the other; "with a poor, miserable family in it."

"You don't believe me?" screamed Silly Catharine; "well, then I'll show you what you call poor; a pretty thing, indeed, that you should say we are a beggarly family!" And, bouncing from her seat, she led the tax gatherer to the store room, and dragging the money bags from their concealment, she opened them triumphantly, saying, "There, what do you call _that_?"

"At least a thousand guilders!" exclaimed the tax gatherer, astonished at seeing so much more than he had expected. "So, you refuse to pay the tax when you have all this money in the house! I confiscate it all in the name of the king, and you may think yourself lucky if you and your precious husband (who must be wise, since he married such a wife as you), don't get thrown into prison besides." So saying, he s.n.a.t.c.hed up the bags of guilders, while Catharine stood staring at him in mute horror, and in an instant was out of the house, and gone on his way.

Nearly stunned with this new mishap, Catharine burst into tears, and ran down stairs crying, as though her heart would break. "What is to become of me," she sobbed, "when Peter comes home? He will certainly kill me for having shown the tax gatherer the money! Nevertheless, what could I do? It was impossible to have people say that Wise Peter was a beggarly creature--I could not allow that!" and, a little re-a.s.sured, she dried her eyes and went to taste the soup. It was nearly done, and tasted deliciously. "Ah!" cried Silly Catharine, "the soup is better than usual! It quite repays me for all to think that we still have the finest cabbages!"

In the mean time, one of the reapers, who had drank less wine than the others, woke up sober, and as soon as he found he could stand on his legs, he ran post haste to the village to relate the wonderful tale. The place being small and the gossips many, it was not half an hour before the whole population knew the extraordinary occurrence that had taken place. Even the cure, the magistrate, and the doctor rushed into the street to hear the news, and a pretty uproar there was. "Said I not truly that Wise Peter was in league with the Evil One?" exclaimed one, "for only thus can the miracle of a spring of wine be accounted for."

"True, true!" cried the listeners; "a wizard he must be; and that of a right dangerous sort!"

Just at this moment, the wagon of Wise Peter was seen coming along the road. The impatient villagers could not wait for him to approach them, but rushed toward the wagon and surrounded it on every side. "How now, wretched wizard!" they one and all shouted; "dare you look us in the face when we have found you out in your sorceries? Away with you to prison!" and, so saying, they laid hold of Wise Peter, dragged him out of the wagon, and bore him toward the magistrate. In vain the wretched man begged for some explanation, declared a hundred times over that he was no wizard, but an honest peasant; they only shouted, tauntingly, "A pretty story for a man who turns his well springs into the finest wine!

no wizard, indeed! say, rather, a wizard of the worst kind!"

With these words, they hauled him before the magistrate, where, again, the reaper repeated his story, adding, by way of proof, "If you don't believe me, go and see the other reapers; there they lie drunk, where I left them."

"You hear what this honest man says," said the magistrate. "We have long suspected you of sorcery, but this proves the matter at once. Either you must forfeit a hundred guilders, as ordained by law in such cases, or you must go to prison."

Almost distracted, Wise Peter exclaimed, "You have seen fit, worthy magistrate, to accuse me of a crime of which, so far from being guilty, I know nothing whatever. When I left home this morning, I swear the water was as fresh and pure as possible. I know that some envious people had long accused me of practising black arts, and if Industry and Prudence are black arts, I am certainly guilty; but in this matter of the water, I am as innocent as my own wife!"

"All this is very fine," answered the magistrate; "but it happens that the bewitched water can be produced;" and turning to the reaper, he said, "Have you any of this water about you?"

"Yes, worthy magistrate," replied the reaper; "as I came away from the field, I filled my flask with what was left, and brought it with me."

The flask was handed to Peter, and no sooner had he tasted it, than he fell back aghast, exclaiming, "Good heaven, it _is_ wine! and very like Tokay!"

"What! you confess it yourself?" cried the magistrate. "Don't hope, then, for mercy! You shall now pay two hundred guilders, or go to prison for a year!"

"Mercy! mercy!" cried the unfortunate man, falling on his knees.

"Consider my family, worthy magistrate; do not disgrace them by sending me to prison! I see the water has been changed, but not by me; and though you will not believe me, I can solemnly a.s.sure you, with perfect truth, that I am innocent."

"Pay or go to prison!" answered the magistrate inexorably.

With many tears and groans, the unlucky Peter drew a purse full of guilders from his pocket and paid over the whole proceeds of his sale of wheat, which only amounted to a hundred and five guilders; the magistrate remarking that he would let him off with that if he would solemnly swear never to practise the black art any more, and to unbewitch his well as speedily as possible. This Peter did, in despair of bringing them to reason, and having been thus severely punished for a crime he was utterly guiltless of, he mounted his wagon again, and rode home in a state of mind that can better be imagined than described.