Folk-lore and Legends: German Part 2

Poor Hans was sadly frightened.

"Good man," cried he, "pray get me out of this sc.r.a.pe. You know this country better than I; take my pig and give me the goose."

"I ought to have something into the bargain," said the countryman; "however, I'll not bear hard upon you, as you are in trouble."

Then he took the string in his hand and drove off the pig by a side path, while Hans went on his way homeward free from care.

"After all," thought he, "I have the best of the bargain. First there will be a capital roast, then the fat will find me in goose-grease for six months, and then there are all the beautiful white feathers. I will put them into my pillow, and then I am sure I shall sleep soundly without rocking. How happy my mother will be!"

As he came to the last village he saw a scissors-grinder, with his wheel, working away and singing--

"O'er hill and o'er dale so happy I roam, Work light and live well, all the world is my home; Who so blythe, so merry as I?"

Hans stood looking for a while, and at last said--

"You must be well off, master grinder, you seem so happy at your work."

"Yes," said the other, "mine is a golden trade. A good grinder never puts his hand in his pocket without finding money in it--but where did you get that beautiful goose?"

"I did not buy it, but changed a pig for it."

"And where did you get the pig?"

"I gave a cow for it."

"And the cow?"

"I gave a horse for it."

"And the horse?"

"I gave a piece of silver as big as my head for that."

"And the silver?"

"Oh! I worked hard for that seven long years."

"You have thriven well in the world hitherto," said the grinder, "now if you could find money in your pocket whenever you put your hand into it your fortune would be made."

"Very true, but how is that to be managed?"

"You must turn grinder like me," said the other. "You only want a grindstone, the rest will come of itself. Here is one that is only a little the worse for wear. I would not ask more than the value of your goose for it. Will you buy it?"

"How can you ask such a question?" said Hans. "I should be the happiest man in the world if I could have money whenever I put my hand in my pocket. What could I want more? There's the goose."

"Now," said the grinder, as he gave him a common rough stone that lay by his side, "this is a most capital stone. Do but manage it cleverly and you can make an old nail cut with it."

Hans took the stone, and went off with a light heart. His eyes sparkled with joy, and he said to himself--

"I must have been born in a lucky hour. Everything I want or wish comes to me of itself."

Meantime he began to be tired, for he had been travelling ever since daybreak. He was hungry too, for he had given away his last penny in his joy at getting the cow. At last he could go no further, and the stone tired him terribly, so he dragged himself to the side of the pond that he might drink some water and rest a while. He laid the stone carefully by his side on the bank, but as he stooped down to drink he forgot it, pushed it a little, and down it went, plump into the pond. For a while he watched it sinking in the deep, clear water, then, sprang up for joy, and again fell upon his knees and thanked Heaven with tears in his eyes for its kindness in taking away his only plague, the ugly, heavy stone.

"How happy am I!" cried he; "no mortal was ever so lucky as I am."

Then he got up with a light and merry heart, and walked on, free from all his troubles, till he reached his mother's house.

THE GREY MARE IN THE GARRET.

In the portal of the Church of the Apostles, near the new market in Cologne, hung a picture, the portraits of a certain Frau Richmodis von Aducht and her two children, of whom the following singular story is related. The picture was covered with a curtain which she worked with her own hands.

Her husband, Richmuth von Aducht, was, in the year of grace 1400, a rich burgomaster of Cologne, and lived at the sign of the Parroquet in the New Marckt. In that year a fearful plague desolated all quarters of the city. She fell sick of the pest, and, to all appearance, died.

After the usual period had elapsed she was buried in the vaults of the Apostles' Church. She was buried, as the custom then was, with her jewelled rings on her fingers, and most of her rich ornaments on her person. These tempted the cupidity of the s.e.xton of the church. He argued with himself that they were no use to the corpse, and he determined to possess them. Accordingly he proceeded in the dead of night to the vault where she lay interred, and commenced the work of sacrilegious spoliation. He first unscrewed the coffin lid. He then removed it altogether, and proceeded to tear away the shroud which interposed between him and his prey. But what was his horror to perceive the corpse clasp her hands slowly together, then rise, and finally sit erect in the coffin. He was rooted to the earth. The corpse made as though it would step from its narrow bed, and the s.e.xton fled, shrieking, through the vaults. The corpse followed, its long white shroud floating like a meteor in the dim light of the lamp, which, in his haste, he had forgotten. It was not until he reached his own door that he had sufficient courage to look behind him, and then, when he perceived no trace of his pursuer, the excitement which had sustained him so far subsided, and he sank senseless to the earth.

In the meantime Richmuth von Aducht, who had slept scarcely a moment since the death of his dear wife, was surprised by the voice of his old manservant, who rapped loudly at his chamber door, and told him to awake and come forth, for his mistress had arisen from the dead, and was then at the gate of the courtyard.

"Bah!" said he, rather pettishly, "go thy ways, Hans; you dream, or are mad, or drunk. What you see is quite impossible. I should as soon believe my old grey mare had got into the garret as that my wife was at the courtyard gate."

Trot, trot, trot, trot, suddenly resounded high over his head.

"What's that?" asked he of his servant.

"I know not," replied the man, "an' it be not your old grey mare in the garret."

They descended in haste to the courtyard, and looked up to the window of the attic. Lo and behold! there was indeed the grey mare with her head poked out of the window, gazing down with her great eyes on her master and his man, and seeming to enjoy very much her exalted station, and their surprise at it.

Knock, knock, knock went the rapper of the street gate.

"It is my wife!" "It is my mistress!" exclaimed master and man in the same breath.

The door was quickly unfastened, and there, truly, stood the mistress of the mansion, enveloped in her shroud.

"Are you alive or dead?" exclaimed the astonished husband.

"Alive, my dear, but very cold," she murmured faintly, her teeth chattering the while, as those of one in a fever chill; "help me to my chamber."

He caught her in his arms and covered her with kisses. Then he bore her to her chamber, and called up the whole house to welcome and a.s.sist her. She suffered a little from fatigue and fright, but in a few days was very much recovered.

The thing became the talk of the town, and hundreds flocked daily to see, not alone the lady that was rescued from the grave in so remarkable a manner, but also the grey mare which had so strangely contrived to get into the garret.

The excellent lady lived long and happily with her husband, and at her death was laid once more in her old resting-place. The grey mare, after resting in the garret three days, was got down by means of scaffolding, safe and sound. She survived her mistress for some time, and was a general favourite in the city, and when she died her skin was stuffed, and placed in the a.r.s.enal as a curiosity. The s.e.xton went mad with the fright he had sustained, and in a short time entered that bourn whence he had so unintentionally recovered the burgomaster's wife.

Not only was this memorable circ.u.mstance commemorated in the Church of the Apostles, but it was also celebrated in _ba.s.si relievi_ figures on the walls of the burgomaster's residence--the sign of the Parroquet in the New Marckt. The searcher after antiquities will, however, look in vain for either. They are not now to be found. Modern taste has defaced the porch where stood the one, and erected a shapeless structure on the site of the other.