(1835)
N a village there once lived two men
who had the same name. They were both called Claus. One of them had four
horses, but the other had only one; so to distinguish them, people called
the owner of the four horses, “Great Claus,” and he who had only one,
“Little Claus.” Now we shall hear what happened to them, for this is a
true story.
Through the whole week, Little Claus was obliged to plough for Great
Claus, and lend him his one horse; and once a week, on a Sunday, Great
Claus lent him all his four horses. Then how Little Claus would smack his
whip over all five horses, they were as good as his own on that one day.
The sun shone brightly, and the church bells were ringing merrily as the
people passed by, dressed in their best clothes, with their prayer-books
under their arms. They were going to hear the clergyman preach. They
looked at Little Claus ploughing with his five horses, and he was so
proud that he smacked his whip, and said, “Gee-up, my five horses.”
“You must not say that,” said Big Claus; “for only one of them belongs to
you.” But Little Claus soon forgot what he ought to say, and when any one
passed he would call out, “Gee-up, my five horses!”
“Now I must beg you not to say that again,” said Big Claus; “for if you
do, I shall hit your horse on the head, so that he will drop dead on the
spot, and there will be an end of him.”
“I promise you I will not say it any more,” said the other; but as soon
as people came by, nodding to him, and wishing him “Good day,” he became
so pleased, and thought how grand it looked to have five horses ploughing
in his field, that he cried out again, “Gee-up, all my horses!”
“I’ll gee-up your horses for you,” said Big Claus; and seizing a hammer,
he struck the one horse of Little Claus on the head, and he fell dead
instantly.
“Oh, now I have no horse at all,” said Little Claus, weeping. But after a
while he took off the dead horse’s skin, and hung the hide to dry in the
wind. Then he put the dry skin into a bag, and, placing it over his
shoulder, went out into the next town to sell the horse’s skin. He had a
very long way to go, and had to pass through a dark, gloomy forest.
Presently a storm arose, and he lost his way, and before he discovered
the right path, evening came on, and it was still a long way to the town,
and too far to return home before night. Near the road stood a large
farmhouse. The shutters outside the windows were closed, but lights shone
through the crevices at the top. “I might get permission to stay here for
the night,” thought Little Claus; so he went up to the door and knocked.
The farmer’s wife opened the door; but when she heard what he wanted, she
told him to go away, as her husband would not allow her to admit
strangers. “Then I shall be obliged to lie out here,” said Little Claus
to himself, as the farmer’s wife shut the door in his face. Near to the
farmhouse stood a large haystack, and between it and the house was a
small shed, with a thatched roof. “I can lie up there,” said Little
Claus, as he saw the roof; “it will make a famous bed, but I hope the
stork will not fly down and bite my legs;” for on it stood a living
stork, whose nest was in the roof. So Little Claus climbed to the roof of
the shed, and while he turned himself to get comfortable, he discovered
that the wooden shutters, which were closed, did not reach to the tops of
the windows of the farmhouse, so that he could see into a room, in which
a large table was laid out with wine, roast meat, and a splendid fish.
The farmer’s wife and the sexton were sitting at the table together; and
she filled his glass, and helped him plenteously to fish, which appeared
to be his favorite dish. “If I could only get some, too,” thought Little
Claus; and then, as he stretched his neck towards the window he spied a
large, beautiful pie,—indeed they had a glorious feast before them.
At this moment he heard some one riding down the road, towards the
farmhouse. It was the farmer returning home. He was a good man, but still
he had a very strange prejudice,—he could not bear the sight of a sexton.
If one appeared before him, he would put himself in a terrible rage. In
consequence of this dislike, the sexton had gone to visit the farmer’s
wife during her husband’s absence from home, and the good woman had
placed before him the best she had in the house to eat. When she heard
the farmer coming she was frightened, and begged the sexton to hide
himself in a large empty chest that stood in the room. He did so, for he
knew her husband could not endure the sight of a sexton. The woman then
quickly put away the wine, and hid all the rest of the nice things in the
oven; for if her husband had seen them he would have asked what they were
brought out for.
“Oh, dear,” sighed Little Claus from the top of the shed, as he saw all
the good things disappear.
“Is any one up there?” asked the farmer, looking up and discovering
Little Claus. “Why are you lying up there? Come down, and come into the
house with me.” So Little Claus came down and told the farmer how he had
lost his way and begged for a night’s lodging.
“All right,” said the farmer; “but we must have something to eat first.”
The woman received them both very kindly, laid the cloth on a large
table, and placed before them a dish of porridge. The farmer was very
hungry, and ate his porridge with a good appetite, but Little Claus could
not help thinking of the nice roast meat, fish and pies, which he knew
were in the oven. Under the table, at his feet, lay the sack containing
the horse’s skin, which he intended to sell at the next town. Now Little
Claus did not relish the porridge at all, so he trod with his foot on the
sack under the table, and the dry skin squeaked quite loud. “Hush!” said
Little Claus to his sack, at the same time treading upon it again, till
it squeaked louder than before.
“Hallo! what have you got in your sack!” asked the farmer.
“Oh, it is a conjuror,” said Little Claus; “and he says we need not eat
porridge, for he has conjured the oven full of roast meat, fish, and
pie.”
“Wonderful!” cried the farmer, starting up and opening the oven door; and
there lay all the nice things hidden by the farmer’s wife, but which he
supposed had been conjured there by the wizard under the table. The woman
dared not say anything; so she placed the things before them, and they
both ate of the fish, the meat, and the pastry.
Then Little Claus trod again upon his sack, and it squeaked as before.
“What does he say now?” asked the farmer.
“He says,” replied Little Claus, “that there are three bottles of wine
for us, standing in the corner, by the oven.”
So the woman was obliged to bring out the wine also, which she had
hidden, and the farmer drank it till he became quite merry. He would have
liked such a conjuror as Little Claus carried in his sack. “Could he
conjure up the evil one?” asked the farmer. “I should like to see him
now, while I am so merry.”
“Oh, yes!” replied Little Claus, “my conjuror can do anything I ask
him,—can you not?” he asked, treading at the same time on the sack till
it squeaked. “Do you hear? he answers ’Yes,’ but he fears that we shall
not like to look at him.”
“Oh, I am not afraid. What will he be like?”
“Well, he is very much like a sexton.”
“Ha!” said the farmer, “then he must be ugly. Do you know I cannot endure
the sight of a sexton. However, that doesn’t matter, I shall know who it
is; so I shall not mind. Now then, I have got up my courage, but don’t
let him come too near me.”
“Stop, I must ask the conjuror,” said Little Claus; so he trod on the
bag, and stooped his ear down to listen.
“What does he say?”
“He says that you must go and open that large chest which stands in the
corner, and you will see the evil one crouching down inside; but you must
hold the lid firmly, that he may not slip out.”
“Will you come and help me hold it?” said the farmer, going towards the
chest in which his wife had hidden the sexton, who now lay inside, very
much frightened. The farmer opened the lid a very little way, and peeped
in.
“Oh,” cried he, springing backwards, “I saw him, and he is exactly like
our sexton. How dreadful it is!” So after that he was obliged to drink
again, and they sat and drank till far into the night.
“You must sell your conjuror to me,” said the farmer; “ask as much as you
like, I will pay it; indeed I would give you directly a whole bushel of
gold.”
“No, indeed, I cannot,” said Little Claus; “only think how much profit I
could make out of this conjuror.”
“But I should like to have him,” said the fanner, still continuing his
entreaties.
“Well,” said Little Claus at length, “you have been so good as to give me
a night’s lodging, I will not refuse you; you shall have the conjuror for
a bushel of money, but I will have quite full measure.”
“So you shall,” said the farmer; “but you must take away the chest as
well. I would not have it in the house another hour; there is no knowing
if he may not be still there.”
So Little Claus gave the farmer the sack containing the dried horse’s
skin, and received in exchange a bushel of money—full measure. The farmer
also gave him a wheelbarrow on which to carry away the chest and the
gold.
“Farewell,” said Little Claus, as he went off with his money and the
great chest, in which the sexton lay still concealed. On one side of the
forest was a broad, deep river, the water flowed so rapidly that very few
were able to swim against the stream. A new bridge had lately been built
across it, and in the middle of this bridge Little Claus stopped, and
said, loud enough to be heard by the sexton, “Now what shall I do with
this stupid chest; it is as heavy as if it were full of stones: I shall
be tired if I roll it any farther, so I may as well throw it in the
river; if it swims after me to my house, well and good, and if not, it
will not much matter.”
So he seized the chest in his hand and lifted it up a little, as if he
were going to throw it into the water.
“No, leave it alone,” cried the sexton from within the chest; “let me out
first.”
“Oh,” exclaimed Little Claus, pretending to be frightened, “he is in
there still, is he? I must throw him into the river, that he may be
drowned.”
“Oh, no; oh, no,” cried the sexton; “I will give you a whole bushel full
of money if you will let me go.”
“Why, that is another matter,” said Little Claus, opening the chest. The
sexton crept out, pushed the empty chest into the water, and went to his
house, then he measured out a whole bushel full of gold for Little Claus,
who had already received one from the farmer, so that now he had a barrow
full.
“I have been well paid for my horse,” said he to himself when he reached
home, entered his own room, and emptied all his money into a heap on the
floor. “How vexed Great Claus will be when he finds out how rich I have
become all through my one horse; but I shall not tell him exactly how it
all happened.” Then he sent a boy to Great Claus to borrow a bushel
measure.
“What can he want it for?” thought Great Claus; so he smeared the bottom
of the measure with tar, that some of whatever was put into it might
stick there and remain. And so it happened; for when the measure
returned, three new silver florins were sticking to it.
“What does this mean?” said Great Claus; so he ran off directly to Little
Claus, and asked, “Where did you get so much money?”
“Oh, for my horse’s skin, I sold it yesterday.”
“It was certainly well paid for then,” said Great Claus; and he ran home
to his house, seized a hatchet, and knocked all his four horses on the
head, flayed off their skins, and took them to the town to sell. “Skins,
skins, who’ll buy skins?” he cried, as he went through the streets. All
the shoemakers and tanners came running, and asked how much he wanted for
them.
“A bushel of money, for each,” replied Great Claus.
“Are you mad?” they all cried; “do you think we have money to spend by
the bushel?”
“Skins, skins,” he cried again, “who’ll buy skins?” but to all who
inquired the price, his answer was, “a bushel of money.”
“He is making fools of us,” said they all; then the shoemakers took their
straps, and the tanners their leather aprons, and began to beat Great
Claus.
“Skins, skins!” they cried, mocking him; “yes, we’ll mark your skin for
you, till it is black and blue.”
“Out of the town with him,” said they. And Great Claus was obliged to run
as fast as he could, he had never before been so thoroughly beaten.
“Ah,” said he, as he came to his house; “Little Claus shall pay me for
this; I will beat him to death.”
Meanwhile the old grandmother of Little Claus died. She had been cross,
unkind, and really spiteful to him; but he was very sorry, and took the
dead woman and laid her in his warm bed to see if he could bring her to
life again. There he determined that she should lie the whole night,
while he seated himself in a chair in a corner of the room as he had
often done before. During the night, as he sat there, the door opened,
and in came Great Claus with a hatchet. He knew well where Little Claus’s
bed stood; so he went right up to it, and struck the old grandmother on
the head. thinking it must be Little Claus.
“There,” cried he, “now you cannot make a fool of me again;” and then he
went home.
“That is a very wicked man,” thought Little Claus; “he meant to kill me.
It is a good thing for my old grandmother that she was already dead, or
he would have taken her life.” Then he dressed his old grandmother in her
best clothes, borrowed a horse of his neighbor, and harnessed it to a
cart. Then he placed the old woman on the back seat, so that she might
not fall out as he drove, and rode away through the wood. By sunrise they
reached a large inn, where Little Claus stopped and went to get something
to eat. The landlord was a rich man, and a good man too; but as
passionate as if he had been made of pepper and snuff.
“Good morning,” said he to Little Claus; “you are come betimes to-day.”
“Yes,” said Little Claus; “I am going to the town with my old
grandmother; she is sitting at the back of the wagon, but I cannot bring
her into the room. Will you take her a glass of mead? but you must speak
very loud, for she cannot hear well.”
“Yes, certainly I will,” replied the landlord; and, pouring out a glass
of mead, he carried it out to the dead grandmother, who sat upright in
the cart. “Here is a glass of mead from your grandson,” said the
landlord. The dead woman did not answer a word, but sat quite still. “Do
you not hear?” cried the landlord as loud as he could; “here is a glass
of mead from your grandson.”
Again and again he bawled it out, but as she did not stir he flew into a
passion, and threw the glass of mead in her face; it struck her on the
nose, and she fell backwards out of the cart, for she was only seated
there, not tied in.
“Hallo!” cried Little Claus, rushing out of the door, and seizing hold of
the landlord by the throat; “you have killed my grandmother; see, here is
a great hole in her forehead.”
“Oh, how unfortunate,” said the landlord, wringing his hands. “This all
comes of my fiery temper. Dear Little Claus, I will give you a bushel of
money; I will bury your grandmother as if she were my own; only keep
silent, or else they will cut off my head, and that would be
disagreeable.”
So it happened that Little Claus received another bushel of money, and
the landlord buried his old grandmother as if she had been his own. When
Little Claus reached home again, he immediately sent a boy to Great
Claus, requesting him to lend him a bushel measure. “How is this?”
thought Great Claus; “did I not kill him? I must go and see for myself.”
So he went to Little Claus, and took the bushel measure with him. “How
did you get all this money?” asked Great Claus, staring with wide open
eyes at his neighbor’s treasures.
“You killed my grandmother instead of me,” said Little Claus; “so I have
sold her for a bushel of money.”
“That is a good price at all events,” said Great Claus. So he went home,
took a hatchet, and killed his old grandmother with one blow. Then he
placed her on a cart, and drove into the town to the apothecary, and
asked him if he would buy a dead body.
“Whose is it, and where did you get it?” asked the apothecary.
“It is my grandmother,” he replied; “I killed her with a blow, that I
might get a bushel of money for her.”
“Heaven preserve us!” cried the apothecary, “you are out of your mind.
Don’t say such things, or you will lose your head.” And then he talked to
him seriously about the wicked deed he had done, and told him that such a
wicked man would surely be punished. Great Claus got so frightened that
he rushed out of the surgery, jumped into the cart, whipped up his
horses, and drove home quickly. The apothecary and all the people thought
him mad, and let him drive where he liked.
“You shall pay for this,” said Great Claus, as soon as he got into the
highroad, “that you shall, Little Claus.” So as soon as he reached home
he took the largest sack he could find and went over to Little Claus.
“You have played me another trick,” said he. “First, I killed all my
horses, and then my old grandmother, and it is all your fault; but you
shall not make a fool of me any more.” So he laid hold of Little Claus
round the body, and pushed him into the sack, which he took on his
shoulders, saying, “Now I’m going to drown you in the river.
He had a long way to go before he reached the river, and Little Claus was
not a very light weight to carry. The road led by the church, and as they
passed he could hear the organ playing and the people singing
beautifully. Great Claus put down the sack close to the church-door, and
thought he might as well go in and hear a psalm before he went any
farther. Little Claus could not possibly get out of the sack, and all the
people were in church; so in he went.
“Oh dear, oh dear,” sighed Little Claus in the sack, as he turned and
twisted about; but he found he could not loosen the string with which it
was tied. Presently an old cattle driver, with snowy hair, passed by,
carrying a large staff in his hand, with which he drove a large herd of
cows and oxen before him. They stumbled against the sack in which lay
Little Claus, and turned it over. “Oh dear,” sighed Little Claus, “I am
very young, yet I am soon going to heaven.”
“And I, poor fellow,” said the drover, “I who am so old already, cannot
get there.”
“Open the sack,” cried Little Claus; “creep into it instead of me, and
you will soon be there.”
“With all my heart,” replied the drover, opening the sack, from which
sprung Little Claus as quickly as possible. “Will you take care of my
cattle?” said the old man, as he crept into the bag.
“Yes,” said Little Claus, and he tied up the sack, and then walked off
with all the cows and oxen.
When Great Claus came out of church, he took up the sack, and placed it
on his shoulders. It appeared to have become lighter, for the old drover
was not half so heavy as Little Claus.
“How light he seems now,” said he. “Ah, it is because I have been to a
church.” So he walked on to the river, which was deep and broad, and
threw the sack containing the old drover into the water, believing it to
be Little Claus. “There you may lie!” he exclaimed; “you will play me no
more tricks now.” Then he turned to go home, but when he came to a place
where two roads crossed, there was Little Claus driving the cattle. “How
is this?” said Great Claus. “Did I not drown you just now?”
“Yes,” said Little Claus; “you threw me into the river about half an hour
ago.”
“But wherever did you get all these fine beasts?” asked Great Claus.
“These beasts are sea-cattle,” replied Little Claus. “I’ll tell you the
whole story, and thank you for drowning me; I am above you now, I am
really very rich. I was frightened, to be sure, while I lay tied up in
the sack, and the wind whistled in my ears when you threw me into the
river from the bridge, and I sank to the bottom immediately; but I did
not hurt myself, for I fell upon beautifully soft grass which grows down
there; and in a moment, the sack opened, and the sweetest little maiden
came towards me. She had snow-white robes, and a wreath of green leaves
on her wet hair. She took me by the hand, and said, ’So you are come,
Little Claus, and here are some cattle for you to begin with. About a
mile farther on the road, there is another herd for you.’ Then I saw that
the river formed a great highway for the people who live in the sea. They
were walking and driving here and there from the sea to the land at the,
spot where the river terminates. The bed of the river was covered with
the loveliest flowers and sweet fresh grass. The fish swam past me as
rapidly as the birds do here in the air. How handsome all the people
were, and what fine cattle were grazing on the hills and in the valleys!”
“But why did you come up again,” said Great Claus, “if it was all so
beautiful down there? I should not have done so?”
“Well,” said Little Claus, “it was good policy on my part; you heard me
say just now that I was told by the sea-maiden to go a mile farther on
the road, and I should find a whole herd of cattle. By the road she meant
the river, for she could not travel any other way; but I knew the winding
of the river, and how it bends, sometimes to the right and sometimes to
the left, and it seemed a long way, so I chose a shorter one; and, by
coming up to the land, and then driving across the fields back again to
the river, I shall save half a mile, and get all my cattle more quickly.”
“What a lucky fellow you are!” exclaimed Great Claus. “Do you think I
should get any sea-cattle if I went down to the bottom of the river?”
“Yes, I think so,” said Little Claus; “but I cannot carry you there in a
sack, you are too heavy. However if you will go there first, and then
creep into a sack, I will throw you in with the greatest pleasure.”
“Thank you,” said Great Claus; “but remember, if I do not get any
sea-cattle down there I shall come up again and give you a good
thrashing.”
“No, now, don’t be too fierce about it!” said Little Claus, as they
walked on towards the river. When they approached it, the cattle, who
were very thirsty, saw the stream, and ran down to drink.
“See what a hurry they are in,” said Little Claus, “they are longing to
get down again,”
“Come, help me, make haste,” said Great Claus; “or you’ll get beaten.” So
he crept into a large sack, which had been lying across the back of one
of the oxen.
“Put in a stone,” said Great Claus, “or I may not sink.”
“Oh, there’s not much fear of that,” he replied; still he put a large
stone into the bag, and then tied it tightly, and gave it a push.
“Plump!” In went Great Claus, and immediately sank to the bottom of the
river.
“I’m afraid he will not find any cattle,” said Little Claus, and then he
drove his own beasts homewards.
موضوع: Little Claus and Big Claus by Hans Christian Andersen (1835)