Part II.—Gudbrand And His Wife.
There was once a man called Gudbrand, who lived in a lonely little farm-house on a remote hillside. From this circumstance he got the name among his neighbors of Gudbrand of the Hill.
Now, you must know that Gudbrand had an excellent wife, as sometimes happens to a man. But the rarest thing about it was, that Gudbrand knew the value of such a treasure; and so the two lived in perfect harmony, enjoying their own happiness, and giving themselves no concern about either wealth or the lapse of years. No matter what Gudbrand might do, his wife had foreseen and desired that very thing; so that her good man could not touch or change or move anything about the house without her coming forward to thank him for having divined and forestalled her wishes.
Besides, it was easy for them to get along, since the farm belonged to them, and they had a hundred solid crowns in a drawer of their closet and two excellent cows in their stable. They lacked nothing, and could quietly pass their old age without fear of poverty or toil, and without having to look to the friendship or the commiseration of any of their fellow-creatures.
One evening, while they were talking over their various little tasks and projects, says the wife of Gudbrand to her husband,—
'Husband, I've got a new notion in my head: you must take one of our cows to town and sell her. We'll keep the other, and she'll be quite enough to furnish us with all the milk and butter we can use. Why should we toil for other people? We've money lying in the drawer, and have no children to look after. So, wouldn't it be better to spare these arms of ours, now that they are growing old? You will always find something to occupy your time about the house;—there'll be no lack of furniture and things to mend, and I'll be more than ever beside you with my distaff and my knitting-needles.'
Gudbrand bethought him that his wife was right, as usual, and so, as the next morning was a beautiful one, he set off for the town, at an early hour, with the cow he wanted to sell. But it was not market day, and he found no purchaser to take the animal off his hands.
'Well! well!' said Gudbrand, 'at all events, I can take Sukey back to the place I brought her from; I've got hay and litter in plenty, there, for the poor brute, and it's no farther returning than it was coming hither.' Whereupon, he very quietly started again on the road to his home.
After walking on for a few hours, and just as he was beginning to feel a little tired, he met a man leading a horse by the bridle toward the town. The horse was in fine condition, and was all saddled and ready for a rider. 'The way is long and night rapidly coming on,' thought Gudbrand. 'I can hardly drag my cow along, and to-morrow I'll have to take this same walk over again. Now, here's an animal that would suit me a great deal better, and I'd go back home with him, as proud as a lord. Who would be delighted to see her husband returning in triumph, like a Roman general? Why, the wife of Gudbrand!'
Upon this happy thought, Gudbrand stopped the trader and exchanged his cow for the horse.
Once mounted on the charger's back, our hero felt some qualms of regret, for he was old and heavy, while the horse was young, frisky, and headstrong, so that, in less than half an hour, behold, our would-be cavalier was on foot again, vainly striving to drag along by the bridle a creature that cocked up his head at every puff of wind, and capered and pranced at every stone that lay in his path.
'This is a poor bargain I've made,' thought Gudbrand, when, just at that moment, he descried a peasant driving along a hog so fine and fat that its stomach touched the ground.
'A nail that is useful is better than a diamond that glitters and can be turned to nothing, as my wife often says,' reflected Gudbrand; and, with that, he traded off his horse for the hog.
It was a bright idea to be sure, but our good man had counted without his host. Don Porker was tired, and wouldn't budge an inch. Gudbrand talked to him, coaxed him, swore at him, but all in vain; he dragged him by the snout, he pushed him from behind, he whacked him on both his fat sides with a cudgel, but it was only labor lost, and Mr. Hog remained there in the middle of the dusty road like a stranded whale. The poor farmer was yielding to despair, when, at the very nick of time, there came along a country lad leading a she-goat, that, with an udder all swollen with milk, skipped, ran, and played about, in a manner charming to behold.
'There! that's the very thing I want!' exclaimed Gudbrand. 'I'd far rather have that gay, sprightly creature than this huge, stupid brute.' Whereupon, without an instant's hesitation, he exchanged the hog for the she-goat.
All went well for another half-hour. The young madam with her long horns greatly amused Gudbrand, who laughed at her pranks till his sides ached. In fact, too, the goat pulled him along; but, when one is on the wrong side of forty, one soon gets tired of scrambling over the rocks; and so the farmer, happening to meet a shepherd feeding his flock, traded his she-goat for a ewe. 'I'll have just as much milk,' mused he, 'from that animal as from the other, and, at least, she will keep quiet, and not worry either my wife or me.'
Gudbrand was right, in one respect, for there is nothing more gentle than a ewe. This one had no tricks; she neither capered nor butted with her head, but she stood perfectly still and bleated all the time. Finding herself separated from her companions, she wanted to rejoin them, and the more Gudbrand tugged at her tether, the more piteously she baaed.
'Deuce take the silly brute!' shouted Gudbrand; 'she's as obstinate and whimpering as my neighbor's wife. Who'll rid me of this bawling, bellowing little beast? I must get clear of her, at any price.'
'It's a bargain, if you choose, neighbor,' said a country fellow who was just passing, with a fat goose under his arm. 'Here, take this fine bird, instead; she's worth two of that ugly sheep that's going to split its throat in less than an hour, anyhow.'
'Done!' said Gudbrand; 'a live goose is as good as a dead ewe, any day;' and so he took the goose in exchange.
But it was no easy matter to manage his new bargain. The goose turned out to be a very disagreeable companion; for, finding itself no longer on the ground, it fought with its bill, its feet, and its wings, so that Gudbrand was soon tired of struggling to hold it.
'Pah!' growled he; 'the goose is an ugly, ill-grained creature, and my wife never would have one about the house.' With this reflection, he changed the goose, at the first farm-house he came to, for a fine rooster of rich plumage and furnished with a grand pair of spurs.
This time, he was thoroughly satisfied. The rooster, it is true, squawked from time to time, in a voice rather too hoarse to gratify most delicate ears; but as his claws had been tied together with twine and he was carried head downwards, he finally gave up and resigned himself to his fate. The only unpleasant circumstance now remaining was that the day was rapidly drawing to a close. Gudbrand, who had started before dawn, now found himself fasting, at sundown, without a farthing in his pocket. He still had a long walk before him, and the good man felt that his legs were giving out and that his stomach craved refreshment. Some bold step must be taken; and so, at the first wayside tavern, Gudbrand sold his rooster for a shilling, and as he had a raging appetite, he spent the last doit of it for his supper.
'After all,' said he, the while, 'what use would a rooster be to me, if I had to die of hunger?'
As he, at length, drew near his own dwelling, however, Gudbrand began to meditate seriously on the curious turn things had taken with him, and, before entering his home, he stopped at the door of Peter the Gray beard, as a neighbor of his was called in the surrounding country.
'Well, neighbor,' said Peter, 'how have you prospered in the town?'
'Oh! so, so,' answered Gudbrand; 'I can't say that I've been very lucky, nor have I much to complain of either;' and he went on to tell all that had happened.
'Neighbor, you've made a pretty mess of it!' said Peter the Graybeard; 'you'll have a nice time of it when you get home. Heaven protect you from your dame! I wouldn't be in your shoes for ten crowns.'
'Good!' rejoined Gudbrand of the Hill; 'things might have turned out still worse for me; but, now, I'm quiet in my mind about it, for my wife is so clever that, right or wrong, no matter what I've done, well or ill, she'll not say one word about it.'
'I hear and admire your statement, neighbor,' retorted Peter, 'but, with all respect for you, I do not believe a word of it.'
'Will you lay a wager on it?' said Gudbrand. 'I have a hundred crowns in my drawer at home, and I'll bet twenty of them against as many from you.'
'Done, on the spot!' replied Peter. So, joining hands on it, the two friends entered Gudbrand's house. Peter stood back at the door to hear what the husband and wife would have to say.
'Good evening, wife!' said Gudbrand. 'Good evening, husband,' said the good woman; 'you've come back, then, God be praised! How did you fare all day?'
'Neither well nor ill,' replied Gudbrand. When I got to the town, I could find no one there to buy our cow, and so I traded her off for a horse.'
'For a horse!' said the wife. 'An excellent idea, and I thank you with all my heart. We can go to church, then, in a wagon, like plenty of other folks who look down upon us, but are no better than we. If we choose to keep a horse and can feed him, we have a right to do it, I suppose, for we ask no odds of anybody. Where is the horse? We must put him into the stable.'
'I did not bring him all the way home,' answered Gudbrand, 'for, on the road, I changed my mind; I exchanged the horse for a hog.'
'Come, now,' said the wife, 'that's just what I'd have done, in your place! Thanks, a hundred times over! Now, when my neighbors come to see me, I'll have, like everybody else, a bite of ham to offer them. What need had we of a horse? The folks around us would have said, "See the saucy things! they think it beneath them to walk to church." Let us put the hog in a pen!'
'I didn't bring him with me,' said Gudbrand, 'for on the way I exchanged him for a she-goat.'
'Bravo!' said the good wife. 'What a sensible man you are! When I come to think of it, what could I have done with a hog? The neighbors would have pointed us out and have said, "Look at those people—all they make they eat! But, with a she-goat, I shall have milk and cheese, not to speak of the little kids. Come, let us put her into the stable."
'I didn't bring the she-goat with me, either,' said Gudbrand; 'I traded her again, for a ewe.'
'There! That's just like you,' exclaimed the wife, with evident satisfaction. 'It was for my sake that you did that. Am I young enough to scamper, over hill and dale, after a she-goat? No, indeed. But, a ewe will yield me her wool as well as her milk; so let us get her housed at once.'
'I didn't bring the ewe home, either,' stammered Gudbrand, once more, 'but swapped her for a goose.'
'What? a goose! oh! thanks, thanks a thousand times, with all my heart—for, after all, how could I have got along with the ewe? I have neither card nor comb, and spinning is a heavy job, at best. When you've spun, too, you have to cut and fit and sew. It's far easier to buy our clothes ready-made, as we've always done. But a goose—a fat one, too, no doubt—why, that's the very thing I want! I've need of down for our quilt, and my mouth has watered this many a day for a bit of roast goose. Put the bird in the poultry-coop.'
'Ah! I've not brought the goose, for I took a rooster in his stead.'
'Good husband!' said the wife, 'you're wiser than I would have been. A rooster! splendid!—why, a rooster's better than an eight-day clock. The rooster will crow every morning, at four, and tell us when it is time to pray to God and set about our work. What would we have done with a goose? I don't know how to cook one, and as for the quilt, Heaven be praised, there's no lack of moss a great deal softer than down. So, let us put the rooster in the corn-yard!'
'I have not brought even the rooster,' murmured Gudbrand, 'for, at sundown, I felt very hungry, and had to sell my rooster for a shilling to buy something to eat. If it hadn't been for that I must have starved to death.'
'God be thanked for giving you that lucky thought,' replied the wife. 'All that you do, Gudbrand, is just after my own heart. What need we of a rooster? We are our own masters, I think; there is no one to give us orders, and we can stay in bed just as long as we please. Here you are, my dear husband, safe and sound. I am perfectly satisfied, and have need of nothing more than your presence to make me happy.'
Upon this, Gudbrand opened the door;—'Well! neighbor Peter, what do you say to that? Go, now, and bring me your twenty crowns!' So saying, Gudbrand hugged and kissed his wife with as much fervor and heartiness as though he and she had just been wedded, in the bloom of youth.