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.