A certain regiment had for its drummer an old man named Donatus. He was
a good-for-nothing rascal, who spent most of his time in the tavern
drinking and playing cards, but he was an excellent drummer for all
that, and it was a fine sight to see him on parade days, marching
along with the band, and playing on his drum with a flourish that was
the envy of all the boys in the town. None of his companions in the
regiment liked Donatus, because of his fondness for playing practical
jokes. There was hardly one of them whom at some time or another he
had not hoaxed, and as most of his jokes were spiteful ones, nobody
pretended to be sorry when one day the drummer was found cheating at
cards, and being brought before the Captain, was dismissed from the
regiment. It was in vain that he pleaded for mercy, with the tears
running down his face. The Captain had forgiven him many times, and was
determined not to do so again.
"Well," said Donatus at last, "if I must go, I beg you, Captain, to let
me keep my drum. I have played on it since I was a lad of fourteen, and
I know no other trade. If you take it away from me, I don't know how I
am going to live, but with it I may perhaps manage to turn an honest
penny or two."
"Very well, you old scoundrel," answered the Captain. "Keep your drum
and take yourself off; only be quick about it, or you shall be soundly
thrashed."
So away went Donatus with his drum on his back, and not having any
particular place to go to, he just took the first road that came, and
marched along it all day until he was forced to rest because his legs
were so tired. Setting his drum down in the middle of the road he sat
upon it and began to wonder what he should do for food and a bed for
the night. First of all he turned out his pockets to see what he could
find, but there was nothing there except two sous and a pack of very
greasy playing cards. Donatus put them back again, with a sigh, and
fell again to wondering how he was going to fare.
Now the road along which he had been walking was bordered by a dense
forest, and suddenly Donatus thought that if he were to get among
the trees he could at least find shelter. So he shouldered his drum
again and entered the wood. Hardly had he done so than he heard a loud
humming noise, and proceeding in the direction from which it came, he
saw a swarm of bees hanging to the branch of a big tree.
"Here's fine fruit!" said he to himself, laughing. "I'll pluck them.
They may come in useful one of these days!" So he took off the top skin
of his drum, and having skilfully caused the swarm to drop inside the
instrument, replaced the skin and went on his way.
Presently he came to a little house in the wood, and knocked at the
door to ask for shelter for the night. The door was opened by a peasant
woman of comely appearance, but with a very disagreeable expression of
face. She looked the drummer up and down very sourly. "Be off with
you!" she said, "we want no soldiers here. We have seen your kind
before, my man, and do not like them." And so saying, she very rudely
shut the door in his face.
"Now what am I to do?" thought Donatus ruefully. "Night has fallen, and
I am too weary to wander any farther. A plague take that hard-hearted
vixen, who will not take pity on my misfortunes!"
Thus reflecting, he cast his eye about to look for a corner in which
he might rest, and suddenly spied a heap of faggots piled up against
the cottage wall. Climbing to the top of the heap, he found that it
was possible to reach the window of the attic, which fortunately stood
open, so he lost no time in crawling inside, where he stretched himself
out upon the planks to sleep.
Now the attic happened to be directly above the kitchen, and as there
was a knot-hole in the wooden floor, the drummer could see everything
that was going on in the room below. There was the peasant-woman busily
preparing the supper, and the fragrant fumes which rose from the viands
tickled the drummer's nose, and made the water run out of the corners
of his mouth.
After a time there was a loud knock at the house door, and the woman
hurried to open it, admitting a man dressed in a long cloak. He was the
village beadle, and a nephew of the woman's husband, but that good man
had such a hatred of beadles that he could not bear to look at one, and
his nephew never dared to come to the house while the husband was at
home. His visits therefore were few and far between, but when he did
come his aunt always feasted him right royally. This time she bade him
welcome with great tenderness, helped him off with his cloak and sat
him down at the table, upon which she placed a fine roast fowl, with a
gammon of bacon and a bottle of wine.
"Ha, ha!" cried the beadle, rubbing his hands. "You are a famous
hostess, aunt! My walk has given me an appetite, and I am just in a
condition to do justice to your good victuals. Here's health!" And he
filled a glass with wine and drained it to the dregs.
[Illustration: THERE WAS A KNOT-HOLE IN THE WOODEN FLOOR]
"Gr-r, you greedy fellow!" muttered the drummer, who was lying full
length in the attic above with his eye to the knot-hole. "I hope it may
choke you!" And he watched eagerly while the beadle began to fall to
upon the roast fowl.
Suddenly the feast was interrupted by another loud knock at the door.
"My husband!" cried the woman in great agitation. "He has come back
unexpectedly. If he finds you here, something terrible will happen, for
he cannot bear the sight of a beadle. Quick! jump into this chest and
pull down the lid, while I clear away all signs of the supper!"
The beadle, who was just as frightened as his hostess, lost no time in
doing as she bade him. He hopped into the chest and pulled down the
lid, while she hurried to clear the table. All this time the husband
was thundering at the door, very impatient at being kept waiting. When
at last his wife let him in, he flew into a temper and began to scold
her.
"I am very sorry, good man," she answered, "but I did not hear you
knock, I was hard at work in the scullery."
"Bring me something to eat!" growled the man.
"Just as you like," answered his wife. "But if I were you I would not
sup so late--you know how it always gives you indigestion. Wouldn't it
be better to go straight to bed?"
"Hold your peace, woman," said her spouse. "I am not sleepy!" And he
sat himself down at the table.
Hardly had he done so than there came a loud knocking on the floor of
the attic above his head.
"What is that?" he cried, jumping up. "Is there somebody in the attic?"
"Not that I know of," answered his wife. "Nobody has been here all day
except a soldier with a most villainous face, who came begging. I sent
him away with a flea in his ear, I assure you."
"Did you so?" said her husband. "Well, I believe he has managed to get
into the attic. I remember now that I forgot to fasten the window." Off
he went upstairs to see, and sure enough, there was the drummer, who
was not slow in explaining his presence.
"Well, come along downstairs and warm yourself," said the peasant. "My
wife is just about to get my supper, and I expect there will be enough
for two."
Nothing loath, the drummer accompanied his host to the kitchen, and
sat down at the table, paying no heed to the venomous glances which
the woman of the house cast at him as she slammed down a loaf of black
bread and a bowl of milk.
"Ho, ho," said the drummer to himself. "There is fowl for the beadle
and dry bread for the good man and his guest. Well, we shall see!" And
he gave a kick with his foot to the drum which was under the table.
[Illustration: "I DID NOT HEAR YOU KNOCK"]
"What have you there?" asked the peasant, starting up at the sound.
"Oh, that is my oracle," answered the drummer coolly.
"Your oracle! Does he, then, speak to you?"
"Certainly," answered the drummer. "He speaks to me three times a day."
"Faith," said the peasant, "I should very much like to hear him."
So the drummer picked up his drumsticks and beat a lively tattoo upon
the drum, and, aroused by the noise and vibration, the swarm of bees
within began to buzz about in great commotion.
"Wonderful! Wonderful!" cried the peasant delightedly, as he listened
to the humming. "And do you really understand that language? What does
the oracle say?"
"He says," answered the peasant, "that there is no need for us to drink
sour milk, because there is a bottle of wine standing by the wall, just
behind the big chest."
"Ha, ha, ha! that is a good joke!" roared the peasant. "Wine in my
house, indeed! I only wish it were true!"
"Tell your wife to look behind the chest, and I'll warrant you she will
find it."
Very unwillingly the dame went to the place indicated, and came back
with the bottle of wine. She tried to look as surprised as her husband,
but only succeeded in pulling a very wry mouth.
"Bring glasses, wife!" cried the peasant in great good humour. "We must
drink the health of this famous oracle. Do you think you can make him
speak again, friend?"
"Certainly," said the drummer, beating another tattoo upon the drum.
Once again the bees began to hum loudly, and he leant down, pretending
to listen to what they had to say.
"Well? Well?" cried the peasant impatiently.
"He says that if your wife will look in the cupboard, she will find a
roast fowl and a gammon of bacon, which we can eat instead of this dry
bread."
"Upon my word, that is a wonderful oracle!" cried the peasant. "Make
haste, wife, and look in the cupboard."
[Illustration: THE SWARM OF BEES WITHIN BEGAN TO BUZZ ABOUT IN GREAT
COMMOTION]
The dame could not refuse to obey, so she brought the good things and
set them on the table, but if looks could have killed anybody the
drummer would have been a dead man that day. Little heed he paid to
her evil glances, however, but applied himself to the food with a good
appetite. Before very long, between the two of them, there was nothing
left of the chicken but the bones, and of the gammon but the scrag-end.
[Illustration: BEATING ANOTHER TATTOO UPON THE DRUM]
"Faith," said the peasant, unbuttoning his waistcoat, "that was a
better meal than I expected to get this night. Has your oracle any more
agreeable surprises for us, good sir. I pray you, make him speak again."
"With all the will in the world," answered the drummer, "but this will
be the last occasion, for he only speaks three times a day." Taking up
his sticks, he played the war-march of Napoleon on the drum, and the
bees accompanied him as before with their loud humming. The peasant
leaned forward eagerly to listen, while his wife stood by trembling
with fear.
"Ah," said the drummer at last, looking at them both with a grave face.
"This time my oracle tells me of a very serious matter. He says that in
the big chest over there a big black demon is hidden!"
"What! What!" cried the peasant, jumping up from his chair as though
he had been stung. "A demon, did you say?"
"Precisely," answered the drummer. "But don't be alarmed. I will get
rid of him for you. Open the door and the windows and then place
yourself here, by my side."
[Illustration: THE BEADLE, TOO, STUMBLED AND FELL]
The peasant made haste to do what he was told, and marching boldly
up to the chest, the drummer seized the heavy lid and threw it open.
Immediately the beadle, who had heard everything and was not a little
afraid of his own skin, jumped up, his figure entirely covered with
the folds of his black mantle, and ran for the door. So sudden was his
appearance, and so hasty his flight, that he ran with full force into
the peasant, who had no time to get out of his way, and knocked that
worthy man flying head over heels. The beadle, too, stumbled and fell,
but quickly recovering himself, made blindly for the door, fell over
the folds of his cloak, and tumbled head foremost into the ditch by the
side of the road. There was a sudden splashing sound, a muffled murmur,
and then silence.
"Poof!" said the peasant, when he had picked himself up and rubbed his
limbs. "That was a narrow escape! I saw the demon quite plainly--he was
all black, with fiery eyes, and a forked tail! Thank heaven that your
oracle warned us, good sir, or he would have devoured us as we slept!"
The next morning, as the drummer and the peasant sat at breakfast, the
latter said:
"Will you sell me that oracle of yours, drummer?"
"That depends," answered his guest. "You know it is worth a great deal
of money."
"I will give you a hundred crowns," said the peasant, "and that is all
I have in the world."
"Very well," said the drummer. "It is little enough for such a
wonderful oracle as this is, but I have taken a fancy to you, and
I cannot refuse. Give me the money." So the bargain was concluded.
Donatus received the hundred crowns, and in return handed over the
drum. Then he bade farewell to his host and was just going out of the
door when the latter called after him: "Stay a moment--I have just
thought of something. How am I to understand the language which the
oracle speaks?"
"Oh, that is easy enough," answered Donatus. "Listen while I tell you
what to do. At ten o'clock, precisely, not a minute before or a minute
afterwards, go and plant your wife in the ground up to her armpits,
then smear her face and shoulders with honey. That done, take the
oracle with you into the attic where you found me, and having first
bandaged your eyes, remove the top skin of the drum. Wait for a quarter
of an hour; then replace the skin, and take the drum with you to the
place where you left your wife. In that very moment the meaning of the
oracle's language will be revealed to you, and you will know as much as
I know myself!"
"Many thanks!" cried the peasant delightedly. "Good day to you,
soldier, and good luck!"
"And to you!" answered the drummer, and he went away laughing up his
sleeve at the fellow's simplicity.
About a mile farther along the road he saw a man working in the fields,
and went up to him.
"If you like, gossip," said he, "I'll do a bit of that digging for you."
"With all my heart," answered the labourer, giving up his spade.
[Illustration: HE HAD FAITHFULLY CARRIED OUT ALL HIS INSTRUCTIONS]
"Very well, but let us change clothes, for I do not wish to soil my
uniform. Here is a crown for you. Go to the inn and buy yourself a
glass of wine. When you return you will be surprised to see how much I
have done."
The exchange was made and the labourer departed. Less than half an hour
afterwards the sound of hoofs was heard on the road, and looking up,
the drummer saw his late host, mounted on horseback, spurring furiously
towards him. The man's face was purple with fury and he was muttering
threats as to what he would do to the drummer when he caught him. He
had faithfully carried out all his instructions, and had truly enough
learnt the meaning of the humming noise within the drum. So had his
wife; for when he went to her in the garden, he found her with her face
and shoulders black with bees!
Abreast of the place where the drummer was working the peasant reined
in his horse, and cried out, "Hallo, you there. Have you seen a soldier
pass by this way?"
"A man, master?" mumbled the drummer.
"I said a soldier, you stupid oaf! A man in a red coat with a most
villainous face. Have you seen him, I say?"
"Why, yes," the drummer answered. "He went past here about a quarter of
an hour ago and made his way into the wood yonder. You'll never find
him, master!" he added, with a grin.
[Illustration: IT WAS THE LABOURER DRESSED IN THE DRUMMER'S CLOTHES]
"And why won't I?"
"Because he's gone by a secret way. I saw the road he took, and I know
how he means to go, but even if I were to show you the way, you would
never overtake him, for you would lose yourself in the wood."
"I'll give you a crown if you'll help me to find the rascal," cried the
peasant.
"A crown! Come now, that's high pay. You must want him very badly!"
"I do indeed, and I'll break every bone in his body when I catch him."
"Here, lend me your horse, master," said the drummer. "I'll catch him
for you, and not for a crown neither, but for nothing. I'd like to see
him get a good thrashing, for he called me names as he passed by."
"But can you ride?" asked the peasant.
"Can a duck swim?" answered the drummer scornfully. "Dismount quickly
or the scoundrel will get away. Wait here for me," he added, as he
rode off, "I'll be back in less than half an hour." Off he went at a
gallop, smiling to himself. "First of all a hundred crowns, and now a
fine steed," thought he. "Come Donatus, your luck is standing you in
good stead. It's odds but you'll win through yet!" He reached the wood,
entered it, and the peasant waiting by the roadside, heard the sound of
his horse's hoofs grow fainter and fainter until at last they died away.
A quarter of an hour passed, half an hour, an hour, but the labourer
did not return. The peasant, fuming with impatience, strode up and down
the road, slashing at the grass and bushes with his stick. Suddenly
he heard footsteps, and saw a man in a red coat approaching. It was
the labourer dressed in the drummer's clothes, who had drunk, not one,
but several glasses of wine, and was now returning very pleased with
himself and all the world. As he came he trilled out a merry song.
"You knave! You villain!" cried the peasant, throwing himself upon him.
"Where are my hundred crowns? What! you would teach me the language of
the bees, would you?--and my poor wife is stung all over, and cannot
see out of her eyes. Rascal! Scoundrel! Oh, you scum! Take that, and
that, and that!" And with each word, he lifted his heavy stick and
brought it down heavily upon the shoulders of the unfortunate labourer.
"Here, hold hard, master!" cried the man, twisting and turning to get
away. "What's the meaning of this? I'll have the law on you if you
don't leave me alone! _Ouch_, give over I tell you! What do I know
about your hundred crowns or your wife?"
"What!" cried the peasant, laying on harder than before. "Do you add
lying to your other crimes? You will tell me next you have never seen a
drum!" And with one last mighty cut he stretched the unfortunate fellow
at his feet. Then, for the first time, he had a full view of his face,
and saw that he was not the man he took him for.
"Was there ever such an unlucky man in all the world as I?" he moaned,
as he turned wearily homeward, pursued by the curses and threats of the
man he had beaten. "First I lose a hundred crowns, and then the love
of my wife, who will never forgive me her injuries; and now, into the
bargain, I have lost my horse! God forgive that drummer, and protect
him if ever he falls into my hands!"
I wish I could tell you that the unlucky peasant's desire was
fulfilled, and that the drummer met with his deserts. Unhappily my
story ends here, and I do not know for certain what happened to him,
but people do say that he never came out of the wood, but rode straight
into a marsh and was drowned. If this is true, I am sure that nobody
will be sorry!
[Illustration]
[Illustration: WHEN THE FIFTY ROOKS BEGAN TO FLY HE COULD NOT GET FREE]