Selected Tales of the Brothers Grimm(34)

The old woman carried the jug into the stable. One of the stable hands was seated on the count’s saddled steed, another held the bridle in his hand, a third held it by the tail. She poured as much as they wanted until the jug was empty. In a little while the bridle fell out of the one stableboy’s hand, and he leaned back and began snoring. The other one let go of the tail, lay back, and snored even louder. The one in the saddle stayed seated where he was, but leaned forward against the horse’s mane, fell asleep, and snorted like a smithy. The soldiers outside had long since fallen asleep and lay around on the ground without moving, as if they were made of stone. As soon as the master thief assured himself that his scheme had worked, he gave the stableboy holding the bridle a rope to hold, and the one holding the tail a straw switch. But what was he to do with the one who sat asleep in the saddle? He didn’t want to shove him out of the saddle, lest he awaken and cry out to the others. But he had an idea. He unfastened the saddle cinch, attached it to a few cords that hung from metal rings embedded in the wall, raised saddle and rider in midair, and tied the loose ends of the cords tightly to the doorpost. It was easy enough to untie the horse from the chain, but had he ridden it across the flagstones of the courtyard the clip-clop of its hooves would have been heard in the castle. So first he bound rags around each of its hooves, and then carefully led it out, swung himself into the saddle, and made off with it.

At the break of day, the master thief swung himself again into the saddle of the stolen horse and rode it to the castle. The count had just awakened and looked out the window. “Good morning, sir count,” the master thief called up to him. “Here is the horse that I successfully stole out of your stable, and if you care to have a look in the stable you’ll see how comfortable your guards have made themselves.”

The count had to laugh, then he said, “This once you succeeded, but the second task won’t be so easy. And I warn you, if next we cross paths as thief and target, then I will treat you as a thief.”

That evening when the countess went to bed she balled up the fingers of her left hand around the wedding ring, and the count said, “All the doors are locked and bolted, and I’ll stay awake and lie in wait for the thief. If he climbs in through the window, I’ll shoot him down.”

But when it got dark, the master thief hastened to the gallows, cut down a poor sinner he found swinging there, and carried him on his back to the castle. There he leaned a ladder against the castle wall, hoisted the dead man onto his shoulders, and started climbing up. Once he had climbed high enough so that the head of the dead man appeared in the window, the count, who lay awake in bed, pressed the trigger of his pistol. Whereupon the master thief let the poor sinner fall to the ground, leapt off the ladder, and hid in a corner.

The night was so brightly lit by the moon that the master thief could clearly make out the count as he climbed down the ladder and carried the dead man into the garden. There he began digging a hole in which to bury him. Now, thought the thief, is the right time, and he nimbly slipped out of hiding and climbed the ladder up into the countess’s bedroom. “Dear wife,” he said, mimicking the voice of the count, “the thief is dead, but he was after all my godchild and more of a prankster than a villain – I won’t want to put him to public shame, and I feel bad for his poor parents. Before daybreak I myself will bury him in the garden, so that no one gets wind of the matter. Give me a bedsheet, and I’ll wrap the corpse in it and dig him under like a dog.” The countess gave him the bedsheet. “You know what,” the thief went on, “I’m feeling generous, give me the ring. The poor unfortunate risked his life to get it, so let him take it with him to the grave.” Under the circumstances, the countess did not want to have words with her husband, and with a heavy heart she pulled the ring from her finger and handed it to him. The thief made off with both bits of booty and safely reached his hideout before the count had finished patting down the grave in the garden.

What a face the count made when the following morning the master thief appeared with bedsheet and ring in hand! “Are you a sorcerer?” he said to him. “Who dug you out of the grave in which I myself laid you and brought you back to life?”

“You did not bury me,” said the thief, “but rather that poor sinner who dangled from the gallows.” Whereupon he detailed just how he’d done it. And the count had to admit that he was indeed a cunning and canny thief.

“But you’re not done yet,” he added, “you still have a third task to accomplish, and if you don’t succeed, God help you.” In response to which the master thief just smiled and made no reply.