The Master-Thief

One day an old man and his wife were sitting in front of a tiny house, resting a while from their work. Suddenly a grand carriage with four black horses came driving up, and a richly dressed man climbed out.

The peasant stood up, went over to the gentleman, and asked what he wanted and how he could help him. The stranger reached out his hand to the old man and said, "I want nothing but to enjoy a simple country meal for once.

Cook me some potatoes the way you usually have them, and I will gladly sit at your table and eat them." The peasant smiled and said, "You must be a count or a prince, or maybe even a duke.

Gentlemen often have such fancies, but you shall have your wish." The wife went into the kitchen and began to wash and scrub the potatoes and make them into dumplings, as country folk eat them.

While she was busy with this, the peasant said to the stranger, "Come with me into my garden for a while; I still have some work to do there." He had dug some holes in the garden and now wanted to plant trees in them.

"Don't you have any children," asked the stranger, "who could help you with your work?" "No," answered the peasant, "I did have a son, it is true, but it is a long time since he went out into the world.

He was a good-for-nothing – sharp and clever, but he wouldn't learn anything and was full of mischief. Finally he ran away from me, and I haven't heard a word from him since."

The old man took a young tree, put it in a hole, drove a stake in beside it, and when he had shoveled in some earth and trampled it firmly down, he tied the stem of the tree above, below, and in the middle fast to the stake with a straw rope.

"But tell me," said the stranger, "why don't you tie that crooked knobby tree lying in the corner – bent almost to the ground – to a stake as well, so that it may grow straight like these?" The old man smiled and said, "Sir, you speak as you know.

It's easy to see you are not a gardener. That tree is old and misshapen. No one can make it straight now. Trees must be trained while they are young." "That is how it was with your son," said the stranger.

"If you had trained him while he was still young, he would not have run away. Now he too must have grown hard and misshapen." "It is truly a long time since he went away," replied the old man.

"He must have changed." "Would you recognize him if he came to you?" asked the stranger. "Hardly by his face," replied the peasant, "but he has a mark on him, a birthmark on his shoulder that looks like a bean." When he said that, the stranger pulled off his coat, bared his shoulder, and showed the peasant the bean.

"Good God!" cried the old man. "You really are my son!" And love for his child stirred in his heart. "But," he added, "how can you be my son? You have become a great lord and live in wealth and luxury.

How did you manage that?" "Ah, father," answered the son, "the young tree was bound to no stake and grew crooked. Now it is too old; it will never be straight again. How did I get all this? I have become a thief! But don't be alarmed – I am a master-thief.

For me there are neither locks nor bolts. Whatever I desire is mine. Don't think I steal like a common thief. I only take some of the surplus from the rich. Poor people are safe – I would rather give to them than take from them.

And anything I can get without trouble, cunning, and skill, I never touch." "Alas, my son," said the father, "that still does not please me. A thief is still a thief. I tell you, it will end badly." He took him to his mother, and when she heard that it was her son, she wept for joy.

But when he told her that he had become a master-thief, two streams flowed down her face. At last she said, "Even if he has become a thief, he is still my son, and my eyes have seen him once more." They sat down to table, and once again he ate with his parents the humble food he had not eaten for so long.

The father said, "If our lord, the count up there in the castle, learns who you are and what trade you follow, he will not take you in his arms and cradle you as he did when he held you at the font.

He will have you swinging from a noose." "Don't worry, father, he will do me no harm, for I understand my trade. I will go to him myself this very day." When evening came, the master-thief seated himself in his carriage and drove to the castle.

The count received him politely, because he took him for an important man. But when the stranger made himself known, the count turned pale and was silent for a while. At last he said, "You are my godson, and for that reason mercy shall take the place of justice.

I will deal leniently with you. Since you pride yourself on being a master-thief, I will put your art to the test. But if you do not pass the test, you must marry the rope-maker's daughter, and the croaking of the raven will be your wedding music." "Lord Count," answered the master-thief, "think of three tasks, as difficult as you like, and if I do not carry them out, do with me what you will." The count thought for a few minutes and then said, "Well then, first, you must steal the horse I ride myself out of the stable.

Second, you must steal the sheet from under my wife and me while we sleep, without our noticing, and also my wife's wedding ring. Third and last, you must steal the parson and the clerk out of the church. Mark what I say, for your life depends on it."

The master-thief went to the nearest town. There he bought the clothes of an old peasant woman and put them on. Then he stained his face brown and painted wrinkles on it, so that no one could have recognized him.

Then he filled a small cask with old Hungarian wine mixed with a powerful sleeping potion. He put the cask in a basket, which he took on his back, and walked with slow, tottering steps to the count's castle. It was already dark when he arrived.

He sat down on a stone in the courtyard and began to cough like an asthmatic old woman, and to rub his hands as if he were cold. In front of the stable door, some soldiers were lying around a fire.

One of them noticed the woman and called out to her, "Come closer, old mother, and warm yourself by us. After all, you have no bed for the night, and must take one where you can find it." The old woman tottered up to them, asked them to lift the basket from her back, and sat down beside them at the fire.

"What have you got in your little cask, old lady?" asked one. "A good mouthful of wine," she answered. "I live by trade. For money and fair words, I am ready to let you have a glass." "Let us have it here, then," said the soldier.

When he had tasted one glass, he said, "When wine is good, I like another glass," and had another poured for himself, and the rest followed his example. "Hey, comrades!" cried one of them to those who were inside the stable.

"Here is an old woman who has wine as old as herself. Take a drink – it will warm your stomachs far better than our fire." The old woman carried her cask into the stable.

One of the soldiers had seated himself on the saddled riding horse, another held its bridle in his hand, and a third had grabbed its tail. She poured out as much as they wanted until the cask ran dry.

It was not long before the bridle fell from the first soldier's hand, and he fell down and began to snore. The next let go of the tail, lay down, and snored even louder. The one who was sitting in the saddle remained sitting, but bent his head almost down to the horse's neck and slept, blowing with his mouth like a blacksmith's bellows.

The soldiers outside had already been asleep for a long time and lay motionless on the ground as if dead. When the master-thief saw that he had succeeded, he gave the first soldier a rope in his hand instead of the bridle, and the one who had been holding the tail a wisp of straw.

But what was he to do with the soldier sitting on the horse? He did not want to throw him down, for he might have awakened and shouted. He had a good idea. He unbuckled the girths of the saddle, tied a couple of ropes that were hanging on a ring in the wall fast to the saddle, and drew the sleeping rider up into the air on it.

Then he twisted the rope around the posts and made it fast. He quickly unloosed the horse from the chain, but if he had ridden over the stone pavement of the yard, the noise would have been heard in the castle.

So he wrapped the horse's hooves in old rags, led it carefully out, leaped onto it, and galloped off.

When day broke, the master galloped to the castle on the stolen horse. The count had just gotten up and was looking out the window. "Good morning, Sir Count!" he cried to him. "Here is the horse I got safely out of the stable!

Just see how beautifully your soldiers are lying there sleeping. And if you go into the stable, you will see how comfortable your watchers have made themselves." The count could not help laughing. Then he said, "You have succeeded this time, but things won't go so well the second time.

I warn you that if you come before me as a thief, I will handle you as I would a thief." When the countess went to bed that night, she closed her hand with the wedding ring tightly together, and the count said, "All the doors are locked and bolted.

I will stay awake and wait for the thief, but if he comes in through the window, I will shoot him." The master-thief, however, went in the dark to the gallows, cut down a poor sinner who was hanging there, and carried him on his back to the castle.

Then he set a ladder up to the bedroom, put the dead body on his shoulders, and began to climb. When he had gotten high enough that the dead man's head showed at the window, the count, who was watching in his bed, fired a pistol at him.

Immediately the master let the poor sinner fall down and hid in a corner. The night was bright enough with moonlight for the master to see clearly how the count got out of the window onto the ladder, came down, carried the dead body into the garden, and began to dig a hole to bury it.

"Now," thought the thief, "the right moment has come." He stole nimbly out of his corner, climbed up the ladder straight into the countess's bedroom. "Dear wife," he began in the count's voice, "the thief is dead.

But after all, he is my godson and was more of a scapegrace than a villain. I will not put him to open shame. Besides, I feel sorry for his parents. I will bury him myself before daybreak in the garden so that the matter may not become known.

So give me the sheet – I will wrap the body in it and bury him as a dog buries things by scratching." The countess gave him the sheet. "I tell you what," continued the thief, "I feel generous today. Give me the ring too.

The unhappy man risked his life for it, so he may take it with him into his grave." She did not want to contradict the count, and although she did it unwillingly, she drew the ring from her finger and gave it to him.

The thief made off with both things and reached home safely before the count in the garden had finished his work of burying.

What a long face the count pulled when the master came the next morning and brought him the sheet and the ring! "Are you a wizard?" he said. "Who fetched 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 the poor sinner from the gallows." And he told him exactly how everything had happened.

The count was forced to admit that he was a clever, crafty thief. "But you have not yet reached the end," he added. "You still have the third task. If you do not succeed in that, all is for nothing." The master smiled and gave no answer.

When night had fallen, he went with a long sack on his back, a bundle under his arm, and a lantern in his hand to the village church. In the sack he had some crabs, and in the bundle short wax candles.

He sat down in the churchyard, took out a crab, and stuck a wax candle on its back. Then he lit the little light, put the crab on the ground, and let it crawl about.

He took a second out of the sack, treated it the same way, and so on until the last one was out of the sack. Then he put on a long black garment that looked like a monk's cowl, and stuck a gray beard on his chin.

When he was quite unrecognizable, he took the sack in which the crabs had been, went into the church, and climbed up into the pulpit. The clock in the tower was just striking twelve. When the last stroke had sounded, he cried with a loud and piercing voice, "Listen, sinful men!

The end of all things has come! The last day is at hand! Listen! Listen! Whoever wishes to go to heaven with me must creep into this sack. I am Saint Peter, who opens and shuts the gate of heaven.

See how the dead outside in the churchyard are wandering about, collecting their bones. Come, come, and creep into the sack! The world is about to be destroyed!" The cry echoed through the whole village. The parson and the clerk, who lived nearest to the church, heard it first.

When they saw the lights moving about the churchyard, they realized that something unusual was going on and went into the church. They listened to the sermon for a while, and then the clerk nudged the parson and said, "It would not be a bad idea if we took the opportunity together, and before the dawn of the last day, found an easy way to get to heaven." "To tell the truth," answered the parson, "that is what I have been thinking myself.

So if you are willing, we will set out on our way." "Yes," answered the clerk, "but you, the pastor, go first. I will follow." So the parson went first and climbed up to the pulpit, where the master opened his sack. The parson crept in first, and then the clerk.

The master immediately tied the sack tightly, seized it by the middle, and dragged it down the pulpit steps. Whenever the heads of the two fools bumped against the steps, he cried, "We are going over the mountains!" Then he dragged them through the village in the same way.

When they passed through puddles, he cried, "Now we are going through wet clouds!" And when at last he dragged them up the steps of the castle, he cried, "Now we are on the steps of heaven and will soon be in the outer court!" When he had reached the top, he pushed the sack into the pigeon house.

When the pigeons fluttered about, he said, "Listen how glad the angels are, and how they flap their wings!" Then he bolted the door on them and went away.

The next morning he went to the count and told him he had performed the third task and had carried the parson and clerk out of the church. "Where have you left them?" asked the lord.

"They are lying upstairs in a sack in the pigeon house, and they imagine they are in heaven." The count went up himself and saw that the master had told the truth. When he had freed the parson and clerk from their captivity, he said, "You are an arch-thief and have won your wager.

For once you escape with a whole skin, but see that you leave my land. If you ever set foot on it again, you can count on being hanged." The arch-thief took leave of his parents, once more went out into the wide world, and no one has ever heard of him since.