The Musicians
Once upon a time, there was a poor old ass. After toiling for eighteen years carrying meal for his master, who was a miller, he was now nothing much better than a bag of bones. And one cold, frosty night, as he was standing close up beside the mill to get a little warmth from the wall behind which was the kitchen fire, he heard the miller say to his wife:
“The old ass must go, my love. He’s been a good servant, but now he’s long past his prime. Why, he doesn’t even earn his keep. He’s not worth a ha’penny-more than his skin.”
“If skin it is,” said his wife, “then skin it must be. We’ll make an end of him tomorrow.”
The old ass shivered as he heard these words; his old knobble knees shook under him; but he didn’t wait for morning. Not he. He set out at once, thinking to himself: “Whatever happens to me now, it can’t be worse than a skinning.” And because it chanced to be the first road he came to after leaving the mill, he chose the road that leads to Bremen.
An hour or two after daybreak, he came on his journey to an ancient stone Cross, green with moss and grey with lichen; and stretched out beneath it lay an old hound. This hound told the ass that he had run away from his master, who was a huntsman.
“After serving him all my life long I heard him say only two days ago that my scent and wind were gone, that I wasn’t worth a beef-bone, and that all I was good for was to make cat’s-meat of me.”
“Well,” said the donkey, “to tell you the truth, sir, I am in much the same case myself. But, as you see, I can still bray a little; and you, I am sure, can raise an honest howl if need be. Let us, then, journey on to Bremen together—the two of us—and join the town band. I have heard they are fine musicians, and I am sure we shall be welcome.”
So they went on together. But they had not gone more than a mile or two—and pretty slow they were at it—when what should they see but an old grey tabby cat, sitting up with her toes tucked in on an orchard wall in the sun, and with a face as long as three rainy days in December.
“A very good-morning to you, madam,” said the ass. “You are not looking so bright as might be.”
“Bright!” said the cat. “Nor would you be. The very instant my mistress can catch me, she’s going to drown me. And why?—because I am old and worn out—worn out with mousing for her and singing under her window. Night after night I have amused her with my purring when she wanted company, played games with her with her knitting, and shown her every affection. But no pity! no mercy! Ay, my friends, it’s a string and a stone for me tomorrow; and I’m basking in this warm sunshine while I can.”
“They are all of them like that,” said the old hound.
“Most; but not all,” said the ass. “Now, pray listen to me, madam. My friend, here, and I have a plan. We are off to Bremen to join the town band. I’ll be bound you can still pipe up a stave or two when a full moon’s up aloft. There are, I am told, very good—or, at least, very fair—musicians in Bremen. Come with us, then, and we will all three go together. I doubt if the good people of Bremen have ever had such a chance before.”
So these three old creatures journeyed on together, and pretty slowly the miles went by, for it was a long way to trudge. Indeed, without knowing it, they had lost themselves for some time past, when they came to a tumbledown shed near a duck-pond. And there, perched on the roof of the shed, was an old barn-door cock. This old cock, all ruffled and woebegone, looked even more doleful than the cat. The ass politely asked him the way to Bremen, and the cock told them that they were at least five miles out of it.
“As for me,” he said, “the only way I want is to a better world. My master, the Farmer yonder, says I’m no use to him now, though I have kept watch over his hens and his eggs ever since my spurs began to sprout. Not a midnight has passed, summer or winter, but I’ve warned him it would soon be time for him to get up. And who dares venture into the farmyard while I guard his dunghill! But no: all forgotten! No mercy! He’s going to wring my neck to-morrow. And my poor old bones are not even marrowy enough to be worth broiling for his supper!”
“They are all like that,” said the hound.
“Most; but not all,” said the ass. “And I’ll wager, Master Chanticleer, that you can still yell cockadoodle when dawn’s in the East.”
“Why, so!” said the cock, at once preening himself a little out of his dumps. And softly, lest the Farmer should hear him, he flapped his sheeny wings and crowed “Cockadoodle-oo-doo!”
The ass said: “Bravo, friend! A true note; a shrill high mellow note; an excellent note. Come along with us, sir! We are all off to Bremen to join the town band. One’s one. Two’s two. Three’s three. But four’s a Quartette!”
So off they went together. But being all of them old, feeble, and in strange parts, they once more lost their way. Worse, it was now pitch-dark, and there was no shelter to be seen. So, after they had talked things over, the old cock flew up into a fir tree that stood nearby, and after a little while he called down to them and said: “With my round eye I see the twinkling of a light.”
So on they went once more, but with great caution, and presently came to a fine stone house beside a stream. And a marvellous bright light was shining in its lower windows.
They whispered together in the dark, and at last the old cat crept off, and soft as a shadow leapt up clean on to the window-sill and looked in through the glass. When she came back, she told her friends that there was a great feast going on within—a blazing fire and hosts of candles, and a table laden with food—pies, and game, and wines, and sweetmeats.
“I could scarcely see out of my eyes for the glare,” she said. “Ay, and they must be robbers, for the tables and chairs are piled up with gold and silver dishes and goblets, and there is a huge burst bag of money on the floor. Never have I seen such a sight!”
“Well,” said the ass, “I must confess, friends, I could munch up a loaf of fine white bread. Ay, and say grace after it.”
The old hound’s mouth watered as he thought of chicken bones; and Grimalkin’s whiskers twitched with rapture at the memory not only of the rich soup and cream she had seen on the table, but, above all, a dish of boned, broiled fish.
Then the cock said: “Let’s give them a stave of our music, my friends. Perhaps, robbers though they be, and though they may all live to be hanged, they might spare us a bite of supper.”
So all four of them, in utter silence, crept up as close as might be beneath the window. Then the old hound leapt up and sat on the donkey’s back; the cat leapt up and sat on the hound’s back; and last, the cock flew up and perched on the cat’s back, so that the sound of their voices when they gave vent together should fall as one on the ears of the robbers, and not part by part.
Then, at a signal, they all burst into song. In the dead silence of night the sudden noise and clamour of their voices was like the yelling of four score demons out of a pit. At sound of it the robbers leapt from their chairs in terror, and, supposing a whole regiment at least of the King’s soldiers were after them, made such haste to be gone that they overturned the lights, and, except for the blazing of the fire, left the whole house in darkness.
So our four companions went in, sat down merrily together at the table and feasted as if they were never going to taste bite or sup again. But first the ass drew the curtains over the window. And when they had finished their supper—which was not too soon—these old minstrels, who were now fast friends indeed, bade each other good-night.
The ass made himself snug and cosy on some bundles of straw in the yard; the hound lay down behind the door; the cat curled herself up head to tail in the warm ashes; and the cock flew up on to the curtain rod—there to roost till morning. Soon, in good comfort after the feast they had shared, they were all four of them fast asleep.
About midnight, the robbers, having at last taken courage again, crept back to the house to get their plunder, and seeing that no light now shone in the windows, and that all within was still as the grave, the Captain of the robbers bade one of his men make his way into the house and see exactly what had befallen and what he could find.
Quaking with terror, the robber crept softly in at the window. It was warm within, but pitch-dark; and supposing that the bright green eyes of the cat, as she glared up at him, were coals smouldering in the fire, he stooped down to light a candle. But puss thought this a very poor joke, and squealing with fury, spitting and scratching and claws on end, leapt straight up into his face. A fine mauling he got.
Half-scared out of his wits, the robber ran to the door and, stumbling over the hound, fell headlong, whereupon the hound sprang up, and with the few teeth left in his head bit clean through his leg. The robber rushed across the yard into the straw, and so fell pell-mell over the ass, who gave him in return a mighty smart kick with his hoof. At this the cock on the curtain rod, who had been at once awakened by the din, flew down from his roosting-place and yelled after him as he had never yelled before.
So the robber fled back to his Captain and cried, “Away, Captain, away! There’s a witch in the house! With eyes like saucers and talons like hooks! She spat at me and scravelled at me with her claws. By the door was an assassin with a knife, who stabbed me in the leg; and in the yard is a foul, four-handed monster that beat me with a club. Then a demon out of the clouds pursued me, yelling, ‘Death to the Robbers! Death to the Robbers!’ and I have but just escaped with my life.”
This band of rascals never ventured near that house again. And it proved so snug and comfortable that the four friends decided not to go on to Bremen yet awhile, but, living there at ease, to practise their singing and their minstrelsy first. Morning and evening they raise their voices together, and a mighty fine music they make. And if ever you should happen to go that way, and should come to a fine stone house in a forest beside a stream, maybe you will hear sweet strains at the window as they sing their quartette.
