Clever Grethel
There was once a cook, and her name was Grethel. She wore shoes with red rosettes on them, and when she went walking in these shoes she would turn herself this way and that, saying: “Well I never, you are a handsome creature!”
At night as she combed her hair in the glass she would say: “My! so there you are!” And they called her “clever Grethel.”
Whenever after a walk she came home to her master’s house again, she would always take a little sippet of wine. “You see, Grethel, my dear, it makes the tongue able to taste better,” she would say. “And what’s a cook without a tongue?” In fact, Grethel kept her tongue very busy, nibbling and tasting.
Now one day her master said to her: “I have a guest coming this evening, Grethel, and a guest that knows what’s what, and I want you to roast us a pair of fowls for supper. Two, mind you, young and tender. And I want ’em roasted to a turn.”
Grethel said: “Why, yes, master. They shall taste so good you won’t know what you’re eating.”
So she killed two fowls, scalded and plucked them, tucked in their legs with a little bit of liver in between, stuffed them with stuffing, and towards evening put them down to a clear, red fire to roast. She basted and basted them, and when they were done to a turn and smelt sweet as Arabia, and their breasts were a rich, clear, delicate brown, Grethel called out to her master:
“If that guest of yours don’t come soon, master, I shall have to take the fowls away from the fire. And I warn you, they will be utterly spoilt, for they are just at their juiciest.”
Her master said: “So, so! I will run out and see if he is coming.”
As soon as her master had turned his back, Grethel thought to herself she would have another sip of something to drink. Having had one sip, she took another sip, and then another. Then she basted the fowls again, and twisted the spit. She puffed with the heat, the fire blazing in her face. Suddenly, as she stood looking at the fowls, she thought to herself: “Now cooking’s cooking! I shouldn’t wonder if them birds taste as good as they smell. Oh, oh, oh! It’s a sin. It’s a shame!”
Then she looked out of the window; and when she saw that nobody was coming, she said to herself: “There! what did I tell you? And lawks! one of the wings is burning.” So she cut off the wing with a twist of her sharp knife, and holding it between her finger and thumb, ate every scrap of it up, to the very bone.
Then, “Dear me,” she sighed to herself, looking at the chicken, “that one wing left looks like another wing missing!” So she ate up the other. Then she took another sip of wine, and once more looked at the fowls.
“Now think what a sad thing,” she said. “Once those two poor hens were sisters, and you couldn’t tell ’em apart. But now look at them: one whole and the other nowt but legs!” So she gobbled up the wings of the other chicken to make the pair look more alike. And still her master did not come. Then said she to herself:
“Lor’, Grethel, my dear, why worry? There won’t be any guest to-night. He has forgotten all about it. And master can have some nice dry bread and cheese.” With that she ate up completely one of the chickens, skin, stuffing, gravy and all, and then, seeing how sad and lonely the other looked all by itself with its legs sticking up in the air and both its wings gone, she finished off that too.
She was picking the last sweet morsel off its wishbone when her master came running into the kitchen, and cried: “Quick, Grethel! Dish up! dish up! Our guest has just turned the corner.”
At this moment she was standing in front of the fire in her fine shoes and great cooking apron, and she looked over her shoulder at her master. But he at once rushed out to see if the table was ready, and the wine on it; snatched up the great carving-knife, and began to sharpen it on the doorstep.
Pretty soon after, the guest came to the door and knocked. Grethel ran softly out, caught him by the sleeve, pushed him out of the porch, pressed her finger on her lips, and whispered: “Ssh! Ssh! on your life! Listen, now, and be off, I beseech you! My poor master has gone clean out of his senses at your being so late. Mad! mad! If he catches you, he will cut your ears off. Hark now! He is sharpening his knife on the doorstep!”
At this the guest turned pale as ashes, and hearing the steady rasping of the knife on the stone, ran off down the street as fast as his legs could carry him. As soon as he was out of sight, Grethel hastened back to her master.
“La, master!” she said, “you’ve asked a nice fine guest to supper!”
“Why,” says he, looking up with the knife in his hand, “what’s wrong with him?”
“Wrong!” says she. “Why, he had scarce put his nose in at the door, when he gives a sniff. ‘What! chicken!’ says he, ‘roast chicken!’ And away he rushed into the kitchen, snatched up my two poor beeootiful birds, and without even waiting for the dish or the gravy, ran off with them down the street.”
“This very minute!” said Grethel. “Both?” said her master. “Both,” said she.
“Heaven save us!” said her master. “Then I shall have nothing for supper!” And off he ran in chase of his guest, as fast as he could pelt, crying out as he did so:
“Hi, there! Stop! Stop! Hi! Just one! Just one! Only one!”
But the guest, hearing these words, and supposing that the madman behind him with his long knife meant one of his ears, ran on faster than ever into the darkness of the night.
And Grethel sat down, happy and satisfied. She gave one deep sigh, looked solemnly at the two bright red rosettes on her shoes, and had another sip or two of wine.
