Hotzenplotz beamed with delight. He had an idea. He took a pinch of snuff and sneezed. Then he said: “Couldn’t we do a deal?”
“A deal?” asked Zackleman.
“Yes,” said Hotzenplotz, “with your snuff.”
Zackleman wrinkled up his nose. “What can you offer me?” he asked. “Don’t you know I’m rolling in riches?”
“Who said anything about money?” inquired Hotzenplotz. “I can offer you something much better than money. Guess!”
Petrosilius Zackleman frowned heavily and thought hard.
Hotzenplotz waited for a few minutes. Then he said: “Shall I give you a hint? It’s something you’ve been wanting for a long time. Something you just couldn’t find.”
“Something I’ve been wanting for a long time. Something I just couldn’t find.” The great magician pricked up his ears. “Is it—could it be a new book of magic?”
“No, it’s a servant!”
“What?” cried the great magician Petrosilius Zackleman. “Really? A servant! But is he stupid enough?”
“As stupid as they come,” said the robber Hotzenplotz.
“And where have you got him?”
“In this sack here.”
Hotzenplotz undid the string of the sack. The sack fell to the ground. Kasperl popped out with Seppel’s hat on his head.
Petrosilius Zackleman snapped his fingers. His glasses appeared by magic.
He put them on his nose and looked Kasperl up and down. Kasperl looked as stupid as he could.
“Is he as stupid as he looks?” asked the great magician Petrosilius Zackleman.
“Every bit as stupid,” said Hotzenplotz.
“Good,” said Zackleman. “Very good. What’s his name?”
“Seppel.”
“Aha. Well, Seppel, you’re hired. Can you peel potatoes?”
“Of course, Mr. Saggleman,” said Kasperl.
Petrosilius Zackleman flew into a temper.
“Say my name wrong, would you?” he cried furiously. “What’s more, I’m not just Mister. You are to call me ‘Great Magician Petrosilius Zackleman.’ Remember that!”
“Very well, Great Magician Zeprodilius Woggleswan,” said Kasperl innocently.
“Thunder and lightning!”
The great magician seized Kasperl by the collar and gave him a good shaking.
“Do you think I’m going to let you make fun of me? Do you want me to turn you into a monkey on the spot? Or a worm?”
Petrosilius Zackleman snapped his fingers—and lo and behold! His magic wand flew to his hand! But the robber Hotzenplotz did not want him to cast a spell on Kasperl. He caught Zackleman’s arm and calmed him down.
“Seppel isn’t getting your name wrong on purpose, old friend,” he explained. “He just can’t remember it. He’s too stupid.”
“Is that so?” said Petrosilius Zackleman. Then he laughed. “Hotzenplotz!” he cried. “I can’t tell you how happy I am. I’m delighted with this Seppel of yours. He might have been made for me! I’ll take him straight to the kitchen; he can start peeling potatoes. Then you and I will fix the price at our leisure.”
“I’d rather fix it now,” said the robber Hotzenplotz.
“All right. I’ll give you—shall we say, half a sack of snuff?”
“Half a sack?” replied Hotzenplotz. “That’s not much for a whole servant.”
“Very well,” said Petrosilius Zackleman. “You can have a whole sack. Done?”
He offered Hotzenplotz his hand.
“Done!” said Hotzenplotz, shaking hands. “Seppel’s yours—now you can do whatever you like with him.”
Kasperl spent the rest of the day peeling potatoes in the kitchen of Zackleman’s castle. The wicked magician just couldn’t have enough of those potatoes—the first potatoes he had not had to peel for himself. At dinner time he devoured seven helpings of mashed potatoes, and for supper he ate six and a half dozen potato dumplings with onion sauce. No wonder he was in a very good mood that evening.
At last he got up from the table and clapped Kasperl on the shoulder in a friendly way.
“That will do for today,” he said. “Now I’ll show you where you sleep. Follow me, Seppel!”
Kasperl followed the great magician Petrosilius Zackleman across the hall into a small room where there was an empty bedstead and a washstand.
“This is your bedroom, Seppel,” said the magician. “You will sleep here.”
“Here? On the empty bedstead?” asked Kasperl.
“Just wait a minute!” said Petrosilius Zackleman.
He snapped his fingers. A thick straw mattress appeared on the iron bedstead. How it had come there Kasperl couldn’t say. Zackleman snapped his fingers a second time, a third time and a fourth time. Now the bed had a sheet, a pillow and a quilt too.
“There, that will do,” said the great magician. “I’m going to bed now. Good night, Seppel!”
“Good night, Great Magician Eprolisius Dagglepan.”
Zackleman went away. His bedroom was in the turret of the castle, five floors up. However, Kasperl’s room, like the kitchen, was on the ground floor. When he looked out of the window he could see the kitchen garden. Behind the kitchen garden lay the wood.
And the window. . . ?
The window was not barred, and it opened from inside.
“Not so bad!” thought Kasperl. “It looks as though the great magician will be peeling his own potatoes again tomorrow.”
Kasperl waited until it was quite dark outside.
He wanted to set his friend Seppel free as soon as possible after his escape. He would soon think how. The first thing was to get away from the castle.
Was Petrosilius Zackleman asleep yet?
Kasperl crept cautiously out of the window into the kitchen garden. He looked up at the castle. There were no lights; nothing was stirring. Good!
The garden fence was not particularly high. Yet when Kasperl tried to climb it a surprising thing happened. Someone seized his coat and his collar from behind and flung him back. Kasperl landed on his bottom, rather hard.
Who had grabbed him? Was it the wicked magician Petrosilius Zackleman in person? Kasperl looked anxiously around, but there was no one at all in the kitchen garden.
“It must have been a trick,” thought Kasperl. “I’ll have another shot. I’ll try a different place this time.”
No sooner said than done.
Kasperl picked himself up and walked a few paces backwards. Then he took a run at the garden fence. He meant to swing himself over—but he failed again! This time someone collared him and hurled him back so hard that he plumped down on the ground like a sack of flour.
For a few minutes Kasperl lay where he had fallen—in the middle of Petrosilius Zackleman’s parsley bed. He strained his ears, but there was nothing moving.
“Psst!” said Kasperl. “Is there anybody there?”
No answer.
“If there’s anybody there, speak up!”
Everything was perfectly quiet. There was no sound but the rustle of leaves on the other side of the fence.
“I must have imagined it,” thought Kasperl. “I’ll have a third try . . . I don’t feel much like climbing over the fence now. I’ll creep under it.”
Kasperl crawled along the fence on hands and knees, looking for a gap. There was a loose board here! He could push it aside. The gap was big enough to let him through.
“Good!” thought Kasperl. He was going to crawl under the fence. But his luck was still out. Someone grabbed his feet and roughly dragged him away. There was more to come.
Suddenly there was a loud bang, and Kasperl had his ears boxed so hard that he cried out in dismay.
His yell awakened the great magician Petrosilius Zackleman. Petrosilius Zackleman put the light on and peered out of his bedroom window on the fifth floor. He was wearing a nightcap.
“Oho,” he cried, “what’s this I hear? What’s this I see? Seppel’s trying to escape! Well, well, what a si
lly thing to do, Seppel! You’ll never be able to escape from my enchanted castle. If you want to leave, either you need my permission—and I’ll never give it to you—or you’ll get exactly what you got just now. Go to bed, Seppel, and kindly don’t disturb my beauty sleep any more—or else. . .”
A flash of lightning sizzled down and darted into the ground, inches away from Kasperl’s toes. Kasperl was horribly frightened. In the castle turret, five floors up, the great magician Petrosilius Zackleman slammed the window shut with a mocking laugh.
Next morning Kasperl had to cook the magician a great cauldron full of potatoes. Zackleman never once laid down his spoon until the cauldron was empty. Then he wiped his mouth contentedly with the corner of his magic robe.
“What about me?” asked Kasperl, disappointed. He had hoped that Zackleman would leave him a few potatoes.
“Don’t worry, my good fellow!”
The magician snapped his fingers. A loaf of bread, some butter and a hunk of cheese appeared by magic.
“That’s for you, Seppel,” he said. “But don’t start eating yet. I’ve got something to say to you.”
He cleared his throat.
“I shall have to leave you on your own today,” he began. “I’m going to see another magician in Buxtehude. I shan’t be back till late in the evening. If you feel hungry, go to the larder, and take what you want. The rest of the time you’re to work. Now listen carefully. This is what you have to do. First, peel six buckets full of potatoes and cut them into small pieces for supper. Second, saw up three loads of wood, split the logs and stack them. Third, scrub the kitchen floor. Fourth, dig the empty beds of earth in the kitchen garden. Repeat that!”
“Just as you say, Great Magician Spectrobilius Zigglespawn!” said Kasperl. He had decided to behave as stupidly as possible in future. He wanted to infuriate Zackleman. Perhaps the magician would get angry enough to kick Kasperl out of the castle.
So now Kasperl looked as if he were racking his brains. He rolled his eyes and scratched his head. Petrosilius Zackleman watched him for some time. Then he lost patience.
“Come along, come along!” he cried. “Can’t you see I’m in a hurry? Open your mouth and tell me what you’re supposed to do.”
“What I’m to do?” said Kasperl. “I must . . . Dear me, whatever was it now? I had it on the tip of my tongue a moment ago. But now . . . wait a minute, I think I’ve got it.”
Kasperl pushed Seppel’s hat back on his head.
“First, saw up six buckets full of potatoes, split them and stack them. Second, scrub three loads of wood. Third, peel the kitchen floor and cut it into small pieces for supper. Fourth . . .”
“Shut up!” cried the great magician Petrosilius Zackleman. “Stop talking rubbish! Stop it at once!”
Kasperl looked very surprised.
“Stop?” he asked. “Why?”
“You’re muddling everything up. You’ve got it all wrong. Now, start again at the beginning!”
“Certainly, Great Magician Reprozilius Ficklespun! First, dig six buckets full of potatoes. Second, saw up the kitchen floor, split it and stack it. Third, scrub the empty beds of earth in the kitchen garden. Fourth . . . Now, what was fourth?”
“Nonsense!” shouted Petrosilius Zackleman. “Utter nonsense!”
“Why?” asked Kasperl.
“Why? Because you’re stupid, that’s why.” Petrosilius Zackleman tapped his forehead. “Thick as a brick, that’s your trouble. You can’t even remember the simplest instructions. You’re driving me mad! Stark raving mad!”
The great magician stamped his foot in a rage.
“This is it!” thought Kasperl. “Now he’ll throw me out!”
But no.
The great magician Zackleman did not throw him out. He needed him. He snapped his fingers, and a bottle full of a dark liquid appeared by magic.
A drink from the bottle calmed him down.
“You’re a blockhead, Seppel!” he said. “Well, it may be maddening in some ways, but there’s no denying it has its advantages. Now—if you peel six buckets full of potatoes by this evening, that will do. Peel them and cut them into small pieces, understand? I want fried potatoes for supper. You needn’t do the rest of the work, you’re too stupid. There—and now I must hurry, or my friend in Buxtehude will think I’ve forgotten him.”
The great magician Petrosilius Zackleman hurried up to the platform on top of the castle turret. He spread his flowing magic robe on the floor. It was embroidered with red and yellow magic symbols. He sat down in the middle of the robe and recited a spell. The robe flew up in the air with him and carried him to Buxtehude.
As for Kasperl, when he had finished his bread and cheese, he set to work. He sat in the castle kitchen, peeling potatoes and thinking things over.
Most of all he thought about Seppel. Before they left the cave yesterday, the robber Hotzenplotz had chained Seppel to the wall by his left foot. He was left in the darkest corner of the cave, lying between the barrel of gunpowder and the barrel of pepper.
Was he still there, chained up, lying on the cold stone floor?
“Old Hotzenplotz might at least have given him a blanket or a bit of straw!” thought Kasperl.
The more Kasperl thought about it, the more he longed to know what had been happening to Seppel in the robber’s cave. . .
For hours on end Seppel lay all alone in the robber’s dark cave. Only the chain around his foot kept him from running away. But the chain would not come out of the wall. He shook it and tugged it with all his might, but it was no good. The chain was firmly fixed.
Toward evening Hotzenplotz came striding home again. He tipped the sack of snuff off his shoulder, flung his hat and coat into a corner and lit a candle.
“Well, Kasperl,” he said, “you’ve been lounging here all day. Now you’re going to work.”
First Seppel had to take off the robber Hotzenplotz’s dirty boots. Then Hotzenplotz unchained him.
“Go and light a fire on the hearth. I got myself a fat goose on the way home. When the fire’s going, pluck the goose and pop it on the spit. I like it nice and crisp all over, and take care not to burn it! Meanwhile I’ll make myself comfortable and put on my dressing gown.”
Seppel plucked the goose and roasted it. The smell of the roasting fowl rose to his nostrils as he turned the spit. He had eaten nothing since breakfast; he felt quite weak with hunger. Would the robber Hotzenplotz leave a morsel for him?
The robber Hotzenplotz, however, intended to do no such thing! When the goose was done, he cried “Supper time!” Then he gobbled up the delicious goose, while Seppel went hungry. There wasn’t so much as a bone left for Seppel to gnaw.
“Mm—that tasted good!” said the robber Hotzenplotz with a belch when he had finished. “Now I could do with a cup of coffee. . .”
He went to his cupboard and took out a coffee mill. It was Grandmother’s coffee mill! He filled it with coffee beans.
“There!” he said to Seppel. “Grind the coffee.”
So Seppel had to grind coffee for Hotzenplotz in Grandmother’s coffee mill. When he turned the handle the coffee mill played “Nuts in May.”
That hurt—it hurt worse than anything else that had happened this unlucky day.
“What’s the matter with you?” asked the robber Hotzenplotz, seeing tears spring to poor Seppel’s eyes. “You look so sad, Kasperl. That won’t do! Wait a minute—I’ll cheer you up!”
He tore the pointed cap from Seppel’s head.
“I don’t like you in that silly cap. It doesn’t suit you. There it goes!” He flung the cap into the fire and let it burn.
“Isn’t that funny?” he cried. “I’m killing myself laughing!”
Hotzenplotz roared with laughter. Seppel cried. He was still crying as he finished grinding the coffee, while Grandmother’s coffee mill played “Nuts in May.”
After that, Seppel had to clean and polish the robber’s boots. Then he was chained up again. Hotzenplotz lay down
and blew out the candle.
Half the night Seppel couldn’t close his eyes. He felt so sad and homesick. He lay on the cold stone floor in between the barrel of gunpowder and the barrel of pepper, thinking about Kasperl.
What would Kasperl say when he heard that the robber Hotzenplotz had burned his pointed cap? Or would Kasperl ever hear about it at all?
“Oh dear me,” sighed Seppel. “What a dreadful mess we’re in, me and poor Kasperl.”
In the end he fell asleep. He dreamed of Kasperl and Grandmother. They were sitting in Grandmother’s house having coffee and pie—plum pie, of course—with whipped cream. Kasperl was wearing his pointed cap, and everything was all right and everyone was happy. There was no chain around Seppel’s foot, no robber’s cave, and no Hotzenplotz.
If only his dream need never come to an end!
But it did come to an end, far too soon for poor Seppel. At six o’clock sharp in the morning the robber Hotzenplotz woke up. He roused Seppel.
“Hey, lazybones!” he cried. “Get up! It’s time to start work.”
There was coffee to grind, wood to chop, a fire to be lit. Then Hotzenplotz devoured his breakfast while Seppel had to stand by and watch. Breakfast had to be cleared away; then there was water to fetch, and dishes to wash. After that, Seppel had to turn the grindstone while Hotzenplotz sharpened his curved sword and his seven knives.
“Get a move on, slowcoach!” shouted the robber. “This is a grindstone, not a barrel organ! Faster, faster!”
When all the knives were sharpened, Seppel had to creep back to his corner and be chained up. Then the robber Hotzenplotz threw him a stale crust of bread.
“There—eat that, Kasperl, just so you don’t starve to death. I’m going to work now, the same as every day. You can take it easy and get some rest. You’ll have to work all the harder for me when I come home this evening! Why should you have a better time than your friend Seppel is having with the wicked magician Petrosilius Zackleman?”
With that he left the robber’s cave and shut the door behind him.
The Robber Hotzenplotz Page 3
