When Kasperl had peeled three buckets full of potatoes he stopped for a rest. He put down his knife, wiped his wet hands on his trousers, and then he went to see what he could find to eat in the magician’s larder. It must be nearly dinner time, and he was feeling hungry.
The first thing that met his eyes was a jar of pickled gherkins.
“People say sour food makes you merry!” he thought. “This should be the right stuff for me then!”
Kasperl ate three gherkins. After that he felt much better. He tasted all the different pots of jam that stood side by side on the shelf. Then he drank a glass of buttermilk, and finally he cut himself a slice of salami sausage. Zackleman had sausages and ham in his larder, too—all kinds of sausages were hanging from the ceiling, long ones and short ones, thin ones and fat ones. All Kasperl had to do was reach out his hand.
“It’s like fairyland!” thought Kasperl.
But as he stood there gaping at the sausages he suddenly heard a deep sobbing sound.
“Boo-hooo!”
Kasperl was terror-stricken. Wasn’t he alone in the enchanted castle after all? Was there someone else here too— and if so, who?
“Oh well!” thought Kasperl. “Never mind!”
He carved a piece of sausage and put it in his mouth. Then he heard the sobbing again.
“Boo-hooo!”
It was a low, sad sobbing—so sad that the mere sound of it took away Kasperl’s appetite. There really was someone there. Someone who seemed to be in terrible trouble.
“I wonder if I could help?” thought Kasperl. “I’ll have to find out what’s wrong! I can’t just stand here listening. It makes me feel quite depressed!”
Kasperl strained his ears to find where the sobbing came from. He followed the sound from the larder back into the kitchen, from the kitchen out into the hall, and so to the cellar door.
“Boo-hoo-hooo!” Kasperl heard.
The noise came from the cellar. Should he pluck up his courage and go down?
“Coming!” he called. “I’m just going to get a light.”
He ran back to the kitchen and took the lantern down from its hook over the sink. He struck a match and put it to the wick, and then he was ready.
He clambered carefully down the slippery steps. The cellar was damp and musty. Kasperl shivered. Big drops of moisture fell from the ceiling, splashing on his hat. He found himself in a long, low passage, and after ten paces or so he came to a door.
The door was studded with iron. There was a notice with a black border, saying:
Kasperl hesitated for a moment. Then he heard the sobbing again, and knew that he had to go on. He turned the handle and opened the door.
But what now? Directly behind the first door he found a second door. This one was studded with iron, too. And there was another big notice with a black border. Kasperl raised his lantern and read:
“Help!” thought Kasperl. “The further I go, the more forbidden it gets.”
However, he plucked up his courage once more. He heard the mournful sobs again, and he opened the second door.
But still he had not reached the last door! A few more paces, and he came to a third door. This door, too, had a big notice with a black border, saying:
Kasperl had a quivering, sinking feeling in his stomach. Was it fright—or was it just the gherkins and buttermilk?
“Wouldn’t it be better to turn back?” he said to himself.
Then he heard the sobbing again, behind the third door. This time it sounded so gruesome and miserable that it went to Kasperl’s heart. He forgot all about his fright and the pain in his stomach.
He stepped forward, grasped the door knob—and the third door swung open, creaking and groaning horribly.
“Stop! Stay where you are! Don’t come any closer!” Kasperl had hardly crossed the threshold when a harsh voice croaked these words. He was sure it was the same voice that had been sobbing.
Kasperl obeyed, and stopped just where he was.
In the light of the lantern he saw that he was in a small, dark cellar. But the cellar had no floor. Right before Kasperl’s feet the ground fell away to a deep pool of dark water.
Kasperl instinctively shrank back and leaned against the doorpost.
“Is there anyone there?” he asked. He hardly recognized his own voice, it sounded so deep and hollow.
There was a splashing, gurgling noise down in the pool.
“Yes, there is someone here,” croaked the voice. “If you lie flat on the ground and look down you can see me.”
Kasperl obeyed the voice again.
Lying flat on the ground he inched his way to the side of the pool, and looked over the edge, holding the lantern in his outstretched hand.
“I can’t see you. Where are you?”
“Down here in the water. You must hold the lantern a little lower.”
There was something swimming in the dark water. It had huge goggle-eyes and a big, wide mouth.
“Well?” it croaked. “You can see me now, can’t you?”
“Yes, I can see you now,” said Kasperl.
“And what would you call me?”
“If you were a bit smaller, I’d say you were a frog.”
“Wrong. I’m a toad.”
“Oh,” said Kasperl, thinking the creature looked rather big for a toad, too. “What are you doing down there?” he added out loud.
“Waiting.”
“What for?”
“I’m waiting for someone to set me free. You must know that I’m not really a toad. I’m—I’m—”
“Well, what?” asked Kasperl.
“I don’t know if I can trust you,” croaked the toad who said it was not a toad. “Did Zackleman send you?”
“No,” said Kasperl. “Zackleman doesn’t know I’m here. He’s gone to see another magician in Buxtehude.”
The toad heaved a great sigh. “Are you sure?” it asked.
“Positive,” said Kasperl. “Cross my heart. Now, if you’re not a toad, tell me what you are!”
“Once upon a time I was a good fairy,” said the toad.
“A fairy?”
“Yes, the fairy Amaryllis. But seven years ago I was turned into a toad and I’ve been sitting in this pond ever since. Boohooo! Zackleman cast a spell over me and shut me up here.”
“Seven years!” cried Kasperl. “How dreadful! Why did Zackleman do it?”
“Because he’s so wicked. He hates me, just because I sometimes interfered with his magic a little. I was too kind to him—that was how he got the better of me and turned me into a toad. A—boo-hooo!—a toad!”
The enchanted fairy wept bitterly. Big tears ran down her toad face. Kasperl wanted to comfort her; he felt so sorry for her. But what could he do?
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“Oh yes, yes, you can!” sobbed the toad, wiping away the tears with her foot. “All you have to do is find a certain herb called fairyweed. It grows on the open heath a few miles from this castle. If you bring some of this herb and touch me with it I shall be free. It dissolves wicked spells at once. Will you get it for me? Why don’t you answer me?”
“Because. . .” said Kasperl. He stopped.
“Well? Because what?”
“Because I can’t get out of here. I’m shut up in this enchanted castle, too. I’ll tell you all about it.”
Kasperl told the toad about his adventures the night before. He told her how he had tried to escape three times. “If you can tell me how to get out,” he finished, “I’ll bring you the fairyweed. But I’m afraid you won’t know how.”
“What makes you think so?” croaked the toad. “I was once a fairy, remember. I know a few things about magic. You can’t escape from the castle because Zackleman has drawn a magic circle around it. But if you leave any of your clothes behind in the castle—something you wear next to your skin—you’ll be free to go wherever you like.”
“Really and truly?” asked Kasperl.
“Try and see,”
croaked the toad. “You’ll soon find that I’ve told you the truth. Your shirt would be the best thing to leave, but your hat will do, or one of your stockings.”
“My hat?” asked Kasperl. “It’s only borrowed. It belongs to my friend, not me.”
“That doesn’t matter. It comes to the same thing.”
“Then of course I shall leave the hat behind,” said Kasperl. “I shan’t miss it because it doesn’t fit me anyway. Now, tell me what this fairyweed looks like and where to find it. Then I will fetch it for you.”
Kasperl made the fairy tell him exactly how to reach the open heath.
“When you get there,” said the toad, “sit down under the old pine tree that stands alone by the dark pond on the heath. Wait there until the moon rises. You can only find fairyweed by moonlight. In the light of the moon it begins to shine; then you can see the little silver flowers gleaming among the roots of the pine. When you have picked a bunch of them you will be safe. Even Zackleman can do you no harm then—anyone who holds fairyweed in his hand is invisible to the wicked magician.”
“Do you think he’ll look for me when he comes home and finds me gone?”
“I’m sure he will. So you must try to pick a bunch of fairyweed as soon as possible. Off with you now. There’s a long way to go. Good luck—very, very good luck!”
Kasperl stood up and waved his lantern to the toad down in the pool.
“Goodbye!” he said.
“Goodbye! Don’t forget to shut the doors behind you. Zackleman must not know that you’ve been talking to me.”
Oh yes, the doors! Kasperl had quite forgotten them. He closed them all behind him and climbed the cellar steps. He closed the cellar door too. Then he took a piece of bread and two sausages from the magician’s larder and set off.
He climbed through the window of his room into the kitchen garden. Then he took off his hat. He was not at all sorry to part with it, and put it down in the parsley bed, quite near the fence.
Would it work this time? He didn’t feel particularly happy, thinking of last night and the way his ears had been boxed.
“Oh well, I’ll try it,” he said to himself. “I can’t do worse than before.”
But this time everything went smoothly. No unseen hand took Kasperl by the collar and hauled him back; no one boxed his ears. Breathing a sigh of relief, he dropped onto the grass on the far side of the fence.
“Ooff!” said Kasperl. “I’d never have thought that hat of Seppel’s would come in so useful!”
And now for the open heath.
Kasperl walked for several hours. He kept following the way the toad had described; first through the wood, then a little way along the high road, then on beside a brook until he reached another wood. There should be three birch trees here, and the middle tree should have a split trunk.
Yes, there they were! And there was a footpath leading into the wood, just as the toad had said. Now Kasperl had to follow this path. It was two hours more before he came to the open heath, and by this time evening was gradually drawing in.
Kasperl was glad he had found the place at last. He sat down under the pine tree beside the dark pond, took off his shoes and stockings, dangled his tired legs in the water and waited for the moon to rise. To pass the time he ate the bread and both the sausages.
He tried hard not to think of the great magician Petrosilius Zackleman, but he couldn’t help it. The longer he sat and waited, the more uncomfortable he felt.
Was Zackleman back from Buxtehude yet? What would he do when he found that Kasperl had disappeared?
“Oh, where are you, moon?” sighed Kasperl. “Aren’t you ever going to rise? If Zackleman finds me before I’ve picked the fairyweed, it’s all over. Can you hear me, moon? Come on, do come on!”
But the moon was taking her time. She simply would not rise. Kasperl was on tenterhooks, thinking of Petrosilius Zackleman.
Between eight o’clock and half past eight in the evening the wicked magician Petrosilius Zackleman flew home from Buxtehude on his magic robe. He was ravenously hungry. It had been a tiring day, but now that he was home he could eat to his heart’s content. He hoped the fried potatoes were ready—and he hoped there were plenty of them.
The great magician landed on the castle turret. He went straight down to the dining-room, sat down at the table, tucked a napkin under his chin and clapped his hands.
“Seppel!” he shouted. “Serve the fried potatoes!”
There was a long silence. Nothing moved.
“Seppel!” cried Zackleman. “Serve the fried potatoes! Can’t you hear me? Where are you?”
Still nothing happened.
“Just you wait, lazybones!” raged the great magician. “Shall I make you get a move on? This is too much!”
He snapped his fingers and wished for a whip. Then he ran to the kitchen.
“Come here, you scoundrel!” he thundered. “I’ll beat you black and blue! How dare you, you wretched imp? Keep the great magician Zackleman waiting, would you? Come here, you idler! I’ll beat the living daylights out of you! I’ll wallop you till you can’t sit down.”
In his fury the great magician thwacked the kitchen table several times with his whip. Only then did he notice that there were still three buckets full of unpeeled potatoes standing on the table.
“What!” he cried. “What’s all this? Run away from work, have you? Thunder and lightning, I’ll see you don’t play any more tricks like this. Come here! Come here this minute!”
But though he raged and shouted and hit the table it did him no good at all.
“Aha!” gnarled the great magician. “Now I know where the fellow must be hiding! But I shall find him. Oh yes—I shall find him all right, and then he’ll get to know me better!”
Petrosilius Zackleman snapped his fingers. The whip changed into a lighted torch. Holding the torch above his head Zackleman went right through the castle. He looked in all the living-rooms and all the bedrooms. He went to the cellars and up to the attics. He shone his torch into every corner, he searched every nook and cranny, he looked under the furniture and behind the curtains. But though he searched and searched he found no trace of Kasperl at all.
Suddenly the great magician had an idea. He hurried out into the kitchen garden as fast as his legs would carry him. Sure enough, there lay Seppel’s hat in the middle of the parsley bed, not far from the fence.
“Fire and pestilence!”
The great magician Zackleman clenched his fists and spat on the earth. The moment he set eyes on the hat he realized what had happened. That wretched Seppel had managed to escape, stupid as he was!
How did he know the secret?
“However he knew, I must act quickly!” thought Petrosilius Zackleman. “He’ll be surprised to find how soon I have him in my power again, now that I’ve found his hat!”
In fact, it was easy for Petrosilius Zackleman to bring anyone to his castle by magic so long as he had something the person wore.
“To work!” cried the great magician grimly, throwing his torch aside.
He seized Seppel’s hat with both hands and ran to his study. Where was his magic chalk? Quick—he drew a magic circle. Then he drew lines across it.
“There—now we can begin!”
Petrosilius Zackleman put the hat in the middle of the magic circle, just where all the lines met. Then he stepped back, raised his hands and waved them about in the air. Keeping his eyes on the hat, he chanted in a loud voice:
“Come to me, come to me.
Come, wherever you may be!
Let the owner of the hat be here.
Where the hat is let the man appear.
Abracadabra!”
The great magician Petrosilius Zackleman had hardly finished reciting this spell when there was a mighty crash. A bright flame shot up from the study floor. And in the middle of the magic circle, just where all the lines crossed, stood— Seppel.
The real Seppel.
The one who owned the hat.
>
Seppel was holding a black leather boot in his left hand and a shoe brush in his right hand.
Exactly as the spell said—“the owner of the hat” had appeared.
It would be hard to say who looked sillier at that moment, Kasperl’s friend Seppel or the wicked magician Petrosilius Zackleman.
Only a moment ago Seppel had been cleaning the robber Hotzenplotz’s boots—and now here he was, all of a sudden, face to face with the great magician Petrosilius Zackleman. How on earth did he come to be in this castle instead of the robber’s cave? And how did he get there? Seppel felt as dazed as if he had tumbled down from the moon.
Petrosilius Zackleman himself looked rather taken aback. What was this perfect stranger doing in his magic circle? Something must have gone wrong. Such a thing had never happened in all the time he had been working magic. And he had been working magic for fifty years, at least.
“Who are you, for goodness’ sake?” gasped the great magician.
“Me?” asked Seppel.
“Yes, you!” spat Zackleman. “And how did you get here?”
“I’ve no idea how I got here. But I’m Seppel.”
“You’re Seppel? Seppel, did you say? You can’t be.”
“Why not?”
“Why not?” growled Petrosilius Zackleman. “Because you don’t look a bit like Seppel. Let me tell you, I know Seppel. He was my servant. That hat over there—” he pointed to Seppel’s hat lying on the floor in the middle of the magic circle, “that’s his hat.”
“That hat?” asked Seppel. Suddenly light dawned on him. He had to laugh.
“You’d laugh, would you?” cried the great magician. “What’s the joke?”
“Well, now I know who you mean. You mean Kasperl! Just like the robber Hotzenplotz! He got me and Kasperl mixed up, too.”
Petrosilius Zackleman pricked up his ears. He made Seppel tell him how he and Kasperl had changed hats. Gradually he realized how it had all happened. So Hotzenplotz had sold him Kasperl, thinking that Kasperl was Seppel! A fine story! No wonder his magic spell with Seppel’s hat could produce only the real Seppel, not the wrong one.
The Robber Hotzenplotz Page 4
