Old Rasmus (Gammel Rasmus)
There was once a man known to everyone as Old Rasmus. He lived with
his wife in a tiny shack, right on the outer edge of town. Times were
always hard for them; sometimes, there was food in the house, but at
other times there was none. They had a cow but no means to feed it other
than to steal grass in summer and beg feed of the town’s farmers in
winter.
`One does what one can to get by`, was his motto.
The winter was particularly harsh one year. The snow was up to the
rooftops; there’d never been a winter like it.
Old Rasmus’s cow happened to calve, which under normal
circumstances would have been fine, but there was no food for the cow or
the calf, let alone for themselves and there was no possibility of them
leaving the house because of the snow.
Old Rasmus reasoned that the calf would grow to be a cow and decided
to slaughter the cow – they could just about keep the calf alive. No sooner
said than done; they slaughtered the cow and, as there was no bread in the
house, they ate nothing but meat. As long as there was meat in the house,
they never went hungry. But, as the saying goes, “Good times are often
followed by bad”, and it wasn’t too long before the meat was all gone.
Now they had only the calf left. It was a large, red, heifer calf and they’d
kept it alive in the hope that it would become a cow; but now things had
gone from bad to worse as they had nothing else to eat.
“One does what one can to get by,” said old Rasmus who went to pay a
visit on the town’s finest cobbler; a much respected man who lived in the
centre of town.
“Listen,” said Old Rasmus, “I don’t suppose you want to buy a calf off
me? It’s got a fair bit of meat on it, but more to the point, it’s got a top
quality hide; you can make fine boots from the leather.”
“What do you want for it?” asked the cobbler.
“I reckon sixteen shillings should do it,” said Old Rasmus. “I can’t do it
for less or I’ll be giving it away. It’s a steal as it is.”
After a bit of to-ing and fro-ing, the cobbler shook hands on the deal.
Old Rasmus got his sixteen shillings and the cobbler would collect the
calf in eight days.
After sealing the deal, Rasmus went straight to the town’s other cobbler.
He was not such a fine cobbler; he patched and mended as best he could
and lived in a little hut on the outskirts of the town.
“Hello!” said Old Rasmus, “What do you think I’m after?”
“Hello again!” said the cobbler as he plugged a hole in the sole of a
shoe, “Don’t tell me. – You want me to put a patch on your shoes?”
“No,” said Old Rasmus, “you know what? I’ve got a calf you might like
to buy off me. Trust me, it’s a good skin. You can make some good stuff
out of it.”
“How much do you want for the animal?” asked the cobbler.
“Since it’s you, you can have it for ten shillings,” answered Old
Rasmus. “It’s a steal, I’m telling you.”
The deal was agreed; the cobbler could have the calf for ten shillings.
Old Rasmus pocketed the ten shillings and the cobbler was to collect his
calf in eight days.
When Old Rasmus returned to his shack, he asked for something to eat.
“You give me something to buy food with and I’ll give you something
to eat. There’s not a scrap of food in the house,” answered his wife.
“That’s it then,” said Old Rasmus. “It looks as if we’re going to have to
slaughter the poor calf anyway! I suppose we’d better get it over with.”
The wife was quite happy to go along with the idea. The calf was
slaughtered the same day and they had a delicious pot roast for dinner.
Eight days later - it was lunchtime and Old Rasmus was polishing off a
bit of veal – the two cobblers stepped through the door. They had come to
collect the calf.
“God, this is terrible,” said Old Rasmus. “I’d completely forgotten I’d
sold you the calf. Here I am, sitting at the table and eating the last of it
when… Would you like to share what’s left, you’re more than welcome.”
“That’s a shabby trick,” shouted both cobblers who went red as turkey
cocks and looked fit to burst.
“You’ll pay dearly for this, Old Rasmus!”
“Will you make monkeys out of honest men?”
“We’ll see you in the darkest prison where you’ll neither see sun nor
moon.”
It was all water off a duck’s back; Old Rasmus continued eating.
When he had finished his meal, he sat back in the chair and stared at the
two men.
“Cast your minds back to what I said when I sold you the calf. I told you
both it was a steal, you should have paid more attention.”
They could see that Old Rasmus was making a fool out of them and
stormed out of the door. They were so angry and yet here they were,
behaving as if they were best friends whereas before they could hardly
bear to look at one another.
Shortly afterwards the cobblers took out a summons against Old
Rasmus. He was to appear before the district judge to defend his case.
When the day arrived, Old Rasmus made his way to the city where the
judge lived. On the way he passed the house of the mayor1 and as luck
would have it, the mayor stood in the open doorway to his house, puffing
on his pipe.
“And where are you travelling today, Old Rasmus?” shouted the mayor.
“I’ll tell you where I’m going,” said Rasmus. “I’m in a spot of bother
with the cobblers. I sold them my calf and completely forgot about it. It
wasn’t till after I’d eaten it that I remembered.”
“Well bless my soul,” said the mayor, “that’s a tall story to swallow, Old
Rasmus. I can’t see you getting away with it. You don’t understand the
principles of the law and justice and ordinances and so on. If you don’t
know what you’re doing, Rasmus, you are in deep trouble.”
“You could be right at that,” said Rasmus.
“But,” said the mayor, “I could tell you how to conduct yourself in court
so that the case against you will be thrown out.”
“I’d be in your debt if you told me,” said Rasmus.
“Good,” said the mayor, “I will help you Rasmus, but I don’t give my
help for nothing; it will cost you six shillings.”
“The money is as good as in your pocket,” said Rasmus.
“Well now, Old Rasmus,” said the mayor, “listen very carefully. When
you come before the old judge, fine fellow that he is, he has a short fuse
and does not suffer fools gladly; you must conduct yourself as if you are a
simpleton and in reply to whatever he asks you, you will simply say,
`pish, pish`. If you do that, everything will be fine.”
Old Rasmus thanked him for the advice and continued on his way.
Rasmus went before the court with the two cobblers. The judge adjusted
his wig, placed his glasses on the end of his nose and began to pore over
his large book.
Finally, he spoke.
“I ask all of you gathered here if this is the man, Rasmus, also known as
Old Rasmus, that stands before me?”
Everyone bore witness that it was indeed Old Rasmus in the dock.
“In like manner, I ask the same Old Rasmus if he admits that on the fifth
day of this month he sold to the two respectable citizens here present, a
calf, pro primo for sixteen shillings and pro secundo for ten shillings,
which he then slaughtered and consumed.”
Old Rasmus stood and looked as if the proceedings had nothing to do
with him. He had a vacant look about him.
“Does he not answer when the court examines him?” bristled the
judge….. “I will ask him for a second time if he admits to having twice
sold and subsequently eaten his calf.”
1
In the story, it is the Parish Executive Officer (Sognefogden) that old Rasmus talks to. I’ve
replaced him with the Mayor as it is a concept that younger people are more familiar with.)
Old Rasmus remained silent. He stood open mouthed and eyes blinking
rapidly as he fixed his gaze on the judge’s wig.
“You wretched peasant!” … “Stupid ass, answer me! – I will ask you for
the third and last time if you will admit your guilt concerning the damned
calf. – Answer me! – Answer me!”
“Pish! – Pish,” said Old Rasmus.
“What? – What?” screamed the judge fit to burst. “Does he see fit to
insult the court? Will he tamper with justice? – God help me if I don’t
clap him in irons. – Will he answer me? – Has this dumb ass eaten the
calf?”
“Pish! – Pish!” said Old Rasmus.
“He’s mad! – He is, bless my soul, mad! – He’s completely bonkers!”
shouted the judge, who by now was completely beside himself with rage.
“You’ve brought a lunatic here to take advantage of! – You shysters! If
you’ve been doing business with a mad man, laws 17 – 18 – 19 say that
you must pay the consequences! – Get out of her! – Get out of here! So
God help me, I fine you both four weights of silver to be paid into the
court’s coffers – To do business with a mad man – tamper with justice. –
Be off with you! – Get out!” He shook with rage, grabbed his silver
topped walking stick and began to thrash the pair of them.
The cobblers rushed out the door while Old Rasmus hid in a corner until
the storm had blown over when he crept out after them.
Rasmus set off for home and soon came to the mayor’s house. Just as
before, he stood with his pipe in his hand and looked out over the half
door.
“Well, Old Rasmus,” asked the mayor. “How did your day go in court?”
“It went well, thanks,” answered Rasmus.
“Did you do as I said?” asked the mayor.
“I did.” said Rasmus.
“And it went well?”
“Yes, he threw us out of court.”
“Well there you are then, Old Rasmus. It was good you knew the ways
of the law and justice. You haven’t forgotten what you promised me?”
“You’ll have to remind me,” said Old Rasmus.
“You were going to pay me six shillings for the advice I gave you.”
“Pish! – Pish!” Replied Rasmus as he continued on his way home.
“One does what one can to get by.”
Storyteller’s comment:
Like most of the stories in Kamp’s second volume of folk and wonder
tales, he has taken the spoken tale and given it a literary spin. The story is
beautifully written (apologies for inadequacy of translation) and never
fails to raise a chuckle.
The odd thing about the story is that the `hero` is, when all is said and
done, an unpleasant character – an opportunist; a con man who has no
scruples and shows no conscience when he cheats two law abiding
citizens. Although his wife appears only in the background, one assumes
she is of a similar character to her husband.
The mayor is the archetypal corrupt public official who does nothing
unless there is something in it for him.
It takes very little time or effort to return the story to its traditional roots;
a read or two of the story fixes it in one’s mind and it’s a matter of telling
it in one’s own style. Great fun can be had creating the character of the
self-important judge who whips himself into an apoplectic fury directed
first at Rasmus and then at the two tailors.
`Rasmus` is a name that is at home in 19th century Denmark and is
seldom encountered today; when I tell the story, I give him an equivalent
Welsh name, Ianto, and the judge becomes a caricature of a Baptist, hellfire and brimstone preacher.