Frederick and Catherine

There was once a man called Frederick who had a wife named Catherine; they had not long been married. One day he said he was going to work in the fields and would be hungry when he came back, so she should cook something nice and have a good draught of ale ready. “Very well,” she said; “it shall all be ready.”

Near dinner-time she put their only steak on the fire to fry. When it began to brown and crackle she thought she might as well fetch the ale, left the pan, took a large jug, and went to the cellar to tap the cask. As the beer ran she suddenly remembered the dog was not shut up—he might run off with the steak. Up she rushed; sure enough the cur had the meat in his mouth and was making off. Away ran Catherine, away ran the dog across the field; he was faster, and stuck to the steak. “It’s all gone, and what can’t be cured must be endured,” she said, and walked home leisurely to cool herself.

All that time the ale had been running, for she had not turned the cock; when the jug was full the liquor flooded the floor until the cask was empty. On the cellar stairs she saw the mess. How could she keep Frederick from seeing it? She remembered a sack of fine meal from the last fair—if she sprinkled that on the floor it would soak up the ale. Lucky they had kept it! But she set the sack down on the full jug, upset it, and sent the saved ale swimming too. “Ah well,” she said, “when one goes another may as well follow.” She strewed the meal about, admired how neat and clean it looked, and was quite pleased with her cleverness.

At noon Frederick came home asking for dinner. She told the whole chain: steak stolen while she drew ale, ale lost while she chased the dog, jug upset while she fetched meal—but the cellar was dry and looked so clean! “Kate, Kate, how could you do all this?” he cried. “I did not know I was doing wrong,” she said; “you should have told me before.”

He thought that if she managed matters thus he must look sharp himself. He had a good deal of gold in the house, so he showed it to her as pretty yellow buttons he would bury in a box in the garden—she must never go near or meddle with them. She promised. As soon as he was gone, pedlars with earthenware plates and dishes asked if she would buy. She had no money, she said, but if they had any use for yellow buttons she might deal. They asked to see them. She dared not dig herself, she said, but told them where to dig in the garden. The rogues found the gold, took it all, and left her plenty of plates and dishes. She set them about the house for a show. When Frederick returned and heard she had bought them with his yellow buttons—without touching the buttons herself—he groaned that those buttons had been all his money. “I did not know there was any harm in it,” she answered; “you should have told me.”

After musing she proposed they run after the thieves and get the gold back. He agreed, and told her to bring butter and cheese so they might eat on the way. They set out; because he walked faster he left her behind. That did not matter, she thought—on the way back she would be nearer home than he. At the top of a hill the road was so narrow that cart wheels always chafed the trees. She pitied the bruised trunks and greased them with the butter so the wheels would hurt them less. While she worked, one cheese fell from the basket and rolled down the hill. She could not see where it went, so she sent the other after it—it had younger legs than she had—and walked on, sure they knew the road and would follow.

When she overtook Frederick he asked for food. She gave him dry bread and explained about the trees and the runaway cheeses. “What a goose you are!” he said. “How can you say so? You never told me not to.” They ate the bread; then he asked if she had locked the door when they left. She had not—he had not told her. He sent her home to lock it and bring something to eat.

On the way she decided he was not very fond of butter and cheese, so she would bring a bag of fine nuts and the vinegar, which she had often seen him take. At home she bolted the back door, took the front door off its hinges, and reasoned that nowhere could it be safer than if she carried it with her. When she overtook him she cried that there was the door itself—he might watch it as carefully as he pleased. He groaned: he had sent her to make the house fast, and she had taken the door away so anyone might go in and out. Since she had brought it, she should carry it for her pains. She agreed, but would not carry nuts and vinegar as well—that was too much—so she fastened them to the door. He made no objection.

They went into the wood after the thieves and found no one. When dark came they climbed a tree to spend the night. Scarcely were they up when the very rogues they sought sat down and made a fire under that tree—tired rascals of the sort who find things before they are lost. Frederick slipped down the far side, picked up stones, climbed back, and tried to hit their heads; they only said it must be near morning, for the wind was shaking fir-apples down.

Catherine grew tired of the door on her shoulder and thought the nuts made it heavy. Softly she said she must let the nuts go. He begged her not to—they would be discovered—but she could not help it. Down rattled the nuts; one thief cried it was hailing. A little later she whispered that she must throw the vinegar; he prayed her not to; she poured it anyway, and they said what a heavy dew there was. At last she realized the door itself was the weight. She whispered that she must throw it soon. He begged and prayed; she said “Here goes,” and the door crashed down with such a clatter that the thieves yelled murder and fled, leaving all the gold. When Frederick and Catherine came down, they found their money safe and sound.

About this story

“Frederick and Catherine” is from Project Gutenberg’s Grimms’ Fairy Tales (#2591), whose English is based on the translations of Edgar Taylor and Marian Edwardes. Margaret Hunt’s translation numbers it 59; in German the couple are “Der Frieder und das Catherlieschen.”

This retelling follows the household accidents and literal misunderstandings of the Taylor/Edwardes version. Its ending sends the thieves fleeing after stones, nuts, vinegar and a door fall toward them; the account does not establish whether anyone is injured.

Read the original: Grimms’ Fairy Tales (Project Gutenberg #2591)

Best for ages 6–8 — a long comic tale of mix-ups that children enjoy predicting before they happen.

Reading the story closely

The steak-and-ale episode is a chain of interrupted tasks, while the gold episode begins with Frederick’s own misleading label, ‘yellow buttons.’ Catherine follows his narrow rule against touching the box while missing the reason for protecting it. Later she treats the door as the thing to guard, rather than the means of guarding the house. These are different kinds of mistake, not one explanation for every mishap.

Give one household task two versions of instructions: a bare command and a command with its purpose. Then compare Frederick’s deliberate stone throwing with Catherine’s accidental success. The ending makes the husband’s plan ineffective and the burdensome door useful, reversing who appears to know best.

Talk about it

• Which attempt to fix a problem causes the next problem? Trace the steps.
• Catherine keeps saying she should have been told. When does Frederick give her misleading information, and when does she act on an assumption of her own?
• If you could give Catherine one piece of advice before Frederick went to work, what would it be?

Related stories

• Clever Elsie — another Grimm wife whose worrying and muddles cause chaos at home
• Hans in Luck — a Grimm simpleton who trades away everything and calls it good luck
• The Little Peasant — a Grimm tale where silly-looking choices end in a surprising fortune