Das Project Gutenberg Etextes Hans Huckebein von Wilhelm Busch

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Hans Huckebein

by Wilhelm Busch

September, 2000 [Etext #2322]

*The Project Gutenberg Etext of Hans Huckebein by Wilhelm Busch*

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Hans Huckebein

Wilhelm Busch

Inhalt

Hans Huckebein, der Unglücksrabe.

Das Pusterohr.

Das Bad am Samstag Abend.

Hans Huckebein, der Unglücksrabe.

Hier sieht man Fritz, den muntern Knaben,

Nebst Huckebein, dem jungen Raben.

Und dieser Fritz, wie alle Knaben,

Will einen Raben gerne haben.

Schon rutscht er auf dem Ast daher,

Der Vogel, der mißtraut ihm sehr.

Schlapp! macht der Fritz von seiner Kappe

Mit Listen eine VogelKlappe.

Beinahe hätt' er ihn! Doch ach!

Der Ast zerbricht mit einem Krach.

In schwarzen Beeren sitzt der Fritze,

Der schwarze Vogel in der Mütze.

Der Knabe Fritz ist schwarz betupft;

Der Rabe ist in Angst und hupft.

Der schwarze Vogel ist gefangen,

Er bleibt im Unterfutter hangen.

"Jetzt hab' ich dich, Hans Huckebein!

Wie wird sich Tante Lotte freun!"

Die Tante kommt aus ihrer Tür;

"Ei!" spricht sie, "welch ein gutes Tier!"

Kaum ist das Wort dem Mund entflohn,

Schnapp! hat er ihren Finger schon.

"Ach!" ruft sie, "er ist doch nicht gut!

Weil er mir was zuleide tut!!"

Hier lauert in des Topfes Höhle

Hans Huckebein, die schwarze Seele.

Den Knochen, den er Spitz gestohlen,

Will dieser jetzt sich wieder holen.

So ziehn mit Knurren und Gekrächz

Der eine links, der andre rechts.

Schon denkt der Spitz, daß er gewinnt,

Da zwickt der Rabe ihn von hint'.

O weh! Er sprint auf Spitzens Nacken,

Am ihm die Haare auszuzwacken.

Der Spitz, der ärgert sich bereits,

Und rupft den Raben seinerseits.

Derweil springt mit dem Schinkenbein

Der Kater in den Topf hinein.

Da sitzen sie und schaun und schaun.—

Dem Kater ist nicht sehr zu traun.

Der Kater hackt den Spitz, der schreit,

Der Rabe ist voll Freudigkeit.

Schnell feßt er, weil der Topf nicht ganz,

Mit schlauer List den Katerschwanz.

Es rollt der Topf. Es krümmt voll Quale

Des Katers Schweif sich zur Spirale.

Und Spitz und Kater fliehn im Lauf.—

Der größte Lump bleibt obenauf!!—

Nichts Schönres gab's für Tante Lotte

Als schwarze Heidelbeerkompotte.

Dock Huckebein verschleudert nur

Die schöne Gabe der Natur.

Die Tante naht voll Zorn und Schrecken;

Hans Huckebein verläßt das Becken.

Und schnell betritt er, angstbeflügelt,

Die Wäsche, welche frisch gebügelt.

O weh! Er kommt ins Tellerbord;

Die Teller rollen rasselnd fort.

Auch fällt der Korb, worin die Eier—

O jemine!—und send so teuer!

Patsch! fällt der Krug. Das gute Bier

Ergeißt sich in die Stiefel hier.

Und auf der Tante linken Fuß

Stürzt sich des Eimer Wasserguß.

Sie hält die Gabel in der Hand,

Und auch der Fritz kommt angerannt.

Perdums! da liegen sie.—Dem Fritze

Dringt durch das Ohr die Gabelspitze.

Dies wird des Raben Ends sein—

So denkt man wohl—doch leider nein!

Denn—schnupp!—Der Tante Nase feßt er;

Und nochmals triumphiert das Laster!

Jetzt aber naht sich das Malör,

Denn dies Getränke ist Likör.

Es duftet füß.—Hans Huckebein

Taucht seinen Schnabel froh hinein.

Und läßt mit stillvergnügtem Sinnen

Den ersten Schluck hinunterrinnen.

Nicht übel!—Und er taucht schon wieder

Den Schnabel in die Tiefe nieder.

Er hebt das Glas und schlürft den Rest,

Weil er nicht gern was übrig läßt.

Ei, ei! Ihm wird so wunderlich,

So leicht und doch absunderlich.

Er krächzt mit freudigem Getön

Und muß auf einem Beine stehn.

Der Vogel, welcher sonsten fleucht,

Wird hier zu einem Tier, was kreucht.

Und Übermut kommt zum Beschluß,

Der alles ruinieren muß.

Er zerrt voll roher Lust und Tücke

Der Tante künstliches Gestricke.

Der Tisch ist glatt—der Böse taumelt—

Das Ende naht,—sieh da! er baumelt!

"Die Bosheit war sein Hauptpläsier,

Drum", spricht die Tante, "hängt er hier!"

Das Pusterohr.

Hier sitzt Herr Bartelmann im Frein

Und taucht sich eine Brezel ein.

Der Franz mit seinem Pusterohr

Schießt Bartelmann ans linke Ohr.

Ei, Zapperment—so denkt sich der—

Das kam ja wohl von unten her!

Doch nein—denkt er—es kann nicht sein!

Und taucht die Brezel wieder ein.

Und—witsch—getroffen ist die Bretzen,

Herrn Bartelmann erfaßt Entsetzen.

Und—witsch—jetzt trifft die Kugel gar

Das Aug', das sehr empfindlich war.

So daß dem braven Bartelmann

Die Träne aus dem Auge rann.

Ei, Zapperment—so denkt sich der—

Das kommt ja wohl von oben her!—

Aujau! er fällt—denn mit Geblase

Schießt Franz den Pfeil ihm in die Nase.

Da denkt Herr Bartelmann: Aha!

Dies spitze Ding, das kenn' ich ja!

Und freudig kommt ihm der Gedanke:

Der Franz steht hinter dieser Planke!

Und—klapp! schlägt er mit seinem Topf

Das Pufterohr tief in den Kopf!

Drum schieß mit deinem Püftericht

Auf keine alten Leute nicht!

Das Bad am Samstag Abend.

Hier sieht man Bruder Franz und Fritzen

Zu zweit in einer Wanne sitzen.

Die alte Lene geht;—und gleich

Da treibt man lauter dummes Zeug.

Denn Reinlichkeit ist für die zwei

Am Ende doch mur Spielerei.—

Jetzt will der Fritz beim Untertauchen

Nur seinen einen Finger brauchen.

Natürlich läuft ihm was in Ohr,

Dem Franz kommt dieses lustig vor.

Das ärgert aber Bruder Fritzen,

Drum fängt er an den Franz zu spritzen.

Doch der mit seiner großen Zehe

Tut Fritzen an der Nase wehe;

Dafür taucht Fritz den Kopf ihm nieder,

Was so im Wasser sehr zuwider.

Franz aber zieht an Fritzens Bein;

Der zappelt sehr und kann nicht schrein.

In Mund und Auge, zornentbrannt,

Greift jetzt die rachbegier'ge Hand.

Die Wanne wird zu enge

Für dieses Kampfgedränge.

Perdatsch!!—die alte, brave Lene

Kommt leider grad zu dieser Szene.

Sie spricht voll Würde und voll Schmerz:

"Die Reinlichkeit ist nicht zum Scherz!!"

Und die Moral von der Geschicht':

Bad zwei in einer Wanne nicht!

Ende dieses Project Gutenberg Etextes "Hans Huckebein" von Wilhelm Busch.

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