Hans had
served his master for seven years, so he said to him, "Master, my
time is up; now I should be glad to go back home to my mother; give me
my wages." The master answered, "You have served me
faithfully and honestly; as the service was so shall the reward
be;" and he gave Hans a piece of gold as big as his head. Hans
pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket, wrapped up the lump in it,
put it on his shoulder, and set out on the way home.
As he went
on, always putting one foot before the other, he saw a horseman
trotting quickly and merrily by on a lively horse. "Ah!"
said Hans quite loud, "what a fine thing it is to ride! There you
sit as on a chair; you stumble over no stones, you save your shoes,
and get on, you don't know how."
The rider,
who had heard him, stopped and called out, "Hollo! Hans, why do
you go on foot, then?"
"I
must," answered he, "for I have this lump to carry home; it
is true that it is gold, but I cannot hold my head straight for it,
and it hurts my shoulder."
"I will
tell you what," said the rider, "we will exchange: I will
give you my horse, and you can give me your lump."
"With
all my heart," said Hans, "but I can tell you, you will have
to crawl along with it."
The rider got
down, took the gold, and helped Hans up; then gave him the bridle
tight in his hands and said, "If you want to go at a really good
pace, you must click your tongue and call out, "Jup! Jup!"
Hans was
heartily delighted as he sat upon the horse and rode away so bold and
free. After a little while he thought that it ought to go faster, and
he began to click with his tongue and call out, "Jup! Jup!"
The horse put himself into a sharp trot, and before Hans knew where he
was, he was thrown off and lying in a ditch which separated the field
from the highway. The horse would have gone off too if it had not been
stopped by a countryman, who was coming along the road and driving a
cow before him.
Hans got his
limbs together and stood up on his legs again, but he was vexed, and
said to the countryman, "It is a poor joke, this riding,
especially when one gets hold of a mare like this, that kicks and
throws one off, so that one has a chance of breaking one's neck. Never
again will I mount it. Now I like your cow, for one can walk quietly
behind her, and have, over and above, one's milk, butter and cheese
every day without fail. What would I not give to have such a
cow." "Well," said the countryman, "if it would
give you so much pleasure, I do not mind giving the cow for the
horse." Hans agreed with the greatest delight; the countryman
jumped upon the horse, and rode quickly away.
Hans drove
his cow quietly before him, and thought over his lucky bargain.
"If only I have a morsel of bread—and that can hardly fail
me—I can eat butter and cheese with it as often as I like; if I am
thirsty, I can milk my cow and drink the milk. Good heart, what more
can I want?"
When he came
to an inn he made a halt, and in his great content ate up what he had
with him—his dinner and supper—and all he had, and with his last
few farthings had half a glass of beer. Then he drove his cow onwards
along the road to his mother's village.
As it drew
nearer mid-day, the heat was more oppressive, and Hans found himself
upon a moor which it took about an hour to cross. He felt it very hot
and his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth with thirst. "I can
find a cure for this," thought Hans; "I will milk the cow
now and refresh myself with the milk." He tied her to a withered
tree, and as he had no pail he put his leather cap underneath; but try
as he would, not a drop of milk came. And as he set himself to work in
a clumsy way, the impatient beast at last gave him such a blow on his
head with its hind foot, that he fell on the ground, and for a long
time could not think where he was.
By good
fortune a butcher just then came along the road with a wheel-barrow,
in which lay a young pig. "What sort of a trick is this?"
cried he, and helped the good Hans up. Hans told him what had
happened. The butcher gave him his flask and said, "Take a drink
and refresh yourself. The cow will certainly give no milk, it is an
old beast; at the best it is only fit for the plough, or for the
butcher." "Well, well," said Hans, as he stroked his
hair down on his head, "who would have thought it? Certainly it
is a fine thing when one can kill a beast like that at home; what meat
one has! But I do not care much for beef, it is not juicy enough for
me. A young pig like that now is the thing to have, it tastes quite
different; and then there are the sausages!"
"Hark
ye, Hans," said the butcher, "out of love for you I will
exchange, and will let you have the pig for the cow."
"Heaven repay you for your kindness!" said Hans as he gave
up the cow, whilst the pig was unbound from the barrow, and the cord
by which it was tied was put in his hand.
Hans went on,
and thought to himself how everything was going just as he wished; if
he did meet with any vexation it was immediately set right. Presently
there joined him a lad who was carrying a fine white goose under his
arm. They said good morning to each other, and Hans began to tell of
his good luck, and how he had always made such good bargains. The boy
told him that he was taking the goose to a christening-feast.
"Just lift her," added he, and laid hold of her by the
wings; "how heavy she is—she has been fattened up for the last
eight weeks. Whoever has a bit of her when she is roasted will have to
wipe the fat from both sides of his mouth." "Yes," said
Hans, as he weighed her in one hand, "she is a good weight, but
my pig is no bad one."
Meanwhile the
lad looked suspiciously from one side to the other, and shook his
head. "Look here," he said at length, "it may not be
all right with your pig. In the village through which I passed, the
Mayor himself had just had one stolen out of its sty. I fear—I fear
that you have got hold of it there. They have sent out some people and
it would be a bad business if they caught you with the pig; at the
very least, you would be shut up in the dark hole."
The good Hans
was terrified. "Goodness!" he said, "help me out of
this fix; you know more about this place than I do, take my pig and
leave me your goose." "I shall risk something at that
game," answered the lad, "but I will not be the cause of
your getting into trouble." So he took the cord in his hand, and
drove away the pig quickly along a by-path.
The good
Hans, free from care, went homewards with the goose under his arm.
"When I think over it properly," said he to himself, "I
have even gained by the exchange; first there is the good roast-meat,
then the quantity of fat which will drip from it, and which will give
me dripping for my bread for a quarter of a year, and lastly the
beautiful white feathers; I will have my pillow stuffed with them, and
then indeed I shall go to sleep without rocking. How glad my mother
will be!"
As he was
going through the last village, there stood a scissors-grinder with
his barrow; as his wheel whirred he sang—
"I
sharpen scissors and quickly grind,
My coat blows out in the wind behind."
Hans stood
still and looked at him; at last he spoke to him and said, "All's
well with you, as you are so merry with your grinding."
"Yes," answered the scissors-grinder, "the trade has a
golden foundation. A real grinder is a man who as often as he puts his
hand into his pocket finds gold in it. But where did you buy that fine
goose?"
"I did
not buy it, but exchanged my pig for it."
"And the
pig?"
"That I
got for a cow."
"And the
cow?"
"I took
that instead of a horse."
"And the
horse?"
"For
that I gave a lump of gold as big as my head."
"And the
gold?"
"Well,
that was my wages for seven years' service."
"You
have known how to look after yourself each time," said the
grinder. "If you can only get on so far as to hear the money
jingle in your pocket whenever you stand up, you will have made your
fortune."
"How
shall I manage that?" said Hans. "You must be a grinder, as
I am; nothing particular is wanted for it but a grindstone, the rest
finds itself. I have one here; it is certainly a little worn, but you
need not give me anything for it but your goose; will you do it?"
"How can
you ask?" answered Hans. "I shall be the luckiest fellow on
earth; if I have money whenever I put my hand in my pocket, what need
I trouble about any longer?" and he handed him the goose and
received the grindstone in exchange. "Now," said the
grinder, as he took up an ordinary heavy stone that lay by him,
"here is a strong stone for you into the bargain; you can hammer
well upon it, and straighten your old nails. Take it with you and keep
it carefully."
Hans loaded
himself with the stones, and went on with a contented heart; his eyes
shone with joy. "I must have been born with a caul," he
cried; "everything I want happens to me just as if I were a
Sunday-child."
Meanwhile, as
he had been on his legs since daybreak, he began to feel tired. Hunger
also tormented him, for in his joy at the bargain by which he got the
cow he had eaten up all his store of food at once. At last he could
only go on with great trouble, and was forced to stop every minute;
the stones, too, weighed him down dreadfully. Then he could not help
thinking how nice it would be if he had not to carry them just then.
He crept like
a snail to a well in a field, and there he thought that he would rest
and refresh himself with a cool draught of water, but in order that he
might not injure the stones in sitting down, he laid them carefully by
his side on the edge of the well. Then he sat down on it, and was to
stoop and drink, when he made a slip, pushed against the stones, and
both of them fell into the water. When Hans saw them with his own eyes
sinking to the bottom, he jumped for joy, and then knelt down, and
with tears in his eyes thanked God for having shown him this favour
also, and delivered him in so good a way, and without his having any
need to reproach himself, from those heavy stones which had been the
only things that troubled him.
"There
is no man under the sun so fortunate as I," he cried out. With a
light heart and free from every burden he now ran on until he was with
his mother at home.
