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.
