After seven years of service, Hans sets off home to his mother with a lump of gold as big as his head. The gold hurts his shoulder, so he gladly swaps it for a rider’s horse. Then a countryman comes along with a cow, and Hans is already thinking of milk, butter, and cheese.
Once upon a time there was a young man named Hans who had served his master for seven years. “Master,” he said one day, “my time is up. I’d like to go home to my mother. Please give me my wages.”
“You have served me faithfully,” said the master, “and your reward shall be just as good.” And he gave Hans a lump of gold as big as his head.
Hans wrapped the gold in his handkerchief, hoisted it onto his shoulder, and set off for home.
On the road a rider came trotting merrily by on a lively horse. “Ah,” said Hans out loud, “what a fine thing it is to ride! You sit as if you were in a chair, and you never trip over stones.”
The rider pulled up. “Then why are you walking, Hans?”
“I have to carry this lump home,” said Hans. “It’s gold, but I can’t hold my head straight, and it hurts my shoulder.”
“I’ll tell you what,” said the rider. “Let’s trade: my horse for your lump.”
“Gladly,” said Hans.
The rider took the gold and helped Hans into the saddle. “If you want to go fast,” he said, “click your tongue and call out, ‘Jup! Jup!’”
Hans rode off, delighted, but soon he wanted to go faster. He clicked his tongue and called, “Jup! Jup!” The horse broke into a sharp trot, and before Hans knew it, he was lying in the ditch. A countryman coming along with a cow caught the horse before it could run off.
“Riding is no fun at all,” Hans told him crossly, “especially on a mare who throws you so hard you could break your neck. A cow is another matter. You can walk quietly behind her, and you get milk, butter, and cheese every day.”
“Well,” said the countryman, “if it would make you that happy, I’ll trade you my cow for your horse.”
Hans agreed gladly, and the countryman rode off on the horse.
Hans drove the cow along, pleased with his bargain, and said to himself, “As long as I have bread, I’ll have butter and cheese to go with it, and milk whenever I’m thirsty. What more could I want?”
At an inn he was in such high spirits that he ate all his food at once and spent his last pennies on beer.
By noon the sun beat down on the moor Hans had to cross, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. “I’ll milk the cow and have a drink,” he thought. He tied her to a dead tree and held his leather cap under her, but not a drop came. He was so clumsy about it that the cow kicked him in the head, and for a long time he lay dazed on the ground.
Luckily, a butcher came by just then with a young pig in his wheelbarrow. He helped Hans to his feet and handed him his flask. “That cow will never give milk,” he said. “She’s old, fit only for the plow or for the butcher.”
“Who would have thought it?” said Hans. “I don’t much care for beef anyway. Now a young pig like yours, that’s the thing to have. And think of the sausages!”
“Listen, Hans,” said the butcher, “just to please you, I’ll trade my pig for your cow.”
“Heaven reward you for your kindness!” said Hans, and he handed over the cow and took the pig on its cord.
Hans walked on, sure that everything was going his way. Soon a boy carrying a fine white goose to a christening feast fell in beside him, and Hans told him about his lucky bargains.
“Just lift her,” said the boy. “She’s been fattened for eight weeks. Whoever gets a bite of her will have to wipe the fat from both sides of his mouth.”
“She’s a good weight,” said Hans, “but so is my pig.”
The boy glanced warily this way and that. “Look here,” he said, “in the village back there, somebody stole the Mayor’s own pig right out of its sty. I’m afraid it’s the one you’ve got. If they catch you with it, they’ll lock you up.”
Hans was terrified. “Oh, help me out of this fix!” he said. “Take my pig and give me your goose.”
“It could land me in trouble too,” said the boy, “but I don’t want you getting caught.” He took the cord and hurried the pig away down a side path.
Free of his worries, Hans went on with the goose under his arm. “I’ve even come out ahead,” he said to himself. “First there’s the roast, then all the fat, and then the white feathers for my pillow. How happy my mother will be!”
In the last village, a scissors-grinder stood at his barrow, and as his wheel whirred, he sang:
I sharpen scissors, I turn and grind, and my coat flies out in the wind behind.
“You must be doing well,” said Hans, “to be so merry at your grinding.”
“Yes,” said the grinder, “a real grinder finds money every time he puts his hand in his pocket. But where did you buy that fine goose?”
“I didn’t buy it. I traded my pig for it.”
“And the pig?”
“I got that for a cow.”
“And the cow?”
“I got her for a horse.”
“And the horse?”
“For that I gave a lump of gold as big as my head.”
“And the gold?”
“That was my wages for seven years’ work.”
“You’ve done well for yourself every time,” said the grinder. “Now if you could only hear money jingling in your pocket whenever you stand up, you’d have made your fortune. All you need is a grindstone. I have one here, a little worn, and I’ll take nothing for it but your goose.”
“How can you even ask?” said Hans. “I’ll be the luckiest man on earth!” He handed over the goose and took the grindstone.
“And here,” said the grinder, picking up an ordinary heavy stone from the ground, “is a good strong stone to go with it. You can hammer your old nails straight on it.”
Hans loaded himself with both stones and went on, eyes shining. “I must have been born under a lucky star!” he cried. “Everything I could want just falls into my lap.”
But he had been walking since daybreak, and he was tired and hungry, for he had eaten all his food at the inn. The stones weighed him down, and he couldn’t help thinking how nice it would be not to carry them.
At a snail’s pace he reached a well in a field. He laid the stones carefully on its edge, sat down, and leaned over to drink. But he slipped, knocked against the stones, and both of them splashed into the water.
When Hans saw them sink to the bottom, he jumped for joy. Then he knelt down and, with tears in his eyes, thanked God for taking the heavy stones off his hands without his having to throw them away himself, for they had been his only trouble.
“There’s no man under the sun as lucky as I am!” he cried.
And with a light heart, free of every burden, he ran all the way home to his mother.
Retold by Talerie from Household Tales by Brothers Grimm (opens in a new window) Public domain Copy this text, adapt it, use it however you like. A link back to Talerie is appreciated but never required. CC0 1.0 (opens in a new window)
