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Grimms Fairy Tales and German Folklore
Once upon a time lived a peasant and his wife, and the parson
of the village had a fancy for the wife, and had wished for
a long while to spend a whole day happily with her. The
peasant woman, too, was quite willing. One day, therefore, he
said to the woman, listen, my dear friend, I have now thought of
a way by which we can for once spend a whole day happily together.
I'll tell you what. On wednesday, you must take to your bed, and
tell your husband you are ill, and as long as you complain and
act being ill properly, and go on doing so until sunday when I
have to preach, I will then say in my sermon that whosoever has
at home a sick child, a sick husband, a sick wife, a sick father,
a sick mother, a sick brother or whosoever else it may be,
and makes a pilgrimage to the gockerli hill in italy, where
you can get a peck of laurel-leaves for a kreuzer, the sick child,
the sick husband, the sick wife, the sick father, or sick mother,
the sick sister, or whosoever else it may be, will be restored
to health immediately.
I will manage it, said the woman promptly. On the wednesday,
therefore, the peasant woman took to her bed, and complained and
lamented as agreed on, and her husband did everything for
her that he could think of, but nothing did her any good, and when
sunday came the woman said, I feel as ill as if I were going to
die at once, but there is one thing I should like to do before
my end - I should like to hear the parson's sermon that he is
going to preach to-day. On that the peasant said, ah, my child,
do not do it - you might make yourself worse if you were to get
up. Look, I will hear the sermon, and will attend to it very
carefully, and will tell you everything the parson says.
Well, said the woman, go, then, and pay great attention, and
repeat to me all that you hear. So the peasant heard the sermon,
and the parson said, if any one had at home a sick child, a sick
husband, a sick wife, a sick father a sick mother, a sick sister,
brother or any one else, and would make a pilgimage to the
gockerli hill in italy, where a peck of laurel-leaves costs a
kreuzer, the sick child, sick husband, sick wife, sick father,
sick mother, sick sister, brother, or whosoever else it might
be, would be restored to health instantly, and whosoever wished
to undertake the journey was to go to him after the service was
over, and he would give him the sack for the laurel-leaves and
the kreuzer. Then no one was more rejoiced than the peasant,
and after the service was over, he went at once to the parson,
who gave him the bag for the laurel-leaves and the kreuzer.
After that he went home, and even at the house door he cried,
hurrah. Dear wife, it is now almost the same thing as if you were
well. The parson has preached to-day that whosoever had at home
a sick child, a sick husband, a sick wife, a sick father, a sick
mother, a sick sister, brother or whoever it might be, and would
make a pilgrimage to the gockerli hill in italy, where a peck
of laurel-leaves costs a kreuzer, the sick child, sick husband,
sick wife, sick father, sick mother, sick sister, brother, or
whosoever else it was, would be cured immediately, and now I
have already got the bag and the kreuzer from the parson, and
will at once begin my journey so that you may get well the faster,
and thereupon he went away. He was hardly gone however before
the woman got up, and the parson was there immediately.
But now we will leave these two for a while, and follow the
peasant, who walked on quickly without stopping, in order to
get the sooner to the gockerli hill, and on his way he met his
gossip. His gossip was an egg-merchant, and was just coming
from the market, where he had sold his eggs. May you be blessed,
said the gossip, where are you off to so fast.
To all eternity, my friend, said the peasant, my wife is ill,
and I have been to-day to hear the parson's sermon, and he
preached that if any one had in his house a sick child, a sick
husband, a sick
wife, a sick father, a sick mother, a sick sister, brother or any
one else, and made a pilgrimage to the gockerli hill in italy,
where a peck of laurel-leaves costs a kreuzer, the sick child, the
sick husband, the sick wife, the sick father, the sick mother,
the sick sister, brother or whosoever else it was, would be
cured immediately, and so I have got the bag for the laurel-leaves
and the kreuzer from the parson, and now I am beginning my
pilgrimage. But listen, gossip, said the egg-merchant to the
peasant, are you, then, stupid enough to believe such a thing
as that. Don't you know what it means. The parson wants to
spend a whole day alone with your wife in peace, so he has given
you this job to do to get you out of the way.
My word, said the peasant. How I'd like to know if that's true.
Come, then, said the gossip, I'll tell you what to do. Get
into my egg-basket and I will carry you home, and then you will
see for yourself. So that was settled, and the gossip put the
peasant into his egg-basket and carried him home.
When they got to the house, hurrah. Everything was already
very merry there. The woman had already had nearly everything
killed that was in the farmyard, and had made pancakes, and the
parson was there, and had brought his fiddle with him. The
gossip knocked at the door, and woman asked who was there. It
is I, gossip, said the egg-merchant, give me shelter this night.
I have not sold my eggs at the market, so now I have to carry
them home again, and they are so heavy that I shall never be able
to do it, for it is dark already.
Indeed, my friend, said the woman, you come at a very inconvenient
time for me, but as you are here it can't be helped. Come in,
and take a seat there on the bench by the stove. Then she
placed the gossip and the basket which he carried on his back on
the bench by the stove. The parson and the woman, however, were
as merry as could be. At length the parson said, listen, my
dear friend, you can sing beautifully. Sing something to me.
Oh, said the woman,
I cannot sing now. In my young days indeed I could sing well
enough, but that's all over now.
Come, said the parson once more, do sing some little song.
On that the woman began and sang,
I've sent my husband away from me
to the gockerli hill in italy.
Thereupon the parson sang,
I wish 'twas a year before he came back,
I'd never ask him for the laurel-leaf sack.
Then the gossip who was in the background began to sing -
but I ought to tell you the peasant was called hildebrand -
so the gossip sang,
what are you doing, my hildebrand dear,
there on the bench by the stove so near.
And then the peasant sang from his basket,
all singing I ever shall hate from this day,
and here in this basket no longer I'll stay.
And he climbed out of the basket, and flogged the parson
out of the house.