The Royal Lady's Magazine/Series 1/Volume 2/July 1831/German Prolusions/Hans in Luck

For other English-language translations of this work, see Hans in Luck.

HANS IN LUCK.

(By Grimm.)

Hans had served his master seven years, when he resolved to speak to him. “Sir, my time is out. I should now like to go home again to my mother; so pay me my wages.”

“You have served me well and faithfully,” replied his master. “Your reward shall correspond.”

With these words he gave him a lump of gold as big as his head. Hans took out his pocket handkerchief, wrapped it round the lump which he placed upon his shoulder, and set forth for home.

As he was trudging along, putting one leg before the other with tolerable agility, he saw a horseman coming towards him, sitting at his ease upon an excellent steed.

“Ah!” quoth Hans, as the traveller trotted by, “what a comfortable thing riding is! There sits one, as pleasantly as if he were in a chair, stumbling against no stones, wearing out no shoes, and getting on, he hardly knows how.”

“Well Hans,” said the horseman, who overheard him, “and why do you tramp it then on foot?”

“Ah!” quoth Hans, “I must get this lump home; it is gold to be sure; but I can hardly hold up my head for it, and it galls my shoulders confoundedly!”

“I’ll tell you what,” replied the traveller, “we’ll exchange. I’ll give you my horse, and you shall give me your lump.”

“With all my heart,” said Hans, “but I can tell you one thing; you will find it a hard job to carry it.”

The horseman alighted; took the lump of gold, and helped Hans in the saddle. He then gave him the bridle, and said, “If he does not go fast enough, you must call out to him, hopp! hopp!”

Hans was delighted when he found himself on horseback, riding along so pleasantly. At the end of the first mile, he thought he might as well go a little faster; so hopp! hopp! quoth Hans, when the beast starting into a pretty round trot, Hans found himself safely landed in a ditch, before he knew where he was.

The horse would have escaped altogether had it not been stopped by a countryman, who was coming along and driving a cow before him. Hans picked himself up, and stood once more upon his legs. He was terribly out of humour, however, and said to the countryman, “Riding is bad sport, when one happens to get hold of such a vile jade as this, who stumbles and pitches one over her head, at the risk of breaking one’s neck; I’ll never mount her again, I know. Give me at any time a cow, in preference to a horse; one can walk behind a cow comfortably; and moreover, be certain every day of milk, butter, and cheese. What would I give now for such a cow as that!”

“Nay,” said the countryman, “if it will be any satisfaction to you, I will exchange my cow for your horse.”

Hans gladly consented, and the countryman mounting the horse rode off.

Hans drove his cow before him, congratulating himself all the way upon his lucky bargain. “Let me only have a piece of bread,” said he “(and I have never yet known the want of one), and I can now eat butter and cheese with it when I choose; or if I am thirsty, I have only to milk my cow, and have at once a delicious draught. What can the heart of man desire more?” Coming to a public-house, he halted; ate with great relish what he had with him; devoured at one meal both his dinner and supper; and paid for half a glass of beer with the last penny he had. Then he drove his cow on again, towards the village where his mother lived. The heat, however, became oppressive, as the day advanced, and Hans suffered so much from it, that his tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth.

“This can soon be remedied,” quoth Hans, “I will milk my cow, and refresh myself.”

He fastened her to an old tree, and began to milk away; but he laboured in vain; not a drop of milk came. While, however, he continued to tug at the cow in the most awkward manner imaginable, she, impatient of such treatment, lifted up one of her hind legs and gave Hans a kick on the head, that laid him sprawling on the ground, without knowing, for some time, where he was. Fortunately, at that moment, a butcher happened to pass by, with a young porker in a wheelbarrow.

“What a thump that was!” cried he, and lifted up poor Hans.

Hans related what had happened. The butcher offered him his flask: and said, “Here, drink a little and recover yourself. But you will never get any milk from that cow, man; she is too old; the most she is fit for now is to draw, or for slaughter.”

“The devil she is!” exclaimed Hans, stroking down his hair. “Who would have thought that? It is all very well, however, when one can kill such an animal at home—how fleshy she is! But for my part, I am not fond of cow-beef; it is not juicy enough for me. Now a fine young pig—that is quite another sort of thing—and then, the delicious chitterlings!”

“Hark’ee, Hans,” said the butcher, “to oblige you, I have no objection to make an exchange, and give my pig for your cow.”

“Heaven bless your kindness!” quoth Hans; delivered the cow to him; unloosened the pig from the barrow; took hold of the string which was tied to his leg, and jogged on, thinking how fortunately every thing had turned out just as he wished; for no sooner did any vexation happen, than it was immediately set to rights. As he was thus meditating upon his good luck, a fellow joined company with him, who was carrying a beautiful white goose under his arm. They bade good day to each other; after which Hans related how fortunate he had been in having every time made an exchange for the better. His companion remarked that he was carrying his goose to a christening feast. “Lift it,” said he, holding it by the wings, “and feel how heavy it is; it has been fattening these eight weeks. They who eat of it when it is roasted, must take care and wipe the grease away from both sides of their mouths.” “Yes,” answered Hans, weighing it in his hand, “she has her weight; but my pig is none so bad, I think, for fat.”

His companion looked cautiously round, and shook his head. “Mark me,” said he at length, “as to your pig, I suspect every thing is not as it should be; depend upon it, all is not right. In the village through which I have just passed, there has been a pig stolen out of the mayor’s stye. I fear—very much I fear—you have now got that very pig by the leg; and it would be an awkward business, if it were found in your possession. The least that could happen to you would be to be sent to prison.”

Poor Hans was in a sad taking now. “For God’s sake,” quoth he, “help me out of this mishap. You are better known hereabouts, than I am; take the pig, and let me have your goose.”

“I shall run some risk,” answered the man, “but I should not like to see you get into trouble.”

So saying, he took hold of the string, drove the pig along a by-road, and was soon out of sight; the worthy Hans, meanwhile, with his goose under his arm, and his fright at an end, pursuing the road to his own home.

“If I am not very much mistaken,” quoth he to himself, “I am on the right side even in this exchange; for first, I shall have a beautiful roast; then a quantity of fat which will drip from it; lastly, the fine white feathers: these, I can put into my pillow; and I shall sleep without rocking. How delighted my poor mother will be!”

As he passed through the last village he saw a knife-grinder with his wheel, singing at his noisy work:

Hans stood still, and watched him. At length he spoke to him. Things go on well with you, friend, since you sing so merrily over your grinding.”

“Ay,” answered the knife-grinder, “there is no trade so bad, but a man may live by it. A good knife-grinder never need put his hand into his pocket without finding some money there. But where did you buy that fine goose?”

“I did not buy it—I exchanged a pig for it,” quoth Hans.

“And the pig?” said the knife-grinder.

“I got that for a cow,” quoth Hans.

“And the cow?”

“That I had for a horse,” quoth Hans.

“And the horse?”

“I gave a lump of gold as big as my head, for the horse,” quoth Hans.

“And the lump of gold?”

“Oh—that was my wages for seven years’ service,” quoth Hans.

“You know how to take care of yourself, I see,” said the knife-grinder. “Could you but manage it now, that you should always hear money rattle in your pocket, your fortune would be made.”

“How am I to do that?” quoth Hans.

“You must become a knife-grinder, like myself; and for that purpose you want nothing but a whetstone; all the rest will come of itself. Here is one a little the worse for wear, and therefore if you have a mind, you shall give me nothing but your goose for it. What say you?”

“Need you ask me?” quoth Hans. “It would make me the happiest of men. Only let me feel money in my pocket whenever I put my hand there, and what have I to care for?”

With these words he gave the goose to the knife-grinder, who lifted up a huge heavy stone, that lay beside him, and cautioned Hans to take great care of it.

Hans took charge of the stone, and continued his journey with a joyful heart. His eyes sparkled with rapture as he exclaimed to himself, “Every thing I wish, happens just as if I had been born with a silver spoon in my mouth!” Meanwhile, as he had been upon the foot ever since daybreak, he began to grow weary and hungry, lamenting, at the same time, that he had eaten up all his provisions at a single meal, when he was so delighted at having got his cow. At length he became so tired, he could not get on; and the stone punished him with its weight, severely. He began to reflect how convenient it would be just then if he were not obliged to carry it. Crawling like a snail, he reached a well. He resolved to rest, and refresh himself with a cool draught from the spring. Lest he should damage the stone, however, in sitting down, he laid it carefully on the brink, by his side. He then turned round to get some of the water; but his foot slipping, plump went the stone to the bottom of the well. Hans, as he saw it sink, sprung joyfully up, then knelt down again, and thanked God, with tears in his eyes, for this favour, in having thus freed him from the stone; for it was the only thing wanting to complete his happiness.

“There is not such a happy dog as myself under the sun,” he exclaimed; and now with a lightsome spirit, released from every burden, he hastened along till he arrived at his mother’s house.

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