Old Hildebrand
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. Hallelujah. 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. Hallelujah. 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. Hallelujah. And he
climbed out of the basket, and flogged the parson out of the house.
--The End-- |
