Hans in Luck

Some people seem born lucky: whatever they try turns out well, and they land on their feet like a cat. Neighbour Hans was one of them. For seven years he had worked hard for his master. At last he said his time was up; he must go home to see his mother, and asked for his wages. The master answered that Hans had been faithful and good, so his pay would be handsome—and gave him a lump of silver as big as his head.

Hans tied the silver in his handkerchief, slung it over his shoulder, and jogged homeward, dragging one foot after the other. Soon a man came trotting by on a fine horse. “Ah!” Hans said aloud, “what a fine thing it is to ride! There he sits as easy as by his own fire; he stubs no stones, saves shoe-leather, and gets on he hardly knows how.” The rider heard him. “Friend, why go on foot then?” “I have this load to carry,” said Hans; “to be sure it is silver, but it is so heavy I cannot hold my head straight, and it digs into my shoulder.” “If you like,” said the horseman, “we will exchange: I will give you my horse, and you give me the silver.” “With all my heart,” said Hans; “but I tell you one thing—you will have a weary task dragging it along.” The horseman got down, took the silver, helped Hans up, put the bridle in one hand and the whip in the other, and said that when he wanted to go very fast he should smack his lips loudly and cry “Jup!”

Hans was merry on horseback and thought himself very grand. After a time he thought he should like to go faster, so he smacked his lips and cried “Jup!” The horse broke into a sharp trot, and before Hans knew how to ride he was thrown off into a ditch that parted the fields from the high road. The horse would have run off if a peasant coming along the road with a cow had not stopped it. Hans scrambled up and felt his bones. “It is a bad joke,” he said, “this riding—especially when one aims at having a nag like this that stumbles and throws one and tries to break one’s neck. I like your cow a great deal better. One can walk beside her at one’s ease, have milk, butter, and cheese, and when thirsty milk her and drink. What can I wish for more?” The peasant did not take long to decide: Hans gave him the horse and took the cow.

On he went beside his cow, happy with his bargain, counting up the milk and butter he would have. When he came to an inn he stopped, ate all the food he had with him for dinner and supper, and spent his last few coins on half a glass of beer. Then he drove the cow on toward his mother’s village. Midday heat grew fierce; the way lay over open fields with no shade. Hans grew so thirsty that his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He thought of his cow’s milk, tied her to a fallen tree, and tried to milk her into his leather cap—but he managed so clumsily that the uneasy beast gave him a kick on the head that knocked him over, and for a while he lay senseless.

Luckily a butcher came by driving a pig in a wheelbarrow. He helped Hans up and asked what was wrong. Hans told how he was dry and wanted milk, but the cow was dry too. The butcher gave him a flask of ale and said the cow was an old beast good for nothing but the slaughter-house. “Alas!” said Hans, “who would have thought it? What a shame to take my horse and give me only a dry cow! If I kill her, what then? I hate cow-beef; it is not tender enough. If it were a pig now—like that fat fellow you are driving—one could do something; at any rate make sausages.” “Well,” said the butcher, “I do not like to say no when asked a neighbourly thing. To please you I will change and give you my fine fat pig for the cow.” Hans thanked him for his kindness, gave up the cow, and drove the pig away by the string on its leg.

Now all seemed right again. The next man he met was a countryman carrying a fine white goose. They fell into talk; Hans boasted of his bargains; the countryman said he was taking the goose to a christening—feel how heavy it is, though only eight weeks old; whoever roasts it will find plenty of fat. Hans weighed it and praised his pig in turn. Then the countryman looked grave: in the village he had just left, the squire’s pig had been stolen; if Hans were caught with it he might be thrown in the horse-pond. Could he swim? Poor Hans was terrified. He begged to be helped out of the scrape and offered the pig for the goose. The countryman grumbled that a fat goose for a pig was not a bargain everyone would make, yet took the pig by a side path while Hans went on free of care, dreaming of roast, goose-grease, and feathers for a soft pillow—how happy his mother would be!

In the next village a scissor-grinder worked and sang at his wheel. Hans watched and said the man must be well off to seem so happy. “Yes,” said the grinder; “mine is a golden trade; a good grinder never puts his hand in his pocket without finding money. But you must have a grindstone; everything else follows. Here is one little the worse for wear; I would not ask more than the value of your goose for it—will you buy?” “How can you ask?” cried Hans; “I shall be the luckiest man on earth. What more can I want than money whenever I put my hand in my pocket?” He handed over the goose and took the stone, while the grinder threw in a common rough stone that lay nearby, saying Hans could hammer on it.

Hans went on with the heavy stones, but they tired him sadly. He dragged himself to a river to drink and rest, laid the stones carefully on the bank beside him, stooped to drink—and a push or a slip sent them tumbling in. He watched them sink and then sprang up for joy, fell on his knees, and thanked Heaven for taking away his only plague, those ugly heavy stones. “How happy am I!” he cried; “nobody was ever so lucky as I.” Then he rose with a light heart, free of all his troubles, walked on to his mother’s house, and told her how very easy the road to good luck was.

About this story

“Hans in Luck” (“Hans im Glück”) is number 83 in Margaret Hunt’s translation of the Grimms. The English text here comes from Project Gutenberg’s Grimms’ Fairy Tales (#2591), which its preparer says draws on the translations of Edgar Taylor and Marian Edwardes.

The retelling follows Hans as he gives up his wages through successive trades, then celebrates losing the final stones. The text supplies no price list for comparing each animal. Its tension lies between the property he loses and the relief he repeatedly feels.

Read the original: Grimms’ Fairy Tales (Project Gutenberg #2591)

Best for ages 6–8 with an adult: a repeating exchange tale with a fall, a kick that knocks Hans unconscious, threatened punishment and misleading sales talk. The comic recovery should not be treated as practical advice about injuries or handling animals.

Reading the story closely

Hans begins with the weight of silver and ends with the weight of stones. Each exchange promises relief from a present discomfort or a new imagined benefit, so the final loss feels like another gain to him. But the strangers also shape those desires: the goose seller raises an unverified theft threat, and the grinder makes owning a stone sound like having a profitable skill.

Make a trade trail with two labels at each step: what Hans hopes for and what he actually learns. Keep his happiness separate from the fairness of the bargain. Can we value his relief at reaching home while still criticizing people who take advantage of his trust?

Think about it

• Which claims does Hans check before trading, and which does he accept without evidence?
• Why do you think Hans felt happiest when he had nothing left to carry?
• If you were walking with Hans, at which trade would you have stopped him, and what would you have said?

Related stories

• The Turnip — a Grimm farmer swaps a giant turnip and does well out of it
• Frederick and Catherine — another Grimm tale of things given away and silly bargains at home
• A Lac of Rupees for a Piece of Advice — an Indian tale about whether a strange bargain was really worth it