DANSK

Den gamle Hildebrand

ENGLISH

Old Hildebrand


Der var engang en bondemand og en bondekone. Præsten der i landsbyen syntes godt om hende og ville forfærdelig gerne tilbringe en hel dag rigtig fornøjeligt sammen med hende, og det ville hun også. En dag sagde han til hende: "Nu skal I bare høre. Jeg har fundet en måde, hvorpå vi kan komme til at tilbringe en glad dag sammen. Ser I, på onsdag lægger I jer til sengs og siger til jeres mand, at I er syg, og så skal I klage og stønne og blive ved med det lige til søndag. Så siger jeg i min prædiken, at den, der hjemme har et sygt barn, en syg mand eller kone, far eller mor, søster eller bror, eller hvem det nu er, skal gøre en valfart til Hanebjerget i Vælskland, hvor man for to øre får et fjerdingkar laurbær, så bliver det syge barn, den syge mand eller kone, far eller mor, søster eller bror, eller hvem det nu er, rask lige på stedet."

"Det skal jeg nok," sagde bondekonen. Om onsdagen blev hun liggende i sengen og gav sig og klagede ganske forfærdeligt. Hendes mand bragte hende alt, hvad han kunne tænke sig, men det hjalp ikke en smule. Om søndagen sagde hun: "Jeg er så syg, som om jeg skulle opgive ånden med det samme, men før jeg dør, vil jeg dog høre præstens prædiken i dag." - "Nej, nej, min pige," sagde bonden, "det må du ikke. Det bliver bare værre, når du står op. Nu skal jeg gå i kirke og høre rigtig godt efter og fortælle dig alt, hvad præsten siger." - "Ja, så gør det," sagde hun, "men pas nu rigtig på, så du kan fortælle mig det alt sammen." Bonden gik så i kirke, og præsten begyndte så at prædike og sagde, at den, der hjemme havde et sygt barn, en syg mand eller kone, far eller mor, søster eller bror, eller hvem det nu var, skulle gøre en valfart til Hanebjerget i Vælskland, hvor man kunne få et fjerdingkar laurbær for to øre, så blev det syge barn, den syge mand eller kone, far eller mor, søster eller bror, eller hvem det nu var, rask på stedet, og hvis nogen ville gøre rejsen, skulle han blot efter gudstjenesten komme hen til ham, så skulle han give ham en sæk til laurbærrene og en toøre. Ingen var gladere end bonden og efter gudstjenesten gik han lige hen til præsten og fik sækken og toøren. Derpå gik han hjem og udenfor døren råbte han allerede: "Halløj, lille kone, nu er du så godt som rask. Præsten sagde i dag, at den der havde et sygt barn, en syg mand eller kone, far eller mor, søster eller bror, eller hvem det nu var, skulle blot gøre en valfart til Hanebjerget i Tyskland, hvor man får et fjerdingkar laurbærblade for to øre, så blev det syge barn, den syge mand eller kone, far eller mor, søster eller bror, eller hvem det nu var, rask lige på stedet. Nu har jeg fået en sæk og en toøre af præsten, og nu går jeg straks af sted, for at du kan blive rask så snart som muligt." Han gik nu, og ligesom han var ude af døren, stod konen op, og et øjeblik efter kom præsten. Nu vil vi imidlertid lade de to være alene med hinanden, og i stedet forgå med bondemanden. Han gik så hurtigt han kunne for i en fart at nå Hanebjerget, og så mødte han sin svoger, der var æggehandler, og havde været inde på torvet og sælge æg. "Hvor skal du hen i sådan en fart?" spurgte svogeren. "Jeg har travlt," svarede bonden, "min kone er syg, og i dag sagde præsten i sin prædiken, at hvis man hjemme havde et sygt barn, en syg mand eller kone, far eller mor, søster eller bror, eller hvem det nu var, så skulle man gøre en valfart til Hanebjerget i Vælskland, hvor man for to øre får et fjerndingkar laurbærblade, så bliver det syge barn, den syge mand eller kone, far eller mor, søster eller bror, eller hvem det nu var, rask lige på stedet. Han gav mig så en sæk og en toøre og så begav jeg mig på vej." - "Å, snak, svoger," sagde æggehandleren, "du er da ikke så dum at tro det. Nej, jeg skal sige dig noget. Præsten vil gerne være en hel dag alene med din kone, og så har han bundet dig det på ærmet for at få dig af vejen." - "Jeg gad dog nok vide, om det er sandt," sagde bonden. "Kryb ned i min æggekurv," sagde svogeren," så bærer jeg dig hjem, så kan du selv se." Bonden krøb så ned i kurven, og svogeren bar ham hjem. Der var et ordentligt halløj. Bondekonen havde slagtet alt sit fjerkræ og bagt kager, og præsten havde taget sin violin med. Svogeren bankede på, og konen spurgte hvem det var. "Det er mig, svigerinde," svarede manden, "I kommer til at give mig husly i nat. Jeg har ikke fået solgt mine æg på torvet, så jeg må bære dem hjem igen, men de er så tunge, så jeg kan ikke mere, og det er også så mørkt." - "I kommer rigtignok svært ubelejligt," sagde konen, "men når det ikke kan være anderledes, så kom ind og sæt jer hen på bænken ved ovnen." Svogeren kom ind og satte sig med sin store kurv ved siden af sig, og præsten og bondekonen var nok så lystige. Til sidst sagde præsten: "Hør lille kone, I synger jo så kønt, syng engang lidt for os." - "Jeg kan ikke mere," sagde konen, "i mine unge dage kunne jeg nok, men det er forbi nu." - "Gør det nu kun, "sagde præsten, og så begyndte hun: "Gudskelov, min mand er langt herfra, i Vælskland ved Hanebjerget, hurra." Præsten sang så:

"Å gid han ville blive væk,
rigtig længe, med samt sin laurbærsæk,
halleluja!"

Nu begyndte svogeren at synge (jeg har glemt at fortælle, at bonden hed Hildebrand):

"Hvad nu, du kære Hildebrandt,
kan du nu se, at jeg talte sandt."

Og bonden i kurven begyndte at synge:

"Nu siger jeg til legen stop,
skynd dig, hjælp mig af kurven op."

Så kravlede han op af kurven og bankede præsten ud af huset.
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 if you only 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 Göckerli 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. Now therefore on the Wednesday, 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 -- thou mightest make thyself worse if thou wert to get up. Look, I will go to the sermon, and will attend to it very carefully, and will tell thee everything the parson says."

"Well," said the woman, "go, then, and pay great attention, and repeat to me all that thou hearest." So the peasant went to the sermon, and the parson began to preach and 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 Göckerli 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 thou wert 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 Göckerli 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 thou mayst get well the faster," and thereupon he went away. He was, however, hardly gone before the woman got up, and the parson was there directly.

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 Göckerli 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 Göckerli 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! but all was going 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, "thou comest at a very inconvenient time for me, but as thou art 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 parso, however, and the woman, were as merry as possible. At length the parson said, "Listen, my dear friend, thou canst 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 Göckerli 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 art thou 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 got out of the basket, and cudgelled the parson out of the house.




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