Once upon a time, there lived a peasant and his wife. The village parson fancied the wife and had long wished to spend a happy day with her. The peasant woman was quite willing.
One day, the parson said to her, "Listen, my dear friend. I have thought of a way for us to spend a whole day together. On Wednesday, take to your bed and tell your husband you are ill. Complain and act properly ill until Sunday when I preach. In my sermon, I will say that whoever has a sick family member at home and makes a pilgrimage to the Göckerli hill in Italy—where a peck of laurel-leaves costs a kreuzer—will see that person restored to health immediately."
"I will manage it," said the woman promptly.
On Wednesday, the woman took to her bed, lamenting as agreed. Her husband did all he could, but nothing helped. When Sunday came, she said, "I feel so ill I might die, but I wish to hear the parson's sermon before my end."
The peasant said, "Ah, do not get up; you might worsen. I will go to the sermon, listen carefully, and tell you everything."
"Go then, and pay great attention," she replied.
The peasant went to the sermon. The parson preached that if anyone had a sick family member and made a pilgrimage to the Göckerli hill in Italy, where a peck of laurel-leaves cost a kreuzer, that person would be healed instantly. Whoever wished to undertake the journey should see him after the service for the sack and the kreuzer.
No one was more rejoiced than the peasant. After the service, he went to the parson, received the bag and the kreuzer, and hurried home. At the door, he cried, "Hurrah! Dear wife, it is as if you are well already! The parson preached of a cure, and I have the bag and kreuzer. I will begin my journey at once so you may heal faster." He left immediately. No sooner was he gone than the woman got up, and the parson arrived directly.
Now, let us leave these two and follow the peasant, who walked quickly to reach the Göckerli hill. On his way, he met his gossip, an egg-merchant returning from market.
"May you be blessed. Where are you off to so fast?" asked the gossip.
"To all eternity, my friend," said the peasant. "My wife is ill..." and he recounted the parson's sermon and his mission.
"But listen, gossip," said the egg-merchant. "Are you stupid enough to believe that? The parson wants a day alone with your wife. He sent you away on purpose."
"My word! How I'd like to know if that's true!"
"Come then," said the gossip. "Get into my egg-basket, and I will carry you home. You will see for yourself."
So the peasant got into the basket, and the gossip carried him home.
When they arrived, all was merry! The woman had killed nearly everything in the farmyard and made pancakes. The parson was there with his fiddle. The gossip knocked.
"Who is there?" asked the woman.
"It is I, gossip," said the egg-merchant. "Give me shelter tonight. I did not sell my eggs, and they are too heavy to carry further in the dark."
"Indeed, you come at an inconvenient time, but since you are here, come in. Sit on the bench by the stove."
She placed the gossip and his basket on the bench. The parson and the woman were as merry as possible. At length, the parson said, "You sing beautifully; sing something for me."
"Oh, I cannot sing now," said the woman. "In my youth I could, but that's over."
"Come, sing a little song," he urged.
The woman sang:
"I've sent my husband away from me
To the Göckerli hill in Italy."
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 in the background began to sing (the peasant was called Hildebrand):
"What art thou doing, my Hildebrand dear,
There on the bench by the stove so near?"
Hallelujah.
And 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.
He got out of the basket and cudgelled the parson out of the house.