Clumsy Hans

There was once an old man who had three sons. The two eldest were very proud of how clever they were. They read thick books, spoke in long, careful sentences, and polished their boots until they shone. The youngest was called Clumsy Hans. He was cheerful, quick with a grin, and not afraid to look a little silly. He rode a billy-goat instead of a horse and liked to see what useful things the road might offer.

One day the king sent out a notice: the princess would marry the man who could talk with her in such a way that he never ran out of answers. He must be ready for anything she said—no stammering, no getting stuck, no fussing. Many gentlemen had already tried. The princess was sharp and full of jokes; she could twist a sentence and make the smoothest tongue trip. The two eldest brothers decided they would win. They spent days practicing wise sayings and handsome compliments.

“Don’t chatter,” the eldest warned the second. “Speak slowly. Impress her with great thoughts.”

“Certainly,” said the second. “We will speak of history and science. We will never be at a loss.”

Clumsy Hans heard them and laughed. “I’d like to try too,” he said.

“You?” they cried. “You don’t even ride a proper horse!”

“That’s true,” said Hans, patting his billy-goat, “but he and I go forward just the same.”

Off rode the two older brothers on sleek horses, coats brushed and hats straight. They meant to arrive first. As they trotted along, they passed a black crow that had fallen by the roadside.

“Ugh! A dead crow,” said the eldest, wrinkling his nose. “What a useless sight.” They rode on.

After a while, clippity-clop came Hans on his goat. He spotted the crow, hopped down, and picked it up. “You never know,” he said, slipping it into his bag. “This might come in handy.”

Farther along, the brothers saw an old wooden shoe lying in the ditch, worn through and missing its top. “Trash,” said the second brother. They rode on.

Hans came along and fished out the shoe. “A fine pot, if you squint,” he said cheerfully, and he tied it to his belt.

Near the city, a cart had splashed thick mud across the road. The brothers raised their clean boots and pranced around it. “Filthy,” they sniffed.

Hans stuck a hand right into the mud and scooped up a good, heavy handful. “That’s perfect,” he said, tucking the clay into his pocket. “It will keep something from leaking.” His goat flicked its tail and trotted on.

By the time they reached the palace, the hall was glittering with candles. The princess sat by the king’s side, watching each suitor come forward. She didn’t shout or scold. She just listened, and then she answered in a way that tangled their tongues. Gentlemen who had memorized speeches forgot their words. Others tried to be clever and fell silent.

The eldest brother stepped up, bowed, and began: “Your Highness, I have studied the wisdom of the ages—”

“Then you know everything already,” said the princess pleasantly. “What, then, can I tell you?”

“I—well—I meant—” He cleared his throat. All his handsome phrases flew out the window. He stammered, stared at his shiny boots, and fell quiet.

The second brother took his turn. “Your Highness, the weather is remarkably fine.”

“For ducks,” said the princess. “Have you brought any?”

“Any—ducks?” he managed. His practiced conversation melted away like butter on hot bread. He bowed, red-faced, and stepped back.

Just then the doors flew wide, and in came Clumsy Hans on his billy-goat, clatter-clatter over the palace floor. People gasped. Some laughed. The guards reached for their spears, but the king lifted a hand. The princess’s eyes sparkled. “Well,” she said, “that is a new kind of horse.”

“It’s the best I have,” said Hans, sliding off with a bow. “It climbs stairs better than any horse I’ve met.” He patted the goat, which gave a friendly bleat.

“Do you also know how to talk?” asked the princess, hiding a smile.

“I do,” said Hans, “and my pockets help.”

“Your pockets?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” said Hans. “For example, I can make you a fine soup this very minute.”

“In a throne room?” said the princess. “That’s a tall tale.”

“Not a tale,” said Hans, and he pulled the black crow from his bag. “We’ll begin with crow.”

“Aha!” said the princess. “Crow soup? That sounds like a story to me.”

“It’s true,” said Hans cheerfully. “And every soup needs a pot. Luckily, I brought one.” He held up the old wooden shoe.

The court burst into laughter. The princess leaned forward, delighted. “But your ‘pot’ has a hole. All your soup will run out.”

“Not if I seal it,” said Hans, and out came his muddy handful. “A little clay, and nothing will drip.” He pretended to smear the shoe, holding it carefully as if it were the finest copper kettle.

The princess clapped her hands. “You have an answer for everything, Clumsy Hans.”

“That’s useful when a man wants a wife,” said Hans. “Shall we eat?”

“Eat?” The princess laughed aloud now. “You can’t cook in a shoe in the middle of the king’s hall!”

“I can’t,” said Hans, “but I can plan it, and I can prove I didn’t tell a lie. Here is the crow for the soup, here is the pot, and here is the clay to keep it in. That is all true.” He held up each thing in turn, as proud as any prince showing off a treasure.

The king chuckled. The courtiers wiped their eyes. The princess tried once more, for sport. “If you marry me, what will you give me that I do not already have?”

“Someone who is never at a loss for an answer,” said Hans, “and who will make you laugh even on rainy days.”

The princess looked at him a long moment. She had talked with many men, but none had stayed cheerful, quick, and ready the way Hans had. He never grew angry. He never grew stuck. He never puffed himself up. He simply met each word with a better one, just as the king had asked.

“I believe you,” she said at last. “Father, I have found the man who can talk with me.”

“So you have,” said the king, smiling. “He is not a single step behind the proudest gentleman, though he came on a goat. Clumsy Hans, you shall have my daughter—and in time, half the kingdom.”

The palace cheered. The two elder brothers slipped away to polish their boots and think new thoughts. As for Hans, he bowed to the princess, who could not stop laughing for joy. The wedding was grand. The goat got a new collar with a bright little bell, and if anyone asked where the soup pot had gone, Hans would grin and say, “Safe and sound—just in case.”