The Parson’s Mother

There was once upon a time a parson and a sexton, as there are in many villages. The sexton was rich, but the parson was poor, and despite his being a learned man, he never knew what to do; but the sexton always knew what to do in every situation, and he had a head for business like both crow and magpie.

In that village they had a customary sausage fest in the autumn, at the time of slaughter. The parson did not think he could afford to hold it, but he did not know how he should avoid it, either, and therefore he sent for the sexton, to ask him for advice.

“This is no matter at all,” said the sexton. “Just say that thieves have come along the livestock path, father, and have left with your pigs, and then you will avoid the whole sausage fest.”

The parson thought this was good advice; but during the night the sexton himself broke into the pig sty and stole all the parson’s pigs. When the parson discovered that the pigs had been stolen and were gone, he did not know what to do but send for the sexton, and he did not keep him waiting.

“What is going on now, father?” he said, when he came in to the parson.

“Oh, God comfort and help me, an unfortunate man,” said the parson. “Now what we spoke of has happened!”

“What was that?” asked the sexton.

“My pigs have been stolen away,” said the parson.

“Well, well,” said the sexton, “in that case you will get out of the sausage fest, as I said.”

“No, no, not like that! It really is true. There have been thieves here; they have broken into my pig sty and have taken my pigs, really stolen them away!” said the parson.

“That’s right, father,” said the sexton, “keep saying it, just like you are telling me, so folk believe it to be true, and then you will get out of holding the sausage fest.”

“No, listen now: it is truthfully true, what I am saying, it is not some fancy!” said the parson. “There have been thieves her —”

“Yes, yes, God bless you, father; you don’t need to curse, I know well enough; we are not going to have a sausage fest; I hear you,” said the sexton, carrying on. And no matter how the parson told him and assured him, he received no other advice from the sexton, and he received no other answer, either.

A while afterwards, the parson began to reflect on how the sexton could be so rich, even though his incomes were small, and how he himself was poor, who took in much more in tithes and offerings of all that was good. He could by no means comprehend it, but he began to think both one thing and another, and perhaps he had heard something about the sexton eating pork more often than other folk. That was enough, and he had a great desire to discover the truth of it, and so he found that he should tell the sexton that he had to travel away, and that in the meantime, he would leave his money chest with him. That there was no money in the chest, that is easy to understand; there was merely the parson’s old mother, a crusty, hunchbacked woman who lay down in it, gnawing on a crust of cheese, and she should take care to listen and see whether the sexton had a money poppet, or how things hung together with his riches.

Well the chest was put in the parlour. In the evening, the sexton’s children began to scream for food.

“Do you have time to wait until I can make something?” said the sexton’s wife.

“Can we not have some of the parson’s pork then, mother?” the children screamed.

When the parson’s mother heard this, she opened the chest a crack and looked out for the pork. The sexton marked it well, but he affected to neither have heard nor seen anything. But in the night, when the others slept, he got up, took with him an axe, lifted the lid of the chest, struck the parson’s mother on her forehead with the heel of the axe, shoved the crust of cheese down her throat, and closed the lid again.

The following day, the parson came and said that he had had second thoughts; he would postpone his journey until another week; he drove the chest with him, and when he had properly come home, he opened it up and asked: “Mother, did you notice anything about whether the sexton has taken my pork?” His mother did not reply, but lay gaping with the cheese crust in her mouth, and the parson grew sorrowful, for he thought she had suffocated in the chest because he had not drilled any holes that she could breathe through, and he had also forgotten to give her anything to drink. Now he had to send for the sexton again, and asked him if he would bury her quietly.

“Has she been ill used, then?” asked the sexton.

“No, she has not,” said the parson; but he thought it so sorrowful that she had died so suddenly, and therefore he would rather give him ten dollars if he would agree to bury her quietly.

Well, when he got the ten dollars, he would bury her, but he said to himself: “Now you shall be repaid for the prank you had thought of playing me.” Then he took the woman, put her in a sack, and went off with her. On his way home, he saw that a merchant lay sleeping on a sunny bank, and a large merchant’s chest lay beside him. The sexton was not slow in opening the chest and pressing the parson’s mother down into it.

A while afterwards, the merchant came to the sexton’s farm and asked if they should do some trade. “No,” said the sexton, “I have nothing to buy for; but the parson is rich, you should go to him.” He went to the parson, and the parson was soon ready to trade. But when the merchant opened up his merchant’s chest, and they saw the dead woman, they were so afraid that they almost lost their wits and understanding, the both of them, and the parson did not know what to do other than send for the sexton again.

“But how did you do? Did you not bury mother?” asked the parson, when the sexton had come in.

“Of course I buried her,” replied the sexton; “but she has probably been ill used, since she is going a-haunting like this.”

No, she was not, said the parson, but he took heed of it, and said he thought it unfortunate that she should haunt, and so he would give the sexton twenty dollars if he would bury her in all quietness. Yes, the sexton would do this; so he put the woman in a sack, and went off with her on his back again. But he had heard that they should bake a cake at the parsonage, the following day. He went back again with the woman during the night, therefore, and stole in to the baking cabin. And early in the morning, when the womenfolk came in to bake, the parson’s mother stood with both fists in the dough trough, as if she were kneading. They screamed beyond measure, and were so afraid that they lost both wit and understanding, and the housekeeper sprang straight into the parson’s bed chamber and screamed and cried that they dared touch neither the flour nor the dough, until he came and conjured the old woman away, no matter if she should go up or down.

The parson did not know what to do before he spoke to the sexton.

“But listen, how did you do? Did you not bury mother?” said the parson when the sexton had come in.

“Of course I buried her,” said the sexton.

“But now she stands out kneading dough in the baking cabin,” said the parson.

“Well, well, she has obviously been ill used, since she walks and carries on and haunts so,” said the sexton.

“Hm, hm,” said the parson, shuddering. And then he thought it unfortunate for her to be walking and carrying on and haunting so; he would rather give the sexton thirty dollars if he would bury her quietly, he said. The sexton said she must have been ill used, but that it was the same to him; when he got thirty dollars, he would surely bury her. Yes, the money he got, and off he set with the woman again. But in the night, he took her with him in to the parsonage barn and cut the head off the parson’s big bull. When he had done that, he set the bull up in the stall, sat the woman on its back and put a scythe in her hand, as if she had killed it.

In the morning, when the milkmaid saw this spectacle, she was so appalled that she went straight into the parson’s bed chamber and screamed: “Father, father, our old mother is sitting on the big bull in the barn, and she has sliced him to death. I don’t dare go there to feed the cows before father goes with me and conjures her away.”

The parson would not believe it, but when he came to the barn, he saw that it was true, and then he did not know what to do before he sent for the sexton.

“But listen, how did you do? Did you not bury my mother?” said the parson, when the sexton had come in.

“Yes, God preserve me, I buried her,” said the sexton.

“But now she sits on the big bull, and has sliced it to death,” said the parson.

“She must have been ill used, since she carries on and haunts so,” said the sexton.

“Hm, hm,” said the parson, shuddering. And then he said he thought it unfortunate that she should carry on and haunt so; he would rather give the sexton forty dollars if he would bury her in all quietness. The sexton insisted that she must have been ill used, but when he got forty dollars, he would bury her, both well and good. And so he put the woman in the sack, threw it over his shoulder, and set off again.

The following day, the parson was to travel on parish business, and the sexton should go with him, for afterwards they should go to the filial parish. The parson readied himself in the evening and set off early, before the light of morning. On his way, he dropped into the sexton. He rode on a nursing mare, and in the darkness he had not noticed that the foal had followed along. Now he would have it stabled at the sexton’s. Yes, that would be possible, said the sexton, taking the foal. He asked his farmboy to stable it, but at the same time, he whispered in his ear that he should put the great dragoon’s sabre in parson’s mother’s hand, tie her fast on the foal, and release it when they had come a little way from the house, and the parson’s nursing mare began to whinny. When he had said this, he mounted his horse, and rode across the field to the parson. And he had not reached him before the nursing mare began to bray and carry on, as it missed its foal. Straight away the foal brayed back, for it missed her, and it came charging with the woman with the sabre on its back so that she lolled wildly from side to side. When the parson saw this, he was so afraid that he screamed in terror, and spared neither crop nor spurs in getting away. But the woman came after him as if she would cut him down. The parson did not know what to do, and he begged and blessed the sexton, that he should see her into the ground.

“No!” said the sexton. “The old mother has been ill used, or she would not continue with such carrying on and haunting. She has no peace, and I will not bury her before father tells how everything hangs together.”

“Very well, then!” screamed the parson. “I will give you fifty dollars, and the mare and the foal besides, if you will only leave me in peace and get her into the ground, both quickly and well.”

But it has never been asked how things did or did not turn out: whether the sexton buried her or she still rides after the parson; whether the sexton was hanged or beaten, or whether he lived well and good like other big pranksters. Perhaps you may ask, as you go from village to village, and ask after the parson who never knew what to do, and the sexton who always knew what to do in every situation.

 

Norwegian source: Prestens mor.