Simple Peter

There lived a young man in a village. His name was Peter. He was a kind, handsome, and strong lad, but rather simple-minded. He could barely count his mother’s chickens, and there were only twenty of them. When his mother gave Peter a shilling and asked him to buy something for just three pence, he could never figure out how much change he should get. And if she sent him to the market, he was sure to be swindled.

It wasn’t that he was lazy or a good-for-nothing; poor Peter simply lacked intelligence.

“Oh, Mother,” Peter would say, “if only I were a little smarter, life would be much easier for you!”

“Yes, Peter,” his mother would sigh, “God didn’t bless you with much wit, that’s for sure. But you have a kind heart and enough strength for two, so don’t be sad. Better run upstairs and bring me three buttons. I’ll sew them onto your jacket. Just remember—three buttons! Not two, not four, but three.”

But Peter couldn’t stop worrying about how foolish he was, and he kept pestering his mother, asking how he could become smarter. Finally, his mother couldn’t take it anymore and said:

“Well, if you’re so eager to gain wisdom, go to the wise old woman who lives on that hill over there. They say she’s truly wise. She has magic books, potions, and herbs. She knows everything—maybe she can make you smarter.”

Peter finished his chores and set off for the hill. He climbed to the very top and saw a hut belonging to the old witch. Smoke was rising from the chimney, and a black cat was sleeping on the doorstep.

“A good sign,” thought Peter, and he knocked on the door.

No one answered. So, he carefully lifted the latch and peeked inside. Sitting with her back to him by the fire was the old woman, stirring something in a black cauldron. She didn’t turn around or say a word. But Peter stepped inside anyway and said:

“Good day, Granny! Lovely weather today, isn’t it?”

The old woman didn’t respond and kept stirring the cauldron.

“It might rain tomorrow,” Peter continued.

But the old woman still said nothing.

“Or maybe it won’t,” he added, unsure of what else to say.

The old woman kept stirring and stirring the contents of the black cauldron.

“Well, I’ve said all I can about the weather, so now let’s talk business,” Peter mustered his courage. “You see, I’m a bit simple-minded. Could you, perhaps, make me a little smarter? Because…”

“Smarter?” the old woman interrupted. She set the spoon aside and looked at Peter for the first time. “Very well! But what kind of wisdom are you asking for? If it’s the wisdom of a general or a teacher, I doubt I can help you. So, tell me, what kind of wisdom do you need?”

“Just the ordinary kind,” Peter replied. “Not too much, not too little—just like everyone else.”

“Alright,” said the old woman. “You’ll have that kind of wisdom, but first, bring me the heart of the one you love most in the world. Understand? And when you bring it, I’ll give you a riddle to see if you’ve brought what I asked for. Now, off you go!”

Without waiting for a reply, she took the cauldron and left the kitchen, leaving Peter no choice but to leave.

As he descended the hill, he kept thinking about the old witch’s words. “The heart of the one I love most in the world… Who could that be?”

It wasn’t often that Peter had to rack his brain like this.

He returned home and told his mother what the old woman had said. His mother thought for a while and then said:

“I think you love fat pork more than anything in the world. Let’s slaughter our old pig, and you can take its heart to the witch.”

They slaughtered the old pig, took out its heart, and the next evening Peter carried it to the hut on the hill.

The old woman was sitting in a chair by the fire, reading a huge book. She didn’t look up, and Peter placed the pig’s heart on the table and said:

“Here, I’ve brought the heart of the one I love most in the world. Will this do?”

The old woman looked up from her book.

“What runs without legs?” she asked. “Answer me!”

“Runs without legs?” Peter repeated, scratching his head and thinking hard.

He thought and thought until his head hurt. The old woman kept reading her book. Finally, Peter said:

“I… I don’t know.”

“Well, then you haven’t brought what I asked for,” said the witch. “Take this and go!”

Poor Peter had no choice but to take the pig’s heart and leave. When he returned home, he found his mother in bed. She had suddenly fallen ill and was now on her deathbed. Peter barely had time to say goodbye before she passed away. He knelt by her bedside for a long time, crying and crying, unable to calm down.

He remembered how kind and gentle his mother had been, how she had loved him, comforted him when he was little, treated his bruises and scrapes, mended his clothes, fed him, and talked with him in the evenings.

“How will I live without her?” Peter thought. “I loved her more than anyone in the world.”

And then he remembered the witch’s words: “Bring me the heart of the one you love most in the world.”

“No, I’ll never do that!” Peter exclaimed.

But the next morning, he decided that he didn’t have to take out her heart—he could just bring his mother’s body to the old witch.

So, he did just that—after all, he now desperately needed a smarter mind.

He entered the witch’s hut with his burden and said:

“Now I’ve truly brought you what I love most in the world. This is my late mother. So, give me the wisdom you promised.”

“Tell me,” said the witch, “what is yellow, shines, but isn’t gold?”

“Yellow, shines, but isn’t gold?” Peter pondered. “It’s… it’s…”

But try as he might, he couldn’t think of the answer and finally said:

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you won’t gain wisdom today! I see you’re truly a simpleton. You’ll probably never gain any wisdom.”

And so, Peter had to leave the witch’s hut empty-handed once again. But he didn’t want to go home—his heart was too heavy. He sat by the road and wept bitterly.

Suddenly, someone called out to him in a kind voice. He looked up and saw a pretty girl smiling at him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Such a big, strong lad, crying!”

“I’m a simpleton,” Peter replied. “I don’t have enough wit. And now my mother has died, leaving me all alone. How will I live now? Who will feed me, clothe me, go to the market for me? There’s no one to talk to, no one to comfort me. Poor, wretched me!”

“There, there, don’t be sad,” said Jenny, the girl’s name. “A simpleton like you needs looking after. Would you like me to come with you and take care of you?”

“Well, if you want to, let’s go,” Peter replied. “But you’ll soon see for yourself that I’m a fool, and I’ll probably stay that way unless I can somehow gain some wisdom.”

“That’s alright!” said Jenny. “As they say, the dumber the groom, the more pliable the husband. Would you like to marry me?”

“Can you cook?” Peter asked.

“Of course!” Jenny replied.

“Can you sew and mend?”

“Absolutely!”

“Can you count eggs? Add up pounds, shillings, and pence?”

“I can, I can!”

“Well then, if you’re willing to marry me,” Peter said happily, “I’ll marry you.”

And so, they went back to the village together.

After Peter’s mother was buried and the village mourned her, Peter and Jenny got married and began living together in his little house.

Soon, Peter realized—even though he was a simpleton—that he had gotten a wife like no other. She cooked, sewed, and cleaned, all cheerfully and willingly, and most importantly, she always knew how to cheer him up with jokes and kind words.

Peter turned out to be a good husband, too. He worked cheerfully and eagerly. Nothing was too hard for him—as long as he didn’t have to think for himself. There were no burdens too heavy or roads too long for him. They were a happy pair, no doubt about it!

“You know what, Jenny?” Peter said one evening. “I’ve realized I love you more than anyone in the world.”

And then it dawned on him.

“Listen,” he continued, “do you think the witch wanted me to kill you and bring her your heart? Do you think that’s what she wanted?”

“Hardly,” Jenny replied. “Of course not! No one said anything about killing. You can take me to her alive, just as I am, with my heart and everything.”

“That’s very clever of you!” Peter exclaimed. “Why didn’t I think of that? Alright, let’s go to her together. But wait, first tell me, what runs without legs?”

“A river,” Jenny answered. “Easy to guess!”

“A river?” Peter repeated. “That’s it! Why couldn’t I figure that out? Now tell me, what’s yellow, shines, but isn’t gold?”

“The sun!” Jenny replied without hesitation. “Any child could guess that.”

“The sun?” Peter asked, surprised. “Yes, it shines, it’s yellow, but it’s not gold. What a head you have, Jenny! There’s no wife smarter than you in all of England. Let’s go quickly—maybe the old woman will give me a little wisdom so I can be worthy of you.”

And so, they climbed the hill together and found the witch at home.

“At last, I’ve brought you the one I love most in the world,” Peter said. “Here she is, with her heart and all of her. And if you don’t give me wisdom now, then you’re not a wise woman—you’re just a fraud and a cheat!”

“Sit down, both of you!” said the old woman.

They obeyed, and the old woman turned to Peter and said:

“Listen to my riddle. What is born without legs, grows two, and then four?”

Poor Peter thought and thought but couldn’t find the answer. Then Jenny whispered in his ear:

“A tadpole! Say: a tadpole.”

“A tadpole!” Peter blurted out.

“Correct,” said the old woman. “Well, I see you have enough wisdom now, even without me. Just ask your wife for advice more often!”

And so, Peter did just that and was very pleased with the wise old woman’s advice.

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Simple Peter

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