The Cologne Heinzelmännchen

Long, long ago in Cologne lived the Heinzelmännchen. Only a few have ever seen them. As soon as it was pitch-dark night, they came out of their hiding places under the houses and checked where work had been left undone. They helped the baker with the wedding cake, slaughtered the pig for the butcher, sawed the boards for the carpenter, and filled the wine into barrels.

Only the curious wife of the tailor would have loved to see a Heinzelmännchen. One night she took a bag of peas and scattered the contents on the stairs to the workshop. Then she hid herself.

At midnight, she heard a soft tripping of many feet coming up the basement stairs. But as soon as the first little men had run up a few steps, they slipped on the round peas. They fell down with a loud crash and down again. There was struggling and complaining that made the woman burst out laughing.

A dwarf raised his pointing finger threateningly and shouted, "You will bitterly regret this, woman!" and disappeared.

Up and down the streets, people shouted to each other: the Heinzelmännchen had not done a single stroke of work that night. And so it was the next night. And the night after that. And so it is still today and will never be different again. The good times are over forever, the Heinzelmännchen have disappeared forever, and every person from Cologne, like others, must do their work themselves. And many groan while doing so, "Oh, if only it were like it used to be!"