Original
Był jedén gospodáuřž, ten sobe strašńe śćóżóŭ, iže śe muśi na polu bardzo moc narobić před śvojó babó (żónõ), a óna jiže ńi ma (abo ńi máu) tela přy varžéńu dóma do čyńeńáu. Tak óna mu potim móvíwa iže óna na to pole pojedże a všyckã tã robotã ktoró ón máu na polu do čyńeńau to jéj máu póvedżeć a óna jó dobře zrobi. Tak ón jéj póvedżáŭ: „Tanto doořeš a to drugé dohakuješ¹) a to třećé zavlečeš". A óna mu tež zadała tã robotã, ktoró óna dóma do čyńeńáu ḿała: objáud uvařyć, masło zbić, gãś z jajec na dvór vygnać a dać pozór aż te jajca ńe ochłódnõ, a teraz śvíńe do pastuchy vygnać a dać pozór aż kartoufli (mit tau tak objaśnił) na zagrodże ńe pokopóm, also so welt. Tak óna všyckó, co óny roskáuzáŭ na polu zrobić, dobře zrobiła. Ale ón śe náuprody dáŭ do bićáu masła; a ḿał ostry přykáuz, ažeby ot ty maśńički ńe odchodźił, bo iže óna troškě v čary véřyła. Jak ón ale pravé to masło začón bić, to zatrũmbił gḿiński pastucha. V tym všyckim třa było śviné vygnać. A śviné były naučóné prosto na zégrodã ućekać do tych kartofli. Onemu śe spomńało iže máŭ ostro přykáuzano aż śe žáudnáu škoda v dóme ńe stańe. Tag vźón ta maśńičkẽ na svojé pleca a té śvíńe te były zvyčajné ućekać prosto do tych kartoufli. Ale były bardzo głodné, tak ńe chćały od tych kartofli odchodźić. On śe ale po kõsek kija schyliŭ — vylało mu śe to všycko na żéḿã. Tuž już była péršáu škoda. Drugáu škoda była kartofle na zagrodże pokopané. Tak též i gãś z jajec chćała jiść na dvór. A tam był ńedaleko bardzo velky páńsky stáuv (padóŭ). Tã se vela gõśoróv ze vśi skupčało. Ta gãś śe přy tych gõśorach zabaviła i tén chłop ńé móg i přyvołać, pońevául ž jego głosu tag ńe znała jak ty gospodyńi. Všycké jajca ochłódły i na ńic přyšły. Tuž už była třećáu škoda. A óna co i na polu naporõčył to všycko tag dobře ja ón sóm zrobiła; přytym śe žáudnáu škoda ńe znádła. Tag je řeč přeśvadčonáu iže každáu baba jest ve štandże všycko to co chłop beš škody v jego spravé učynić, ale chłop v babski spravé nic ńe dokáuže. Ód tygo času vãcy a vãcy o domõcy robóće co śe tyčy babskego pořóudku słychać ńigdy ńe chćáŭ, a véćy sobe na svojã polnõ robotã ńigdy ńe śćóżáŭ, bo go to vela láut ḿerdżało, a přytym go jego komraći vyśḿévali — a ńe jény jego komraći, ale všyscy ludźe s cały vśi.
¹) płużycą orać na obie strony.
Translation
The source is recorded as continuous, unpunctuated speech. Sentence breaks and punctuation below are editorial, added for readability; no wording has been changed.
There was once a farmer who used to complain terribly that he had to do so much work out in the field, before his own wife (his wife), while she supposedly had nothing much to do around the house. So she then told him that she would go out to the field for the day and that he should tell her exactly what work he had to do out there, and she would do it well. So he told her: "This one you'll plow, that one you'll plow the other way¹, and the third you'll drag."
And she in turn gave him the household work that she had to do at home: to cook the midday meal, churn butter, drive the goose with her eggs out into the yard and see that the eggs didn't get cold, and now also to drive the pigs out to pasture and make sure they didn't dig up the potatoes in the garden (he explained it to her in just those words), and so on.
So she did everything he had ordered her to do out in the field well. But he, meanwhile, set about churning the butter first thing; and he had strict orders not to leave the churn, because she half-believed there was witchcraft in it. But just as he actually started churning that butter, the village herdsman blew his horn. Meanwhile the pigs also had to be driven out. And the pigs were used to running straight to the garden, to the potatoes.
He remembered that he'd been strictly told that no harm should come to anything in the house. So he took the little churn on his back, and those pigs were used to running straight to the potatoes. But they were very hungry, so they didn't want to leave the potatoes. He bent down for a bit of a stick — and out spilled all the [cream/butter] onto the ground. So that was already the first mishap.
The second mishap was the potatoes dug up in the garden. And likewise the goose with her eggs wanted to go out into the yard. And nearby there was a very large manorial pond. Many ganders from the village had gathered there. That goose got carried away among those ganders, and the man couldn't call her back, because she didn't know his voice the way she knew the mistress's. All the eggs got cold and came to nothing. So that was already the third mishap.
And she, for her part, carried out everything on the field just as well as he himself would have done; meanwhile no mishap befell her at all. So the story goes to show that any woman is capable of doing everything a man does in his affairs without mishap, but a man can accomplish nothing in a woman's affairs.
From that time on, more and more, whenever it came to matters of household order, he never wanted to hear about it again, and he never again complained about his own fieldwork, because it had bothered him for many years, and besides, his companions mocked him for it — and not only his companions, but all the people of the whole village.
¹ plużyć orać na obie strony — to plough in both directions.
Translator's note
This is a Silesian telling of the widespread role-reversal tale type (ATU 1408, "The Man Who Does His Wife's Work"), in which a husband who mocks his wife's work trades places with her for a day and fails at every task, while she carries out his fieldwork without incident. One phrase was clarified with reader input: gãś z jajec, rendered as "the goose with her eggs" — the goose in the story is still sitting on her clutch, not tending hatched goslings, which is why the eggs going cold at the pond is counted as a genuine mishap.
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