Part 14

"To whom do the goats belong?" asked the cat.

"To Helge-Hal in the Blue Hill," said the herdsmen. Then the cat again went through her ferocious preparations, and the herdsmen were so frightened that they did not dare oppose her wishes.

"Now who in the world can be the owner of so many goats?" asked the king. "I myself have none finer!"

"They belong to Ebe," said the herdsmen.

Then they wandered on for a while, and met folk who were tending cows: wherever one looked the cows lowed and glistened, and each yielded milk enough for three. When the cat heard that these herdsmen were also in the service of Helge-Hal of the Blue Hill, she spat once more, and arched her back, and then all the herdsmen were ready that moment to say what she wished.

"But in heaven's name, to whom do all these beautiful cattle belong?" asked the king. "There are no such cattle in my whole kingdom!"

"They belong to Lord Ebe," said the herdsmen.

Then they wandered on for a long, long time. At last they came to a great plain, and there they met horse-herders; and horses whinnied and disported themselves over the whole plain, and their coats were so fine that they glistened as though gilded, and each horse was worth a whole castle.

"For whom do you herd these horses?" asked the cat.

"For Helge-Hal in the Blue Hill," the herders replied.

"Well, the court will come by here in a little while," said the cat, "and if you do not say you are herding them for Ebe, I will scratch out your eyes, and drive you over rock and precipice!" said the cat, and she spat, and showed her teeth and claws, and grew so angry her hair stood up all along her back. Then the herders were terribly frightened, and did not dare do anything but what the cat wished.

"But in the name of heaven, to whom do all these horses belong?" asked the king, when he came by with his court.

"They belong to Ebe," said the herders.

"I never have seen or heard anything like it in all my life!" cried the king. "This Ebe is such a distinguished lord that it is past my understanding!"

The cat and Ebe had long since gone on their way, and had wandered far and ever farther over hill and rock. In the evening, at dusk, they came to a royal castle that glittered and shimmered as though it were of the purest silver and gold--which it was. Yet it was gloomy and depressing, and lonely and barren there, and nowhere was there a sign of life.

Here they went in, and the cat stood with a cake of rye meal just below the door. Suddenly there came a thundering and a thumping so that the earth trembled, and the whole castle shook, and that was the troll who was coming home. And suddenly all was quiet again, and before they knew it, Helge-Hal in the Blue Hill had thrust his three great horrible heads in at the door.

"Let me in! Let me in!" he cried, so that every one shivered. "Wait, wait a bit while I tell you what the rye had to go through before he was made into this cake," said the cat, and spoke to him in the sweetest way. "First he was threshed, and then he was beaten, and then he was pounded, and then he was thumped, and then he was thrown from one wall to another, and then he was sifted through a sieve...."

"Let me in! Let me in, you chatterbox!" cried the troll, and he was so furious that the sparks flew from him.

"Wait a bit, wait a bit. I will tell you what the rye had to go through before he was made into this cake!" said the cat, and he spoke to him still more sweetly.

"First he was threshed, and then he was beaten, and then he was pounded, and then he was thumped, and then he was thrown from one wall to another, and then he was sifted through a sieve, and shaken here and there, and then he was put on the drying-board, and then in the stove, until it grew so hot that he puffed up more and more, and wanted to get out, but could not," said the cat, and took her time.

"Get out of the way and let me in!" cried the troll once more, and nearly burst with rage; but the cat acted as though she did not hear him, and talked down the blue from the sky, and went up and down the while, and whenever the troll tried to come in, she met him beneath the door with the cake.

"O, but do take a look at the shining maiden coming up there behind the mountain!" said the cat, after she had talked at length about the sufferings of the rye. And Helge-Hal in the Blue Hill turned his three heads around in order to see the beautiful maiden, too. Then the sun rose, and the troll stiffened into stone. Now Ebe obtained all the riches that the troll had possessed, the sheep and goats, the cows and all the spirited horses, and the handsome golden castle, and some big bags of money besides.

"Here come the king and all his court," said the cat. "Just go out before the door and receive them!" So Ebe got up and went to meet them.

"You are indeed a very distinguished lord!" said the king to him. "So far as I am concerned you may have the youngest princess!"

Then they started brewing and baking on a large scale in the greatest haste, and everything was made ready for the wedding. On the first day of the feast the cat came and begged the bridegroom to cut off her head. This he did not at all want to do; but the cat spat and showed her teeth, and then Ebe did not dare disobey her. But when the head fell to the ground, the cat turned into a most handsome prince. He married the second princess, and as the wedding procession was on its way to church, they met a third prince who was looking for a wife, and he took the oldest princess. Then they all three celebrated their weddings so that the story went the rounds in twelve kingdoms.

"Spin, span, spun, Now our tale is done!"

NOTE

The tale of "Helge-Hal in the Blue Hill" (Bergh, No. 2, p. 19) is delightfully told. There is the timid, abidingly helpless nit-wit, and the wise and energetic cat, who is quite at home in the ancient wisdom that enables her to render trolls harmless. Their attention must be held through the night by means of some pretext, a meaningless tale, for instance, until the first ray of the rising sun falls on them, when they turn to stone, or have to burst. In the Edda this is what happens to the dwarf Alvis, so full of sinister lore.

XXVII

THE LORD OF THE HILL AND JOHN BLESSOM

John Blessom once upon a time had gone down to Copenhagen to carry on a suit at law, for in those days one could not get justice in the land of Norroway; and if a man wanted his rights, there was nothing left for him to do but to travel to Copenhagen. This is what Blessom had done, and what his son did after him, for he, too, carried on a law-suit. Now it chanced that on Christmas Eve John had had speech with the gentleman in authority, and had attended to his business, and was going along the street in a low-spirited manner, for he was homesick. And as he went along, a man from Vaage, in a white blouse, with a knapsack, and buttons as big as silver dollars, passed him. He was a large, heavily-built man. It seemed to Blessom that he must know him; but he was walking very fast.

"You are walking very fast," said John.

"Yes, but then I'm in a hurry," answered the man. "I have to get back to Vaage this very evening."

"I only wish that I could get there!" sighed John.

"You can stand on the runner of my sledge," said the man, "for I have a horse that covers a mile in twelve steps."

So they set out, and Blessom had all that he could do to hold fast to the runner of the sledge; for they went through weather and wind, and he could see neither heaven nor earth.

Once they stopped and rested. He could not tell exactly where it was, but when they began to hurry on again, he thought that he spied a skull on a pole. After they had gone on a while, John Blessom began to freeze.

"Alas, I forgot one of my gloves where we stopped, and now my hand is freezing!" said he.

"Well, Blessom, you'll have to make the best of it," said the man. "We are not far from Vaage now. When we stopped to rest we had covered half the way."

When they crossed the Finnebridge, the man stopped and set John down.

"Now you are not far from home," said he, "but you must promise me that you will not look around, when you hear a roaring and notice a flare of light."

John promised, and thanked him for the quick journey. The man drove off on his way, and John crossed the hill to his home. As he went he heard a roaring in the Jutulsberg, and the path before him suddenly grew so bright that one could have picked a needle from the ground. And he forgot what he had promised, and turned his head to see what was happening. There stood the giant gate of the Jutulsberg wide open, and out of it streamed a light and radiance as of thousands of candles. In the midst of it all stood the giant, and he was the man with whom he had driven. But from that time forward John's head was twisted, and so it remained as long as he lived.

NOTE

"The Lord of the Hill and John Blessom" (Asbjörnsen, _Huldreeventyr_ I, p. 189. From Gudbrandsdal, told by an old peasant of the valley) is a tale of one of those kindly beings among the helpful underground folk, who nevertheless severely punish any disobedience to their command.

XXVIII

THE YOUNG FELLOW AND THE DEVIL

Once upon a time there was a young fellow, who was going along cracking nuts. He found a wormy one, and at the selfsame moment he met the devil. "Is it true," said the young fellow, "that the devil can make himself as small as he likes, and can slip through the eye of a needle, as the people say?" "Yes," answered the devil. "Well, I should certainly like to see you crawl into that nut!" said the young fellow. The devil did so. But when he had crawled through the hole, the young fellow stopped it up with a bit of wood. "Now I've got you!" said he, and put the nut in his pocket. After he had gone a while, he came to a smithy, and went in and asked the smith to break the nut for him. "Why, that is a mere trifle!" said the smith, took his smallest hammer, laid the nut on the anvil, and struck it; but the nut would not break. Then he took a somewhat larger hammer; but that was not heavy enough either. Then he took a still larger one, but could do nothing with it at all, and thereupon he grew angry, and took his heaviest hammer. "I'll break you yet!" said he, and struck it with all his might. And then the nut cracked, so that half the smithy roof was carried away, and there was a crash as though the whole hut were falling in. "I believe the devil was in that nut!" said the smith. "And so he was!" answered the young fellow.

NOTE

This getting the better of the devil, as in "The Young Fellow and the Devil" (Asbjörnsen and Moe, N.F.E., p. 133, No. 30), already occurs in the fairy-tale from the "Thousand and One Nights," where a spirit slips, not into a nut, but into a bottle, in order to show what he can do. Ibsen, too, allows Per Gynt to dwell on this fairy-tale.

XXIX

FARTHER SOUTH THAN SOUTH, AND FARTHER NORTH THAN NORTH, AND IN THE GREAT HILL OF GOLD

Once upon a time there was a peasant who had a wheat-field, which was trampled down every Saturday night. Now the peasant had three sons, and he told each one of them to spend a Saturday night in the field, and to watch and see who trampled it down. The oldest was to make the first trial. So he lay down by the upper ridge of the field, and after he had lain there a while he fell asleep. The following morning the whole field had been trampled down, and the young fellow was unable to tell how it had happened.

Now the second son was to make the attempt; but he had the same experience. After he had lain a while he fell asleep, and in the morning he was unable to tell how the field had come to be trampled down.

Now it was the turn of John by the Ashes. He did not lie down by the upper ridge of the field; but lower down, and stayed awake. After he had lain there a while, three doves came flying along. They settled in the field, and that very moment shook off all their feathers, and turned into the most beautiful maidens one might wish to see. They danced with each other over the whole field; and while they did so, the young fellow gathered up all their feathers. Toward morning they wanted to put on their feathers again, but could not find them anywhere. Then they were frightened, and wept and searched and searched and wept. Finally, they discovered the young fellow, and begged him to give them back their feathers. "But why do you dance in our wheat-field?" said the young fellow. "Alas, it is not our fault," said the maidens. "The troll who has enchanted us sends us here every Saturday night to trample the field. But now give us our feathers, for morning is near." And they begged for them in the sweetest way. "I do not know about that," said the young fellow, "you have trampled down the field so very badly; perhaps--if I might choose and have one of you?" "That would please us," returned the maidens, "but it would not be possible; for three trolls guard us, one with three, one with six and one with nine heads, and they kill all who come to the mountain." But the young fellow said that one of them pleased him so very much that he would make the attempt, in spite of what they had told him. So he chose the middle one, for she seemed the most beautiful to him, and she gave him a ring and put it on his finger. And then the maidens at once put on their garments of dove feathers, and flew back across forest and hill.

When the young fellow returned home, he told what he had seen. "And now I must set out and try my luck," said he. "I do not know whether I will return, but I must make the venture." "O John, John by the Ashes!" said his brothers, and laughed at him. "Well, it makes no difference, even though I am worthless," said John by the Ashes. "I must try my luck." So the young fellow set out to wander to the place where the maidens lived. They had told him it was farther south than south, and farther north than north, in the great hill of gold. After he had gone a while, he met two poor lads who were quarreling with each other about a pair of old shoes and a bamboo cane, which their mother had left them. The young fellow said it was not worth quarreling about such things, and that he had better shoes and better canes at home. "You cannot say that," returned the brothers, "for whoever has these shoes on can cover a thousand miles in a single step, and whatever is touched with this cane must die at once." The young fellow went on to ask whether they would sell the things. They said that they ought to get a great deal for them. "But what you say of them is not true at all," the young fellow replied. "Yes, indeed, it is absolutely true," they answered. "Just let me see whether the boots will fit me," said the young fellow. So they let him try them on. But no sooner did the young fellow have the boots on his feet, and the cane in his hand, than he took a step and off he was, a thousand miles away.

A little later he met two young fellows who were quarreling over an old fiddle, which had been left them. "Now is that worth while doing?" said the young fellow. "I have a brand-new fiddle at home." "But I doubt if it has such a tone as ours," said one of the youths, "for if some one is dead, and you play this fiddle, he will come to life again." "That really is a good deal," said the young fellow. "May I draw the bow across the strings?" They told him he might, but no sooner did he have the fiddle in his hand than he took a step, and suddenly he was a thousand miles away.

A little later he met an old man, and him he asked whether he knew where the place might be that was "farther south than south, and farther north than north, and in the great hill of gold." The man said yes, he knew well enough, but it would not do the young fellow much good to get there, for the troll who lived there killed every one. "O, I have to make the attempt, whether it lead to life or death," said the young fellow, for he was fonder than fond of the middle one of the three maidens. So he learned the way from the old man, and finally reached the hill. There he had to pass through three rooms, before he came into the hall to the maidens. And there were locks on every door, and at each stood a watchman. "Where do you want to go?" asked the first watchman. "In to the maidens," said the young fellow. "In you may go, but you'll not get out again," said the watchman, "for now the troll will be along before long." But the young fellow said that, at any rate, he would make the attempt, and went on. So he came to the second watchman. "Where do you want to go?" asked the latter. "In to the maidens," said the young fellow. "In you may go, but you'll not get out again," said the watchman, "for the troll will be here any minute." "And yet I will make the attempt," said the young fellow, and the watchman let him pass. So he came to the third watchman. "Where do you want to go?" the latter asked him. "In to the maidens," said the young fellow. "In you may go, but you'll never get out again, for the troll will be here in three shakes of a lamb's tail," said the watchman. "And yet I will make the attempt," said the young fellow, and this watchman also let him pass. Then he reached the inner chamber where the maidens sat. They were so beautiful and distinguished, and the room was so full of gold and silver, that the young fellow never could have imagined anything like it. Then he showed the ring, and asked whether the maidens recognized it. Indeed they did recognize him and the ring. "But you poor unfortunate, this is the end of us and of you!" said they. "The troll with three heads will be along before long, and you had better hide behind the door!" "O, I'm so frightened, I'm so frightened!" wailed the maiden whom the young fellow had chosen. "Just you stop crying," said the young fellow. "I think fortune will favor us!"

The troll came that very moment and thrust his three heads into the door. "Uff, it smells like Christian blood here!" said he. The young fellow struck at the heads with his bamboo cane, and the troll was dead in a minute. So they carried out the body and hid it. A little later the troll with six heads came home. "Uff, it smells like Christian blood here!" said he. "Some one must have crept into the place! But what has become of the other troll?" said he, when he did not see the troll with three heads. "He has not yet come home," said the maidens. "He must have come home," said the troll. "Perhaps he has gone to look for the fellow who crept in here." At that moment the young fellow struck all six of his heads with his bamboo cane, and the troll at once fell dead to the ground. Then they dragged out the corpse.

A while later came the troll with nine heads. "Uff, it smells like Christian blood here!" said he, and grew very angry. "But where are the two others?" said he. "They have not yet come home," said the maidens. "Indeed they have come," said the troll, "but they are probably looking for the Christian who has crept in here!" At that moment, the young fellow sprang from behind the door, and struck one head after another with his bamboo cane. But he had no more than reached the eighth than it seemed to him that the troll was getting the upper hand, and he ran out of the door. The troll was so furious that he came near bursting. He seized all the maidens and killed them, and then out he flew after the young fellow. The latter had hidden behind a big rock, and when the troll came darting up, showering sparks in his rage, he struck at his ninth head, too, and the troll fell on his back, dead. Then the young fellow ran in again, took his fiddle and played, and all the maidens came back to life. Now they wanted to go home; but did not know how to find the long road back. "I know what we must do," said the young fellow, "I will take you on my back, one by one, and then the journey will not be long for us." And this he did. He carried home all the gold and silver he found in the hill, and then celebrated his wedding with the middle one of the maidens, and if they have not died, they are living this very day.

NOTE

"Farther South Than South, and Farther North Than North, and in the Great Hill of Gold" (Janson, No. 12, p. 39) begins with the story of three maidens in feather dress who have to keep their human form if robbed of their feathers. The legend of Wieland and Smith introduces three similar maidens in swan's plumage, one of whom he wins for himself; yet when she finds her swan dress again after long years, yearning overpowers her, and she flies away. Our fairy-tale is kindlier, and allows the young fellow to gain his dove princess after strenuous adventures.

XXX

LUCKY ANDREW

There was once a rich peasant who had two sons, named John Nicholas and Lucky Andrew. The oldest was one of those fellows of whom one never can quite make head or tail. He was a most unpleasant customer to deal with, and he was more grasping and greedy than the folk of the Northland are, as a rule, though it is only too rare to find them unblessed with these attractive qualities. The other, Lucky Andrew, was wild and high spirited, but always good natured, and no matter how badly off he might be, he would always insist that he had been born under a lucky star. When the eagle, in order to defend his nest, belabored his head and face till the blood ran, he would still maintain that he was born under a lucky star, if only he managed to bring home a single eaglet. Did his boat capsize, which occasionally happened, and did they discover him hanging to it, quite overcome with the water, cold and exertion, and asked him how he felt, he would reply: "O, quite well. I have been saved. I surely am in luck!"

When their father died, both of them were of age, and not long after they both had to go out to the sand-banks to fetch some fishing-nets, which had been left there since the summer fishing. It was late in the fall, after the time when most fishermen are busy with the summer fishing. Andrew had his gun along, which he carried with him wherever he went. John Nicholas did not say much while they were underway; but he thought all the harder. They were not ready to set out for home again until near evening.

"Hark, Lucky Andrew, do you know there will be a storm to-night?" said John Nicholas, and looked out across the sea. "I think it would be best if we stayed here until morning!"

"There'll be no storm," said Andrew. "The Seven Sisters have not put on their fog-caps, so you may be quite at rest."

But his brother complained of being weary, and at length they decided to remain there for the night. When Andrew awoke he found himself alone; and he saw neither brother nor boat, until he came to the highest point of the island. Then he discovered him far out, darting for land like a sea-gull. Andrew did not understand the whole affair. There were still provisions there, as well as a dish of curd, his gun and various other things. So Andrew wasted but little time in thought. "He will come back this evening," said he. "Only a fool loses heart so long as he can eat." But in the evening there was no brother to be seen, and Andrew waited day by day, and week by week; until at last, he realized that his brother had marooned him on this barren island in order to be able to keep their inheritance for himself, and not have to divide it. And such was the case, for when John Nicholas came in sight of land on his homeward trip, he had capsized the boat, and declared that Lucky Andrew had been drowned.