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Popular Tales from the Norse

S >> Sir George Webbe Dasent >> Popular Tales from the Norse




'Would to heaven each of you had a hundred throats! but take care
you're not drowned in the broth.'

Away he went, as though the Evil One were at his heels, to his
brother's house, and begged him for God's sake to take back the quern
that instant; for, said he:

'If it grinds only one hour more, the whole parish will be swallowed
up by herrings and broth.'

But his brother wouldn't hear of taking it back till the other paid
him down three hundred dollars more.

So the poor brother got both the money and the quern, and it wasn't
long before he set up a farm-house far finer than the one in which
his brother lived, and with the quern he ground so much gold that he
covered it with plates of gold; and as the farm lay by the sea-side,
the golden house gleamed and glistened far away over the sea. All who
sailed by put ashore to see the rich man in the golden house, and to
see the wonderful quern, the fame of which spread far and wide, till
there was nobody who hadn't heard tell of it.

So one day there came a skipper who wanted to see the quern; and the
first thing he asked was if it could grind salt.

'Grind salt!' said the owner; 'I should just think it could. It can
grind anything.'

When the skipper heard that, he said he must have the quern, cost
what it would; for if he only had it, he thought he should be rid of
his long voyages across stormy seas for a lading of salt. Well, at
first the man wouldn't hear of parting with the quern; but the
skipper begged and prayed so hard, that at last he let him have it,
but he had to pay many, many thousand dollars for it. Now, when the
skipper had got the quern on his back, he soon made off with it, for
he was afraid lest the man should change his mind; so he had no time
to ask how to handle the quern, but got on board his ship as fast as
he could, and set sail. When he had sailed a good way off, he brought
the quern on deck and said:

'Grind salt, and grind both good and fast.'

Well, the quern began to grind salt so that it poured out like water;
and when the skipper had got the ship full, he wished to stop the
quern, but whichever way he turned it, and however much he tried, it
was no good; the quern kept grinding on, and the heap of salt grew
higher and higher, and at last down sank the ship.

There lies the quern at the bottom of the sea, and grinds away at
this very day, and that's why the sea is salt.




THE OLD DAME AND HER HEN

Once on a time there was an old widow who lived far away from the
rest of the world, up under a hillside, with her three daughters. She
was so poor that she had no stock but one single hen, which she
prized as the apple of her eye; in short, it was always cackling at
her heels, and she was always running to look after it. Well! one
day, all at once, the hen was missing. The old wife went out, and
round and round the cottage, looking and calling for her hen, but it
was gone, and there was no getting it back.

So the woman said to her eldest daughter, 'You must just go out and
see if you can find our hen, for have it back we must, even if we
have to fetch it out of the hill.'

Well! the daughter was ready enough to go, so she set off and walked
up and down, and looked and called, but no hen could she find. But
all at once, just as she was about to give up the hunt, she heard
some one calling out in a cleft in the rock:

Your hen trips inside the hill!
Your hen trips inside the hill!

So she went into the cleft to see what it was, but she had scarce set
her foot inside the cleft, before she fell through a trap-door, deep,
deep down, into a vault under ground. When she got to the bottom she
went through many rooms, each finer than the other; but in the
innermost room of all, a great ugly man of the hill-folk came up to
her and asked, 'Will you be my sweetheart?'

'No! I will not', she said. She wouldn't have him at any price! not
she; all she wanted was to get above ground again as fast as ever she
could, and to look after her hen which was lost. Then the Man o' the
Hill got so angry that he took her up and wrung her head off, and
threw both head and trunk down into the cellar.

While this was going on, her mother sat at home waiting and waiting,
but no daughter came. So after she had waited a bit longer, and
neither heard nor saw anything of her daughter, she said to her
midmost daughter, that she must go out and see after her sister, and
she added:

'You can just give our hen a call at the same time.'

Well! the second sister had to get off, and the very same thing
befell her; she went about looking and calling, and all at once she
too heard a voice away in the cleft of the rock saying:

Your hen trips inside the hill!
Your hen trips inside the hill!

She thought this strange, and went to see what it could be; and so
she too fell through the trap-door, deep, deep down, into the vault.
There she went from room to room, and in the innermost one the Man o'
the Hill came to her and asked if she would be his sweetheart? No!
that she wouldn't; all she wanted was to get above ground again, and
hunt for her hen which was lost. So the Man o' the Hill got angry,
and took her up and wrung her head off, and threw both head and trunk
down into the cellar.

Now, when the old dame had sat and waited seven lengths and seven
breadths for her second daughter, and could neither see nor hear
anything of her, she said to the youngest:

'Now, you really must set off and see after your sisters. 'Twas silly
to lose the hen, but 'twill be sillier still if we lose both your
sisters; and you can give the hen a call at the same time'--for the
old dame's heart was still set on her hen.

Yes! the youngest was ready enough to go; so she walked up and down,
Wanting for her sisters and calling the hen, but she could neither
see nor hear anything of them. So at last she too came up to the
cleft in the rock, and heard how something said:

Your hen trips inside the hill!
Your hen trips inside the hill!

She thought this strange, so she too went to see what it was, and
fell through the trap-door too, deep, deep down, into a vault. When
she reached the bottom she went from one room to another, each
grander than the other; but she wasn't at all afraid, and took good
time to look about her. So, as she was peeping into this and that,
she cast her eye on the trap-door into the cellar, and looked down
it, and what should she see there but her sisters, who lay dead. She
had scarce time to slam to the trap-door before the Man o' the Hill
came to her and asked:

'Will you be my sweetheart?'

'With all my heart', answered the girl, for she saw very well how it
had gone with her sisters. So, when the Man o' the Hill heard that,
he got her the finest clothes in the world; she had only to ask for
them, or for anything else she had a mind to, and she got what she
wanted, so glad was the Man o' the Hill that any one would be his
sweetheart.

But when she had been there a little while, she was one day even more
doleful and downcast than was her wont. So the Man o' the Hill asked
her what was the matter, and why she was in such dumps.

'Ah!' said the girl, 'it's because I can't get home to my mother.
She's hard pinched, I know, for meat and drink, and has no one with
her.'

'Well!' said the Man o' the Hill, 'I can't let you go to see her; but
just stuff some meat and drink into a sack, and I'll carry it to
her.'

Yes! she would do so, she said, with many thanks; but at the bottom
of the sack she stuffed a lot of gold and silver, and afterwards she
laid a little food on the top of the gold and silver. Then she told
the ogre the sack was ready, but he must be sure not to look into it.
So he gave his word he wouldn't, and set off. Now, as the Man o' the
Hill walked off, she peeped out after him through a chink in the
trap-door; but when he had gone a bit on the way, he said:

'This sack is so heavy, I'll just see what there is inside it.'

And so he was about to untie the mouth of the sack, but the girl
called out to him:

I see what you're at!
I see what you're at!

'The deuce you do!' said the Man o' the Hill; 'then you must have
plaguy sharp eyes in your head, that's all!'

So he threw the sack over his shoulder, and dared not try to look
into it again. When he reached the widow's cottage, he threw the sack
in through the cottage door, and said:

'Here you have meat and drink from your daughter; she doesn't want
for anything.'

So, when the girl had been in the hill a good bit longer, one day a
billy-goat fell down the trap-door.

'Who sent for you, I should like to know? you long-bearded beast!'
said the Man o' the Hill, who was in an awful rage, and with that he
whipped up the goat, and wrung his head off, and threw him down into
the cellar.

'Oh!' said the girl, 'why did you do that? I might have had the goat
to play with down here.'

'Well!' said the Man o' the Hill, 'you needn't be so down in the
mouth about it, I should think, for I can soon put life into the
billy-goat again.'

So saying, he took a flask which hung up against the wall, put the
billy-goat's head on his body again, and smeared it with some
ointment out of the flask, and he was as well and as lively as ever
again.

'Ho! ho!' said the girl to herself; 'that flask is worth something--
that it is.'

So when she had been some time longer in the hill, she watched for a
day when the Man o' the Hill was away, took her eldest sister, and
putting her head on her shoulders, smeared her with some of the
ointment out of the flask, just as she had seen the Man o' the Hill
do with the billy-goat, and in a trice her sister came to life again.
Then the girl stuffed her into a sack, laid a little food over her,
and as soon as the Man o' the Hill came home, she said to him:

'Dear friend! Now do go home to my mother with a morsel of food
again; poor thing! she's both hungry and thirsty, I'll be bound; and
besides that, she's all alone in the world. But you must mind and not
look into the sack.'

Well! he said he would carry the sack; and he said, too, that he
would not look into it; but when he had gone a little way, he thought
the sack got awfully heavy; and when he had gone a bit farther he
said to himself:

'Come what will, I must see what's inside this sack, for however
sharp her eyes may be, she can't see me all this way off'

But just as he was about to untie the sack, the girl who sat inside
the sack called out:

I see what you're at!
I see what you're at!

'The deuce you do!' said the ogre; 'then you must have plaguey sharp
eyes'; for he thought all the while it was the girl inside the hill
who was speaking. So he didn't care so much as to peep into the sack
again, but carried it straight to her mother as fast as he could, and
when he got to the cottage door he threw it in through the door, and
bawled out:

'Here you have meat and drink from your daughter; she wants for
nothing.'

Now, when the girl had been in the hill a while longer, she did the
very same thing with her other sister. She put her head on her
shoulders, smeared her with ointment out of the flask, brought her to
life, and stuffed her into the sack; but this time she crammed in
also as much gold and silver as the sack would hold, and over all
laid a very little food.

'Dear friend', she said to the Man o' the Hill, 'you really must run
home to my mother with a little food again; and mind you don't look
into the sack.'

Yes! the Man o' the Hill was ready enough to do as she wished, and he
gave his word too that he wouldn't look into the sack; but when he
had gone a bit of the way he began to think the sack got awfully
heavy, and when he had gone a bit further, he could scarce stagger
along under it, so he set it down, and was just about to untie the
string and look into it, when the girl inside the sack bawled out:

I see what you're at!
I see what you're at!

'The deuce you do', said the Man o' the Hill, 'then you must have
plaguey sharp eyes of your own.'

Well, he dared not try to look into the sack, but made all the haste
he could, and carried the sack straight to the girl's mother. When he
got to the cottage door he threw the sack in through the door, and
roared out:

'Here you have food from your daughter; she wants for nothing.'

So when the girl had been there a good while longer, the Man o' the
Hill made up his mind to go out for the day; then the girl shammed to
be sick and sorry, and pouted and fretted.

'It's no use your coming home before twelve o'clock at night', she
said, 'for I shan't be able to have supper ready before--I'm so sick
and poorly.'

But when the Man o' the Hill was well out of the house, she stuffed
some of her clothes with straw, and stuck up this lass of straw in
the corner by the chimney, with a besom in her hand, so that it
looked just as if she herself were standing there. After that she
stole off home, and got a sharp-shooter to stay in the cottage with
her mother.

So when the clock struck twelve, or just about it, home came the Man
o' the Hill, and the first thing he said to the straw-girl was, 'Give
me something to eat.'

But she answered him never a word.

'Give me something to eat, I say!' called out the Man o' the Hill,
'for I am almost starved.'

No! she hadn't a word to throw at him.

'Give me something to eat!' roared out the ogre the third time.' I
think you'd better open your ears and hear what I say, or else I'll
wake you up, that I will!'

No! the girl stood just as still as ever; so he flew into a rage, and
gave her such a slap in the face, that the straw flew all about the
room; but when he saw that, he knew he had been tricked, and began to
hunt everywhere; and at last, when he came to the cellar, and found
both the girl's sisters missing, he soon saw how the cat jumped, and
ran off to the cottage, saying, 'I'll soon pay her off!'

But when he reached the cottage, the sharp-shooter fired off his
piece, and then the Man o' the Hill dared not go into the house, for
he thought it was thunder. So he set off home again as fast as he
could lay legs to the ground; but what do you think, just as he got
to the trap-door, the sun rose and the Man o' the Hill burst.

Oh! if one only knew where the trap-door was, I'll be bound there's a
whole heap of gold and silver down there still!




EAST O' THE SUN AND WEST O' THE MOON

Once on a time there was a poor husbandman who had so many children
that he hadn't much of either food or clothing to give them. Pretty
children they all were, but the prettiest was the youngest daughter,
who was so lovely there was no end to her loveliness.

So one day, 'twas on a Thursday evening late at the fall of the year,
the weather was so wild and rough outside, and it was so cruelly
dark, and rain fell and wind blew, till the walls of the cottage
shook again. There they all sat round the fire busy with this thing
and that. But just then, all at once something gave three taps on the
window-pane. Then the father went out to see what was the matter;
and, when he got out of doors, what should he see but a great big
White Bear.

'Good evening to you!' said the White Bear.

'The same to you', said the man.

'Will you give me your youngest daughter? If you will, I'll make you
as rich as you are now poor', said the Bear.

Well, the man would not be at all sorry to be so rich; but still he
thought he must have a bit of a talk with his daughter first; so he
went in and told them how there was a great White Bear waiting
outside, who had given his word to make them so rich if he could only
have the youngest daughter.

The lassie said 'No!' outright. Nothing could get her to say anything
else; so the man went out and settled it with the White Bear, that he
should come again the next Thursday evening and get an answer.
Meantime he talked his daughter over, and kept on telling her of all
the riches they would get, and how well off she would be herself; and
so at last she thought better of it, and washed and mended her rags,
made herself as smart as she could, and was ready to start. I can't
say her packing gave her much trouble.

Next Thursday evening came the White Bear to fetch her, and she got
upon his back with her bundle, and off they went. So, when they had
gone a bit of the way, the White Bear said:

'Are you afraid?'

'No! she wasn't.'

'Well! mind and hold tight by my shaggy coat, and then there's
nothing to fear', said the Bear.

So she rode a long, long way, till they came to a great steep hill.
There, on the face of it, the White Bear gave a knock, and a door
opened, and they came into a castle, where there were many rooms all
lit up; rooms gleaming with silver and gold; and there too was a
table ready laid, and it was all as grand as grand could be. Then the
White Bear gave her a silver bell; and when she wanted anything, she
was only to ring it, and she would get it at once.

Well, after she had eaten and drunk, and evening wore on, she got
sleepy after her journey, and thought she would like to go to bed, so
she rang the bell; and she had scarce taken hold of it before she
came into a chamber, where there was a bed made, as fair and white as
any one would wish to sleep in, with silken pillows and curtains, and
gold fringe. All that was in the room was gold or silver; but when
she had gone to bed, and put out the light, a man came and laid
himself alongside her. That was the White Bear, who threw off his
beast shape at night; but she never saw him, for he always came after
she had put out the light, and before the day dawned he was up and
off again. So things went on happily for a while, but at last she
began to get silent and sorrowful; for there she went about all day
alone, and she longed to go home to see her father and mother and
brothers and sisters. So one day, when the White Bear asked what it
was that she lacked, she said it was so dull and lonely there, and
how she longed to go home to see her father and mother, and brothers
and sisters, and that was why she was so sad and sorrowful, because
she couldn't get to them.

'Well, well!' said the Bear, 'perhaps there's a cure for all this;
but you must promise me one thing, not to talk alone with your
mother, but only when the rest are by to hear; for she'll take you by
the hand and try to lead you into a room alone to talk; but you must
mind and not do that, else you'll bring bad luck on both of us.'

So one Sunday the White Bear came and said now they could set off to
see her father and mother. Well, off they started, she sitting on his
back; and they went far and long. At last they came to a grand house,
and there her brothers and sisters were running about out of doors at
play, and everything was so pretty, 'twas a joy to see.

'This is where your father and mother live now', said the White Bear;
'but don't forget what I told you, else you'll make us both unlucky.'

'No! bless her, she'd not forget'; and when she had reached the
house, the White Bear turned right about and left her.

Then when she went in to see her father and mother, there was such
joy, there was no end to it. None of them thought they could thank
her enough for all she had done for them. Now, they had everything
they wished, as good as good could be, and they all wanted to know
how she got on where she lived.

Well, she said, it was very good to live where she did; she had all
she wished. What she said beside I don't know; but I don't think any
of them had the right end of the stick, or that they got much out of
her. But so in the afternoon, after they had done dinner, all
happened as the White Bear had said. Her mother wanted to talk with
her alone in her bed-room; but she minded what the White Bear had
said, and wouldn't go upstairs.

'Oh! what we have to talk about, will keep', she said, and put her
mother off. But some how or other, her mother got round her at last,
and she had to tell her the whole story. So she said, how every
night, when she had gone to bed, a man came and lay down beside her
as soon as she had put out the light, and how she never saw him,
because he was always up and away before the morning dawned; and how
she went about woeful and sorrowing, for she thought she should so
like to see him, and how all day long she walked about there alone,
and how dull, and dreary, and lonesome it was.

'My!' said her mother; 'it may well be a Troll you slept with! But
now I'll teach you a lesson how to set eyes on him. I'll give you a
bit of candle, which you can carry home in your bosom; just light
that while he is asleep, but take care not to drop the tallow on
him.'

Yes! she took the candle, and hid it in her bosom, and as night drew
on, the White Bear came and fetched her away.

But when they had gone a bit of the way, the White Bear asked if all
hadn't happened as he had said?

'Well, she couldn't say it hadn't.'

'Now, mind', said he, 'if you have listened to your mother's advice,
you have brought bad luck on us both, and then, all that has passed
between us will be as nothing.'

'No', she said, 'she hadn't listened to her mother's advice.'

So when she reached home, and had gone to bed, it was the old story
over again. There came a man and lay down beside her; but at dead of
night, when she heard he slept, she got up and struck a light, lit
the candle, and let the light shine on him, and so she saw that he
was the loveliest Prince one ever set eyes on, and she fell so deep
in love with him on the spot, that she thought she couldn't live if
she didn't give him a kiss there and then. And so she did, but as she
kissed him, she dropped three hot drops of tallow on his shirt, and
he woke up.

'What have you done?' he cried; 'now you have made us both unlucky,
for had you held out only this one year, I had been freed. For I have
a stepmother who has bewitched me, so that I am a White Bear by day,
and a Man by night. But now all ties are snapt between us; now I must
set off from you to her. She lives in a Castle which stands EAST O'
THE SUN AND WEST O' THE MOON, and there, too, is a Princess, with a
nose three ells long, and she's the wife I must have now.'

She wept and took it ill, but there was no help for it; go he must.

Then she asked if she mightn't go with him?

No, she mightn't.

'Tell me the way, then', she said, 'and I'll search you out;
_that_ surely I may get leave to do.'

'Yes, she might do that', he said; 'but there was no way to that
place. It lay EAST O' THE SUN AND WEST O' THE MOON, and thither she'd
never find her way.'

So next morning, when she woke up, both Prince and castle were gone,
and then she lay on a little green patch, in the midst of the gloomy
thick wood, and by her side lay the same bundle of rags she had
brought with her from her old home.

So when she had rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, and wept till she
was tired, she set out on her way, and walked many, many days, till
she came to a lofty crag. Under it sat an old hag, and played with a
gold apple which she tossed about. Her the lassie asked if she knew
the way to the Prince, who lived with his step-mother in the Castle,
that lay EAST O' THE SUN AND WEST O' THE MOON, and who was to marry
the Princess with a nose three ells long.

'How did you come to know about him?' asked the old hag; 'but maybe
you are the lassie who ought to have had him?'

Yes, she was.

'So, so; it's you, is it?' said the old hag. 'Well, all I know about
him is, that he lives in the castle that lies EAST O' THE SUN AND
WEST O' THE MOON, and thither you'll come, late or never; but still
you may have the loan of my horse, and on him you can ride to my next
neighbour. Maybe she'll be able to tell you; and when you get there,
just give the horse a switch under the left ear, and beg him to be off
home; and, stay, this gold apple you may take with you.'

So she got upon the horse, and rode a long long time, till she came
to another crag, under which sat another old hag, with a gold
carding-comb. Her the lassie asked if she knew the way to the castle
that lay EAST O' THE SUN AND WEST O' THE MOON, and she answered, like
the first old hag, that she knew nothing about it, except it was east
o' the sun and west o' the moon.

'And thither you'll come, late or never, but you shall have the loan
of my horse to my next neighbour; maybe she'll tell you all about it;
and when you get there, just switch the horse under the left ear, and
beg him to be off home.'

And this old hag gave her the golden carding-comb; it might be she'd
find some use for it, she said. So the lassie got up on the horse,
and rode a far far way, and a weary time; and so at last she came to
another great crag, under which sat another old hag, spinning with a
golden spinning-wheel. Her, too, she asked if she knew the way to the
Prince, and where the castle was that lay EAST O' THE SUN AND WEST O'
THE MOON. So it was the same thing over again.

'Maybe it's you who ought to have had the Prince?' said the old hag.

Yes, it was.

But she, too, didn't know the way a bit better than the other two.
'East o' the sun and west o' the moon it was', she knew--that was
all.

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