when to their great joy they saw the woodman, before he had gone many
yards, pull up his horse once more and turn round. "Stay, stay!" said
he; "I think I can tell you of a better plan than sleeping in a ditch. I
know where you may find shelter, if you will run the risk of a little
trouble from an unlucky imp that has taken up its abode in my old house
down the hill yonder. You must know, friend, that till last winter I
lived in yon snug little house that you will see at the foot of the hill
if you come this way. Everything went smoothly on with us till one
unlucky night, when the storm blew as it seems likely to do to-night,
some spiteful guest took it into his head to pay us a visit; and there
have ever since been such noises, clattering, and scampering up stairs
and down, from midnight till the cock crows in the morning, that at last
we were fairly driven out of house and home. What he is like no one
knows; for we never saw him or anything belonging to him, except a
little crooked high-heeled shoe, that he left one night in the pantry.
But though we have not seen him, we know he has a hand or a paw as heavy
as lead; for when it pleases him to lay it upon anyone, down he goes as
if the blacksmith's hammer had hit him. There is no end of his monkey
tricks. If the linen is hung out to dry, he cuts the line. If he wants a
cup of ale, he leaves the tap running. If the fowls are shut up, he lets
them loose. He puts the pig into the garden, rides upon the cows, and
turns the horses into the hay yard; and several times he nearly burned
the house down, by leaving a candle alight among the fagots. And then he
is sometimes so nimble and active that when he is once in motion,
nothing stands still around him, Dishes and plates--pots and pans--dance
about, clattering, making the most horrible music, and breaking each
other to pieces; and sometimes, when the whim takes him, the chairs and
tables seem as if they were alive, and dancing a hornpipe, or playing
battledore and shuttlecock together. Even the stones and beams of the
house seem rattling against one another; and it is of no use putting
things in order, for the first freak the imp took would turn everything
upside down again.
"My wife and I bore such a lodger as long as we could, but at length we
were fairly beaten; and as he seemed to have taken up his abode in the
house, we thought it best to give up to him what he wanted; and the
little rascal knew what we were about when we were moving, and seemed
afraid we should not go soon enough. So he helped us off; for on the
morning we were to start, as we were going to put our goods upon the
wagon, there it stood before the door ready loaded; and when we started
we heard a loud laugh, and a little sharp voice cried out of the window,
'Good-by, neighbors!' So now he has our old house all to himself to play
his gambols in, whenever he likes to sleep within doors; and we have
built ourselves a snug cottage on the other side of the hill, where we
live as well as we can, though we have no great room to make merry in.
Now if you, and your ugly friend there, like to run the hazard of taking
up your quarters in the elf's house, pray do! Yonder is the road. He may
not be at home to-night."
"We will try our luck," said Gunter. "Anything is better to my mind than
sleeping out of doors such a night as this. Your troublesome neighbor
will perhaps think so, too, and we may have to fight for our lodging;
but never mind, Bruin is rather an awkward hand to quarrel with, and the
goblin may perhaps find a worse welcome from him than your house dog
could give him. He will at any rate let him know what a bear's hug is;
for I dare say he has not been far enough north to know much about it
yet."
Then the woodman gave Gunter a fagot to make his fire with, and wished
him a good night. He and the bear soon found their way to the deserted
house, and no one being at home they walked into the kitchen and made a
capital fire.
"Lack-a-day!" said the Norseman; "I forgot one thing--I ought to have
asked that good man for some supper; I have nothing left but some dry
bread. However, this is better than sleeping in the woods. We must make
the most of what we have, keep ourselves warm, and get to bed as soon as
we can." So after eating up all their crusts, and drinking some water
from the well close by, the huntsman wrapped himself up close in his
cloak, and lay down in the snuggest corner he could find. Bruin rolled
himself up in the corner of the wide fireplace, and both were fast
asleep, the fire out, and everything quiet within doors long before
midnight.
Just as the clock struck twelve the storm began to get louder--the wind
blew--a slight noise within the room wakened the huntsman, and all on a
sudden in popped a little ugly skrattel, scarce three spans high, with a
hump on his back, a face like a dried pippin, a nose like a ripe
mulberry, and an eye that had lost its neighbor. He had high-heeled
shoes and a pointed red cap; and came dragging after him a nice fat kid,
ready skinned and fit for roasting. "A rough night this," grumbled the
goblin to himself; "but, thanks to that booby woodman, I've a house to
myself. And now for a hot supper and a glass of good ale till the cock
crows."
No sooner said than done. The skrattel busied himself about, here and
there; presently the fire blazed up, the kid was put on the spit and
turned merrily round. A keg of ale made its appearance from a closet,
the cloth was laid, and the kid was soon dished up for eating. Then the
little imp, in the joy of his heart, rubbed his hands, tossed up his red
cap, danced before the hearth, and sang his song:
"Oh! 'tis weary enough abroad to ride,
In the shivery midnight blast;
And 'tis dreary enough alone to bide,
Hungry and cold,
On the wintry wold,
Where the drifting snow falls fast.
"But 'tis cheery enough to revel by night,
In the crackling fagot's light;
'Tis merry enough to have and to hold
The savory roast,
And the nut-brown toast,
With jolly good ale and old."
The huntsman lay snug all this time, sometimes quaking, in dread of
getting into trouble, and sometimes licking his lips at the savory
supper before him, and half in the mind to fight for it with the imp.
However, he kept himself quiet in his corner; till all of a sudden the
little man's eye wandered from his cheering ale cup to Bruin's carcass,
as he lay rolled up like a ball fast asleep in the chimney corner.
The imp turned round sharp in an instant, and crept softly nearer and
nearer to where Bruin lay, looking at him very closely, and not able to
make out what in the world he was. "One of the family, I suppose!" said
he to himself. But just then Bruin gave his ears a shake, and showed a
little of his shaggy muzzle. "Oh, ho!" said the imp, "that's all, is it?
But what a large one! Where could he come from, and how came he here?
What shall I do? Shall I let him alone or drive him out? Perhaps he may
do me some mischief, and I am not afraid of mice or rats. So here goes!
I have driven all the rest of the live stock out of the house, and why
should I be afraid of sending this brute after them?"
With that the elf walked softly to the corner of the room, and taking up
the spit, stole back on tiptoe till he got quite close to the bear; then
raising up his weapon, down came a rattling thump across Bruin's mazard,
that sounded as hollow as a drum. The bear raised himself slowly up,
snorted, shook his head, then scratched it, opened first one eye, then
the other, took a turn across the room, and grinned at his enemy; who,
somewhat alarmed, ran back a few paces and stood with the spit in his
hand, foreseeing a rough attack. And it soon came, for the bear, rearing
himself up, walked leisurely forward, and putting out one of his paws
caught hold of the spit, jerked it out of the goblin's hand, and sent it
spinning to the other end of the kitchen.
And now began a fierce battle. This way and that way flew tables and
chairs, pots and pans. The elf was one moment on the bear's back,
lugging his ears and pommeling him with blows that might have felled an
ox. In the next, the bear would throw him up in the air, and treat him
as he came down with a hug that would make the little imp squall. Then
up he would jump upon one of the beams out of Bruin's reach, and soon,
watching his chance, would be down astride upon his back.
Meantime Gunter had become sadly frightened, and seeing the oven door
open, crept in for shelter from the fray, and lay there quaking for
fear. The struggle went on thus a long time, without its seeming at all
clear who would get the better--biting, scratching, hugging, clawing,
roaring, and growling, till the whole house rang. The elf, however,
seemed to grow weaker and weaker. The rivals stood for a moment as if to
get breath, and the bear was getting ready for a fierce attack when, all
in a moment, the skrattel dashed his red cap right in his eye, and while
Bruin was smarting with the blow and trying to recover his sight, darted
to the door, and was out of sight in a moment, though the wind blew, the
rain pattered, and the storm raged in a merciless manner.
"Well done! Bravo, Bruin!" cried the huntsman, as he crawled out of the
oven and ran and bolted the door. "Thou hast combed his locks rarely;
and as for thine own ears, they are rather the worse for pulling. But
come, let us make the best of the good cheer our friend has left us!" So
saying, they fell to and ate a hearty supper. The huntsman, wishing the
skrattel a good night and pleasant dreams in a cup of his sparkling ale,
laid himself down and slept till morning; and Bruin tried to do the
same, as well as his aching bones would let him.
In the morning the huntsman made ready to set out on his way, and had
not got far from the door before he met the woodman, who was eager to
hear how he had passed the night. Then Gunter told him how he had been
awakened, what sort of creature the elf was, and how he and Bruin had
fought it out. "Let us hope," said he, "you will now be well rid of the
gentleman. I suspect he will not come where he is likely to get any more
of Bruin's hugs; and thus you will be well paid for your entertainment
of us, which, to tell the truth, was none of the best, for if your ugly
little tenant had not brought his supper with him, we should have had
but empty stomachs this morning."
The huntsman and his fellow-traveler journeyed on, and let us hope they
reached the King of Denmark safe and sound; but, to tell the truth, I
know nothing more of that part of the story.
The woodman, meantime, went to his work, and did not fail to watch at
night to see whether the skrattel came, or whether he was thoroughly
frightened out of his old haunt by the bear, or whatever he might take
the beast to be that had handled him as he never was handled before. But
three nights passed over, and no traces being seen or heard of him, the
woodman began to think of moving back to his old house.
On the fourth day he was out at his work in the forest, and as he was
taking shelter under a tree from a cold storm of sleet and rain that
passed over, he heard a little cracked voice singing, or rather croaking
in a mournful tone. So he crept along quietly, and peeped over some
bushes, and there sat the very same figure that the huntsman had
described to him. The goblin was sitting without any hat or cap on his
head, with a woe-begone face, and with his jacket torn into shreds, and
his leg scratched and smeared with blood, as if he had been creeping
through a bramble bush. The woodman listened quietly to his song, and it
ran as before:
"Oh! 'tis weary enough abroad to ride,
In the shivery midnight blast;
And 'tis dreary enough alone to bide,
Hungry and cold,
On the wintry wold,
Where the drifting snow falls fast."
"Sing us the other verse, man!" cried the woodman, for he could not help
cracking a joke on his old enemy, who he saw was sadly in the dumps at
the loss of his good cheer and the shelter against the bad weather. But
the instant his voice was heard the little imp jumped up, stamped with
rage, and was out of sight in the twinkling of an eye.
The woodman finished his work and was going home in the evening,
whistling by his horse's side, when all of a sudden he saw, standing on
a high bank by the wayside, the very same little imp, looking as grim
and sulky as before. "Hark ye, bumpkin?" cried the skrattel; "canst thou
hear, fellow? Is thy great cat alive, and at home still?" "My cat?" said
the woodman. "Thy great white cat, man!" thundered out the little imp.
"Oh, my cat!" said the woodman, at last recollecting himself. "Oh, yes,
to be sure! alive and well, I thank you; very happy, I'm sure, to see
you and all friends whenever you will do us the favor to call. And hark
ye, friend! as you seem to be so fond of my great cat, you may like to
know that she had five kittens last night." "Five kittens?" muttered the
elf. "Yes," replied the woodman, "five of the most beautiful white kits
you ever saw--so like the old cat, it would do your heart good to see
the whole family--such soft, gentle paws--such delicate whiskers--such
pretty little mouths!" "Five kittens?" muttered, or rather shrieked out,
the imp again. "Yes, to be sure!" said the woodman; "five kittens! Do
look in to-night, about twelve o'clock--the time, you know, that you
used to come and see us. The old cat will be so glad to show them to
you, and we shall be so happy to see you once more. But where can you
have been all this time?"
"I come? Not I, indeed!" shrieked the skrattel. "What do I want with the
little wretches? Did not I see the mother once? Keep your kittens to
yourself. I must be off--this is no place for me. Five kittens! So there
are six of them now! Good-by to you, you'll see me no more; so bad luck
to your ugly cat and your beggarly house!" "And bad luck to you, Mr.
Crookback!" cried the woodman, as he threw him the red cap he had left
behind in his battle with Bruin. "Keep clear of my cat, and let us hear
no more of your pranks, and be hanged to you!"
So now that he knew his troublesome guest had taken his leave, the
woodman soon moved back all his goods, and his wife and children into
their snug old house. And there they lived happily, for the elf never
came to see them any more; and the woodman every day after dinner drank,
"Long life to the King of Norway," for sending the cat that cleared his
house of vermin.
_The Golden Bird_
THERE was once upon a time a king who had a garden; in that garden there
was an apple tree, and on that apple tree there grew a golden apple
every year; but when the time came to pluck the apple it was gone, and
no one knew who took it or what became of it; but gone it was.
The King had three sons, and one day he told them that he who could
bring him the apple or get hold of the thief, should have the kingdom
after him, no matter whether he was the eldest, the second, or the
youngest son.
The eldest set out first and sat down under the tree to keep watch for
the thief. Soon after dark a golden bird came flying, and the light from
it was so strong and dazzling that it could be seen a long way off. When
the Prince saw the bird and the dazzling light he became so frightened
that he dared not stay any longer, but rushed indoors as fast as he
could.
Next morning the apple was gone; the Prince had then, however, recovered
his courage and began to get ready for his journey and wanted to set off
to find the bird. The King fitted him out in grand style and spared
neither money nor fine raiment. When the Prince had gone a bit on the
way he became hungry, opened his scrip and sat down to his breakfast by
the roadside. A fox then came out of the wood and sat down and looked at
him.
"Do give me a little to eat," said the fox.
"I'll give you some powder and shot," said the Prince; "my food I shall
want myself; nobody can tell how far and how long I may have to travel,"
said he.
"Just so," said the fox, and so he went back into the wood again.
When the Prince had finished his meal and rested awhile he set out on
his way again. After a long time he came to a big city, and in that city
there was an inn, where there was always joy and never any sorrow; he
thought that would be a nice place to stop at, and so he remained. And
there was such dancing and drinking and joy and merrymaking that he
forgot the bird and his father and his journey and the whole kingdom.
Away he was and away he stopped.
The next year the second prince was to watch for the thief in the
garden; he also sat down under the tree when the apple began to ripen.
But one night, all of a sudden, the golden bird came flying, shining
like the sun, and the Prince became so afraid that he took to his heels
and ran indoors as fast as he could.
In the morning the apple was gone, but the Prince had then recovered his
courage and wanted to set out and find the bird. He began to get ready
and the King fitted him out in grand style and spared neither money nor
fine raiment. But the same thing happened to him as to his brother; when
he had got a bit on the way he became hungry, opened his scrip and sat
down to his breakfast by the roadside. A fox then came out from the pine
wood and sat down and looked at him.
"Do give me a little to eat," said the fox.
"I'll give you some powder and shot," said the Prince; "my food I shall
want myself; nobody can tell how far and how long I may have to travel,"
said he.
"Just so," said the fox, and so he went back into the wood again.
When the Prince had finished his meal and rested awhile, he set out on
his way again. After a long time he came to the same city and the same
inn, where there was always joy and never any sorrow; and there he also
thought it would be nice to stop, and the first he met was his brother,
and so he remained. The brother had been leading a gay and reckless life
and had scarcely any clothes left on his back; but now he began afresh,
and there was such dancing and drinking and joy and merriment that the
second prince also forgot the bird and his father and his journey and
the whole kingdom. Away he was and away he stopped.
When the time came for the apple to ripen again the youngest prince was
to go into the garden and watch for the thief. He took a companion with
him who was to help him up into the tree, and to pass away the time so
that he should not fall asleep. All of a sudden they saw a bright light,
as if from the sun; every feather of the bird could be seen long before
it came to the tree. The Prince climbed up into the tree and at the same
time the golden bird swooped down and took the apple; the Prince tried
to seize the bird, but he only caught a feather out of its tail.
So he went to the King's bedroom, and as he came in with the feather, it
became as light as day.
He also wanted to try if he could find his brothers and catch the bird,
for he had been so near to it that he had got a feather from its tail
and would know it again anywhere, he said.
Well, the King went and pondered long whether he should let him go, for
he thought the youngest would not fare any better than the two eldest,
who ought to have more knowledge of the world, and he was afraid he
should lose him also. But the Prince begged so earnestly that at last he
got permission to go.
He then began to get ready and the King fitted him out in grand style,
both with clothes and money, and so he set off.
When he had traveled for some time he became hungry and took his scrip
and sat down to have his breakfast, but just as he was in the midst of
it a fox came out of the wood and sat down close by his side and looked
at him.
"Do give me a little to eat," said the fox.
"I shall want the food myself," said the Prince, "for I cannot tell how
far I shall have to travel, but I have enough to give you a little."
When the fox had got the piece of meat he asked the Prince where he was
going.
Yes, that he would tell him.
"If you will listen to me, I will help you, and you will have good
luck," said the fox.
The Prince promised he would, and so they set off together. They
traveled a while till they came to the same city and the same inn, where
there was always joy, but no sorrow.
"I must keep outside here; the dogs are rather a nuisance," said the
fox, and so he told the Prince where his brothers were to be found and
what they were doing; "and if you go in there you will not get any
further either," said he.
The Prince promised he would not go in there, and gave him his hand on
it, and so each went his way. But when the Prince came to the inn and
heard the noise and merriment going on he felt he must go in; there was
no help for it, and when he met his brothers there was such rejoicing
that he forgot both the fox and the journey and the bird and his father.
But when he had been there awhile the fox came--he had ventured into the
city after all--and opened the door a little and made a sign to the
Prince, saying that now they must be off. So the Prince bethought
himself, and they went their way.
When they had traveled awhile they saw a big mountain far away. The fox
said:
"Three hundred miles at the back of that mountain there is a gilded
linden tree with golden leaves, and in that tree sits the golden bird
from which you took the feather."
Thither they traveled together. When the Prince was going to catch the
bird the fox gave him some bright feathers which he was to wave in his
hands, and so attract the bird, which would then fly down and sit on his
hand.
But the fox said he must not touch the linden tree, for inside it was a
big troll who owned it, and if the Prince touched only the smallest
twig the troll would come out and kill him on the spot.
No, he would not touch it, said the Prince; but when he had got the bird
on his hand he thought he must have a twig of the tree; there was no
help for it, it was so bright and beautiful. So he took a tiny little
sprig, but the same moment the troll came out.
"Who is that stealing my tree and my bird?" roared the troll, and he was
so angry that he spurted sparks of fire.
"Thieves believe that all men steal," said the Prince; "but only those
get hanged who do not steal properly," said he.
The troll said that made no difference, and was going to kill him, but
the Prince begged him to spare his life.
"Well," said the troll, "if you can bring me back the horse which my
nearest neighbor has taken from me you will get off with your life."
"Where shall I find it, then?" said the Prince.
"Oh, he lives three hundred miles at the back of that big blue mountain
against the horizon yonder," said the troll.
The Prince promised he would do his best. But when he came back to the
fox he found him in rather a bad temper.
"Now you have got yourself into trouble," said the fox; "if you had
listened to me we could have been on our way home by this time," said
he.
So they had to make a fresh start, for the Prince had pledged his word,
and his life depended on his finding the horse.
At last they got there, but as the Prince was going to take the horse
the fox said:
"When you come into the stable you will find all sorts of bridles
hanging on the wall, both of gold and silver; you must not touch them,
for then the troll will come and kill you; you must take the ugliest and
shabbiest you see."
Yes, the Prince promised he would; but when he came into the stable he
thought it was quite unreasonable not to take a fine bridle, for there
were plenty of them, and so he took the brightest he could find. It was
as bright as gold, but just then the troll came and was so angry that
sparks flew from him.
"Who is that stealing my horse and my bridle?" he shrieked.
"Thieves believe that all men steal," said the Prince; "but only those
get hanged who do not steal properly," said he.
"Well, that makes no difference. I'll kill you on the spot," shouted the
troll.
But the Prince begged him to spare his life.
"Well," said the troll, "if you can bring me back the fair damsel which
my nearest neighbor has taken from me I will spare you."
"Whereabouts does he live, then?" asked the Prince.
"Oh, he lives three hundred miles at the back of that big blue mountain
against the horizon yonder," said the troll.
The Prince promised he would fetch the damsel, and was allowed to go,
and so he escaped with his life.
But when he came out you may imagine how angry the fox was.
"Now you've got yourself into trouble again," said he; "if you had
listened to me we could have been on our way home long ago. I almost
think I will not go with you any further."
But the Prince begged and prayed and promised he would never do anything
else but what the fox told him, if he would only remain with him. At
last the fox gave in, and they became firm friends again; so they set
off once more and came at last to where the fair damsel was.
"Well," said the fox, "I have your promise, but I dare not let you in to
the troll, after all; this time I must go myself." So he went in, and
after a while he came out with the damsel, and so they went back the
same way they had come.
When they got to the troll who had the horse they took both the horse
and the brightest bridle; and when they got to the troll who had the
linden tree and the bird, they took both the tree and the bird and
started off with them.
When they had got a bit on the way they came to a field of rye, and the
fox then said:
"I hear a thundering noise; you had better go on ahead; I will remain
here awhile," he said. He then plaited himself a gown of rye straw, in
which he looked like a preacher. All at once the three trolls came
rushing along, hoping to overtake the Prince.
"Have you seen anyone passing here with a fair damsel, a horse with a
golden bridle, a golden bird, and a gilded linden tree?" they shouted to
the fox as he stood there preaching.
"Well, I've heard from my grandmother's grandmother that something of
the kind passed this way, but that was in the good old times, when my
grandmother's grandmother baked halfpenny cakes and gave back the
halfpenny."
Then all the trolls burst out laughing: "Ha, ha, ha!" they laughed and
held on to one another.
"If we have slept so long we may as well turn our noses homeward, and go
to sleep again," they said, and so they went back the way they came.
The fox then set off after the Prince, but when they came to the city
where the inn and his brothers were, he said:
"I dare not go through the town on account of the dogs; I must go my own
way just above here, but you must take good care your brothers do not
get hold of you."
But when the Prince came into the city he thought it would be too bad if
he did not look in upon his brothers and have a word with them, and so
he tarried there for a while.
When the brothers saw him they came out and took the damsel, and the
horse, and the bird, and the linden tree, and everything from him, and
they put him in a barrel, and threw him into the sea; and so they set
off home to the King's palace, with the damsel, and the horse, and the
bird, and the linden tree, and everything. But the damsel would not
speak, and she became pale and wretched to look upon; the horse got so
thin and miserable that it could hardly hang together; the bird became
silent and shone no more, and the linden tree withered.
In the meantime the fox was sneaking about outside the city where the
inn and the merriment were, and was waiting for the Prince and the
damsel, and wondering why they did not return.
He went hither and thither, waiting and watching for them, and at last
he came down to the shore, and when he saw the barrel, which was lying
out at sea drifting, he shouted: "Why are you drifting about there, you
empty barrel?"
"Oh, it is I," said the Prince in the barrel.
The fox then swam out to sea as fast as he could, got hold of the
barrel, and towed it to land; then he began to gnaw the hoops, and when
he had got some off the barrel, he said to the Prince: "Stamp and kick."
The Prince stamped and kicked till all the staves flew about, and out he
jumped from the barrel.
So they went together to the King's palace, and when they got there the
damsel regained her beauty and began to talk, the horse became so fat
and sleek that every hair glistened; the light shone from the bird and
it began to sing; the linden tree began to blossom and its leaves to
sparkle, and the damsel said, "He is the one who has saved us."
They planted the linden tree in the garden, and the youngest prince was
to marry the princess, for such the damsel really was; but the two
eldest brothers were put each in a barrel and rolled down a high
mountain.
Then they began to prepare for the wedding, but the fox first asked the
Prince to put him on the block and cut his head off, and although the
Prince both prayed and cried, there was no help for it; he would have
to do it. But as he cut the head off, the fox turned into a handsome
prince, and he was the brother of the princess, whom they had rescued
from the troll.
So the wedding came off and everything was so grand and splendid, that
the news of the festivities reached all the way here.
_The Doll in the Grass_
ONCE upon a time there was a King who had twelve sons. When they were
grown up he told them they must go out into the world and find
themselves wives, who must all be able to spin and weave and make a
shirt in one day, else he would not have them for daughters-in-law. He
gave each of his sons a horse and a new suit of armor, and so they set
out in the world to look for wives.
When they had traveled a bit on the way they said they would not take
Ashiepattle with them, for he was good for nothing. Ashiepattle must
stop behind; there was no help for it. He did not know what he should do
or which way he should turn; he became so sad that he got off the horse
and sat down on the grass and began to cry.
When he had sat a while, one of the tussocks among the grass began to
move, and out of it came a small white figure; as it came nearer
Ashiepattle saw that it was a beautiful little girl, but she was so
tiny, so very, very tiny.
She went up to him and asked him if he would come below and pay a visit
to the doll in the grass.
Yes, that he would; and so he did. When he came down below, the doll in
the grass was sitting in a chair, dressed very finely and looking still
more beautiful. She asked Ashiepattle where he was going and what was
his errand.
He told her they were twelve brothers, and that the King had given them
each a horse and a suit of armor, and told them to go out in the world
and find themselves wives, but they must all be able to spin and weave
and make a shirt in a day.
[Illustration: "SHE SAID SHE WOULD SIT AND DRIVE IN A SILVER SPOON"]
"If you can do that and will become my wife, I will not travel any
farther," said Ashiepattle to the doll in the grass.
Yes, that she would, and she set to work at once to get the shirt spun,
woven, and made; but it was so tiny, so very, very tiny, no bigger
than--so!
Ashiepattle then returned home, taking the shirt with him; but when he
brought it out he felt very shy because it was so small. But the King
said he could have her for all that, and you can imagine how happy and
joyful Ashiepattle became.
The road did not seem long to him as he set out to fetch his little
sweetheart. When he came to the doll in the grass he wanted her to sit
with him on his horse; but no, that she wouldn't; she said she would sit
and drive in a silver spoon, and she had two small white horses which
would draw her. So they set out, he on his horse and she in the silver
spoon; and the horses which drew her were two small white mice.
Ashiepattle always kept to one side of the road, for he was so afraid he
should ride over her; she was so very, very tiny.
When they had traveled a bit on the way they came to a large lake; there
Ashiepattle's horse took fright and shied over to the other side of the
road, and upset the spoon, so that the doll in the grass fell into the
water. Ashiepattle became very sad, for he did not know how he should
get her out again; but after a while a merman brought her up. But now
she had become just as big as any other grown-up being and was much more
beautiful than she was before. So he placed her in front of him on the
horse and rode home.
When Ashiepattle got there all his brothers had also returned, each with
a sweetheart; but they were so ugly and ill-favored and bad-tempered
that they had come to blows with their sweethearts on their way home. On
their heads they had hats which were painted with tar and soot, and this
had run from their hats down their faces, so that they were still uglier
and more ill-favored to behold.
When the brothers saw Ashiepattle's sweetheart they all became
envious of him, but the King was so pleased with Ashiepattle and his
sweetheart that he drove all the others away, and so Ashiepattle was
married to the doll in the grass; and afterwards they lived happy and
comfortable for a long, long while; and if they are not dead, they must
be still alive.
_The Princess on the Glass Hill_
ONCE upon a time there was a man who had a meadow which lay on the side
of a mountain, and in the meadow there was a barn in which he stored
hay. But there had not been much hay in the barn for the last two years,
for every St. John's eve, when the grass was in the height of its vigor,
it was all eaten clean up, just as if a whole flock of sheep had gnawed
it down to the ground during the night. This happened once and it
happened twice, but then the man got tired of losing his crop, and said
to his sons--he had three of them, and the third was called
Cinderlad--that one of them must go and sleep in the barn on St. John's
night, for it was absurd to let the grass be eaten up again, blade and
stalk, as it had been the last two years, and the one who went to watch
must keep a sharp lookout, the man said.
The eldest was quite willing to go to the meadow. He would watch the
grass, he said, and he would do it so well that neither man nor beast,
nor even the devil himself, should have any of it. So when evening came
he went to the barn and lay down to sleep; but when night was drawing
near there was such a rumbling and such an earthquake that the walls and
roof shook again, and the lad jumped up and took to his heels as fast as
he could, and never even looked back, and the barn remained empty that
year just as it had been for the last two.
Next St. John's eve the man again said he could not go on in this way
losing all the grass in the outlying field year after year, and that one
of his sons must just go there and watch it, and watch well, too. So
the next oldest son was willing to show what he could do. He went to the
barn and lay down to sleep, as his brother had done; but when night was
drawing near there was a great rumbling, and then an earthquake, which
was even worse than that on the former St. John's night; and when the
youth heard it he was terrified, and went off, running as if for a
wager.
The year after it was Cinderlad's turn, but when he made ready to go the
others laughed at him and mocked him. "Well, you are just the right one
to watch the hay, you who have never learned anything but how to sit
among the ashes and bake yourself!" said they. Cinderlad did not trouble
himself about what they said, but when evening drew near rambled away to
the outlying field. When he got there he went into the barn and lay
down, but in about an hour's time the rumbling and creaking began, and
it was frightful to hear it. "Well, if it gets no worse than that I can
manage to stand it," thought Cinderlad. In a little time the creaking
began again, and the earth quaked so that all the hay flew about the
boy. "Oh! if it gets no worse than that I can manage to stand it,"
thought Cinderlad. But then came a third rumbling and a third
earthquake, so violent that the boy thought the walls and roof had
fallen down; but when that was over everything suddenly grew as still as
death around him. "I am pretty sure that it will come again," thought
Cinderlad; but no, it did not. Everything was quiet and everything
stayed quiet, and when he had lain still a short time he heard something
that sounded as if a horse were standing chewing just outside the barn
door. He stole away to the door, which was ajar, to see what was there,
and a horse was standing eating. It was so big and fat and fine a horse
that Cinderlad had never seen one like it before, and a saddle and
bridle lay upon it, and a complete suit of armor for a knight, and
everything was of copper and so bright that it shone again. "Ha! ha! it
is thou who eatest up our hay, then," thought the boy; "but I will stop
that." So he made haste and took out his steel for striking fire and
threw it over the horse, and then it had no power to stir from the
spot, and became so tame that the boy could do what he liked with it. So
he mounted it and rode away to a place which no one knew of but himself,
and there he tied it up. When he went home again his brothers laughed
and asked how he had got on.
"You didn't lie long in the barn, if even you have been so far as the
field!" said they.
"I lay in the barn till the sun rose, but I saw nothing and heard
nothing, not I," said the boy. "Heaven knows what there was to make you
two so frightened."
"Well, we shall soon see whether you have watched the meadow or not,"
answered the brothers; but when they got there the grass was all
standing just as long and as thick as it had been the night before.
The next St. John's eve it was the same thing once again. Neither of the
two brothers dared to go to the outlying field to watch the crop, but
Cinderlad went, and everything happened exactly the same as on the
previous St. John's eve. First there was a rumbling and an earthquake,
and then there was another, and then a third; but all three earthquakes
were much, very much more violent than they had been the year before.
Then everything became still as death again, and the boy heard something
chewing outside the barn door, so he stole as softly as he could to the
door, which was slightly ajar, and again there was a horse standing
close by the wall of the house, eating and chewing, and it was far
larger and fatter than the first horse, and it had a saddle on its back,
and a bridle was on it, too, and a full suit of armor for a knight, all
of bright silver, and as beautiful as anyone could wish to see. "Ho!
ho!" thought the boy, "is it thou who eatest up our hay in the night?
But I will put a stop to that." So he took out his steel for striking
fire and threw it over the horse's mane, and the beast stood there as
quiet as a lamb. Then the boy rode this horse, too, away to the place
where he kept the other, and then went home again.
"I suppose you will tell us that you have watched well again this time,"
said the brothers.
"Well, so I have," said Cinderlad. So they went there again, and there
the grass was, standing as high and as thick as it had been before; but
that did not make them any kinder to Cinderlad.
When the third St. John's night came, neither of the two elder brothers
dared to lie in the outlying barn to watch the grass, for they had been
so heartily frightened the night that they had slept there that they
could not get over it; but Cinderlad dared to go, and everything
happened just the same as on the two former nights. There were three
earthquakes, each worse than the other, and the last flung the boy from
one wall of the barn to the other, but then everything suddenly became
still as death. When he had lain quietly a short time he heard something
chewing outside the barn door. Then he once more stole to the door,
which was slightly ajar, and behold! a horse was standing just outside
it, which was much larger and fatter than the two others he had caught.
"Ho! ho! it is thou, then, who art eating up our hay this time," thought
the boy; "but I will put a stop to that." So he pulled out his steel for
striking fire and threw it over the horse, and it stood as still as if
it had been nailed to the field, and the boy could do just what he liked
with it. Then he mounted it and rode away to the place where he had the
two others, and then he went home again. Then the two brothers mocked
him just as they had done before, and told him that they could see that
he must have watched the grass very carefully that night, for he looked
just as if he were walking in his sleep; but Cinderlad did not trouble
himself about that, but just bade them go to the field and see. They did
go, and this time, too, the grass was standing, looking as fine and as
thick as ever.
The King of the country in which Cinderlad's father dwelt had a daughter
whom he would give to no one who could not ride up to the top of the
glass hill, for there was a high, high hill of glass, slippery as ice,
and it was close to the King's palace. Upon the very top of this the
King's daughter was to sit with three golden apples in her lap, and the
man who could ride up and take the three golden apples should marry her
and have half the kingdom. The King had this proclaimed in every church
in the whole kingdom, and in many other kingdoms, too. The Princess was
very beautiful, and all who saw her fell violently in love with her,
even in spite of themselves. So it is needless to say that all the
princes and knights were eager to win her and half the kingdom besides,
and that for this cause they came riding thither from the very end of
the world, dressed so splendidly that their raiments gleamed in the
sunshine, and riding on horses which seemed to dance as they went, and
there was not one of these princes who did not think that he was sure to
win the Princess.
When the day appointed by the King had come, there was such a host of
knights and princes under the glass hill that they seemed to swarm, and
everyone who could walk or even creep was there, too, to see who won the
King's daughter. Cinderlad's two brothers were there, but they would not
hear of letting him go with them, for he was so dirty and black with
sleeping and grubbing among the ashes that they said everyone would
laugh at them if they were seen in the company of such an oaf.
"Well, then, I will go all alone by myself," said Cinderlad.
When the two brothers got to the glass hill all the princes and knights
were trying to ride up it, and their horses were in a foam; but it was
all in vain, for no sooner did the horses set foot upon the hill than
down they slipped, and there was not one which could get even so much as
a couple of yards up. Nor was that strange, for the hill was as smooth
as glass windowpanes and as steep as the side of a house. But they were
all eager to win the King's daughter and half the kingdom, so they rode
and they slipped, and thus it went on. At length all the horses were so
tired that they could do no more and so hot that the foam dropped from
them, and the riders were forced to give up the attempt.
The King was just thinking that he would cause it to be proclaimed that
the riding should begin afresh on the following day, when perhaps it
might go better, when suddenly a knight came riding up on so fine a
horse that no one had ever seen the like of it before, and the knight
had armor of copper, and his bridle was of copper, too, and all his
accouterments were so bright that they shone again. The other knights
all called out to him that he might just as well spare himself the
trouble of trying to ride up the glass hill, for it was of no use to
try; but he did not heed them, and rode straight off to it and went up
as if it were nothing at all. Thus he rode for a long way--it may have
been a third part of the way up--but when he had got so far he turned
his horse round and rode down again. But the Princess thought that she
had never yet seen so handsome a knight, and while he was riding up she
was sitting thinking, "Oh, how I hope he may be able to come up to the
top!" And when she saw that he was turning his horse back she threw one
of the golden apples down after him, and it rolled into his shoe. But
when he had come down from off the hill he rode away, and that so fast
that no one knew what had become of him.
[Illustration: JUST AS CINDERLAD TURNED HIS HORSE AROUND, THE PRINCESS
THREW THE GOLDEN APPLE]
So all the princes and knights were bidden to present themselves before
the King that night, so that he who had ridden so far up the glass hill
might show the golden apple which the king's daughter had thrown down.
But no one had anything to show. One knight presented himself after the
other, and none could show the apple.
At night, too, Cinderlad's brothers came home again and had a long story
to tell about the riding up the glass hill. At first, they said, there
was not one who was able to get even so much as one step up, but then
came a knight who had armor of copper and a bridle of copper, and his
armor and trappings were so bright that they shone to a great distance,
and it was something like a sight to see him riding. He rode one third
of the way up the glass hill, and he could easily have ridden the whole
of it if he had liked; but he had turned back, for he had made up his
mind that that was enough for once. "Oh! I should have liked to see him
too, that I should," said Cinderlad, who was as usual sitting by the
chimney among the cinders. "You, indeed!" said the brothers. "You
look as if you were fit to be among such great lords, dirty creature
that you are to sit there!"
Next day the brothers were for setting out again, and this time, too,
Cinderlad begged them to let him go with them and see who rode; but no,
they said he was not fit to do that, for he was much too ugly and dirty.
"Well, well, then I will go all alone by myself," said Cinderlad. So the
brothers went to the glass hill, and all the princes and knights began
to ride again, and this time they had taken care to rough the shoes of
their horses; but that did not help them. They rode and they slipped as
they had done the day before, and not one of them could even get so far
as a yard up the hill. When they had tired out their horses, so that
they could do no more, they again had to stop altogether. But just as
the King was thinking that it would be well to proclaim that the riding
should take place next day for the last time, so that they might have
one more chance, he suddenly bethought himself that it would be well to
wait a little longer to see if the knight in copper armor would come on
this day too. But nothing was to be seen of him.
Just as they were still looking for him, however, came a knight riding
on a steed that was much, much finer than that which the knight in
copper armor had ridden, and this knight had silver armor and a silver
saddle and bridle, and all were so bright that they shone and glistened
when he was a long way off. Again the other knights called to him, and
said that he might just as well give up the attempt to ride up the glass
hill, for it was useless to try; but the knight paid no heed to that,
but rode straight away to the glass hill, and went still farther up than
the knight in copper armor had gone; but when he had ridden two thirds
of the way up he turned his horse round and rode down again. The
Princess liked this knight still better than she had liked the other,
and sat longing that he might be able to get up above, and when she saw
him turning back she threw the second apple after him, and it rolled
into his shoe, and as soon as he had got down the glass hill he rode
away so fast that no one could see what had become of him.
In the evening, when everyone was to appear before the King and
Princess, in order that he who had the golden apple might show it, one
knight went in after the other, but none of them had a golden apple to
show.
At night the two brothers went home as they had done the night before,
and told how things had gone, and how everyone had ridden, but no-one
had been able to get up the hill. "But last of all," they said, "came
one in silver armor, and he had a silver bridle on his horse and a
silver saddle, and oh, but he could ride! He took his horse two thirds
of the way up the hill, but then he turned back. He was a fine fellow,"
said the brothers, "and the Princess threw the second golden apple to
him!"
"Oh, how I should have liked to see him too!" said Cinderlad.
"Oh, indeed! He was a little brighter than the ashes that you sit
grubbing among, you dirty, black creature!" said the brothers.
On the third day everything went just as on the former days. Cinderlad
wanted to go with them to look at the riding, but the two brothers would
not have him in their company, and when they got to the glass hill there
was no one who could ride even so far as a yard up it, and everyone
waited for the knight in silver armor, but he was neither to be seen nor
heard of. At last, after a long time, came a knight riding upon a horse
that was such a fine one its equal had never yet been seen. The knight
had golden armor and the horse a golden saddle and bridle, and these
were all so bright that they shone and dazzled everyone, even while the
knight was still at a great distance. The other princes and knights were
not able even to call to tell him how useless it was to try to ascend
the hill, so amazed were they at the sight of his magnificence. He rode
straight away to the glass hill, and galloped up it as if it were no
hill at all, so that the Princess had not even time to wish that he
might get up the whole way. As soon as he had ridden to the top he took
the third golden apple from the lap of the Princess, and then turned his
horse about and rode down again, and vanished from their sight before
anyone was able to say a word to him.
When the two brothers came home again at night they had much to tell of
how the riding had gone off that day, and at last they told about the
knight in the golden armor too. "He was a fine fellow, that was! Such
another splendid knight is not to be found on earth!" said the brothers.
"Oh, how I should have liked to see him too!" said Cinderlad.
"Well, he shone nearly as brightly as the coal-heaps that thou art
always lying raking among, dirty black creature that thou art!" said the
brothers.
Next day all the knights and princes were to appear before the King and
the Princess--it had been too late for them to do it the night
before--in order that he who had the golden apple might produce it. They
all went in turn, first princes and then knights, but none of them had a
golden apple.
"But somebody must have it," said the King, "for with our own eyes we
all saw a man ride up and take it." So he commanded that everyone in the
kingdom should come to the palace and see if he could show the apple.
And one after the other they all came, but no one had the golden apple,
and after a long, long time Cinderlad's two brothers came likewise. They
were the last of all, so the King inquired of them if there was no one
else in the kingdom left to come.
"Oh, yes, we have a brother," said the two, "but he never got the golden
apple! He never left the cinder-heap on any of the three days."
"Never mind that," said the King. "As everyone else has come to the
palace, let him come too."
So Cinderlad was forced to go to the King's palace.
"Hast thou the golden apple?" asked the King.
"Yes, here is the first, and here is the second, and here is the third
too," said Cinderlad, and he took all the three apples out of his
pocket, and with that threw off his sooty rags and appeared there
before them in his bright golden armor, which gleamed as he stood.
"Thou shalt have my daughter and the half of my kingdom, and thou hast
well earned both!" said the King. So there was a wedding, and Cinderlad
got the King's daughter, and everyone made merry at the wedding, for all
of them could make merry, though they could not ride up the glass hill,
and if they have not left off their merry-making they must be at it
still.
_The Ram and the Pig who went into the Woods to Live by Themselves_
THERE was once upon a time a ram, who was being fattened up for killing.
He had therefore plenty to eat, and he soon became round and fat with
all the good things he got. One day the dairymaid came and gave him some
more food.
"You must eat, Ram," she said; "you'll not be long here now, for
to-morrow we are going to kill you."
"There's an old saying that no one should sneer at old women's advice,
and that advice and physic can be had for everything except death,"
thought the Ram to himself; "but perhaps I might manage to escape it
this time."
And so he went on eating till he was full, and when he was quite
satisfied he ran his horns against the door, burst it open, and set off
to the neighboring farm. There he made straight for the pigsty, to look
for a pig with whom he had struck up an acquaintance on the common,
since when they had always been good friends and got on well together.
"Good day, and thanks for your kindness last time we met," said the Ram
to the Pig.
"Good day, and thanks to you," said the Pig.
"Do you know why they make you so comfortable, and why they feed you and
look after you so well?" said the Ram.
"No," said the Pig.
"There are many mouths to feed on this farm, you must know," said the
Ram; "they are going to kill you and eat you."
"Are they?" said the Pig. "Well, much good may it do them!"
"If you are of the same mind as I, we will go into the woods and build a
house and live by ourselves; there is nothing like having a home of your
own, you know," said the Ram.
Yes, the Pig was quite willing. "It's nice to be in fine company," said
he, and off they started.
When they had got a bit on the way they met a goose.
"Good day, my good people, and thanks for your kindness last time we
met," said the Goose. "Where are you off to?"
"Good day, and thanks to you," said the Ram. "We had it altogether too
comfortable at our place, so we are off to the woods to live by
ourselves. In your own house you are your own master, you know," said
he.
"Well, I'm very comfortable where I am," said the Goose; "but why
shouldn't I join you? Good company makes the day shorter," said she.
"But neither hut nor house can be built by gabbling and quacking," said
the Pig. "What do you think you can do?"
"Good counsel and skill may do as much as a giant's will," said the
Goose. "I can pluck moss and stuff it into the crevices, so that the
house will be warm and comfortable."
Well, she might come with them, thought the Pig, for he liked the place
to be warm and cozy.
When they had gone a bit on the way--the Goose was not getting along
very fast--they met a hare, who came scampering out of the wood.
"Good day, my good people, and thanks for your kindness the last time we
met," said the Hare. "How far are you going to-day?" said he.
"Good day, and thanks to you," said the Ram; "we had it altogether too
comfortable at our place, so we are off to the woods to build a house
and live by ourselves. When you have tried both East and West, you'll
find that a home of your own is, after all, the best," said he.
"Well, I have, of course, a home in every bush," said the Hare; "but I
have often said to myself in the winter that if I lived till the summer
I would build a house, so I have a good mind to go with you and build
one after all," said he.
"Well, if the worst comes to the worst, we might take you with us to
frighten the dogs away," said the Pig, "for you couldn't help us to
build the house, I should say."
"There is always something for willing hands to do in this world," said
the Hare. "I have teeth to gnaw pegs with, and I have paws to knock them
into the walls, so I'll do very well for a carpenter; for 'good tools
make good work,' as the man said, when he skinned his mare with an
auger," said the Hare.
Well, he might come along with them and help to build the house; there
could be no harm in that.
When they had got a bit farther on the way they met a cock.
"Good day, my good people, and thanks for your kindness last time we
met," said the Cock; "where are you all going to-day?" he said.
"Good day, and thanks to you," said the Ram; "we had it altogether too
comfortable at our place, so we are off to the woods to build a house
and live by ourselves. 'For unless at home you bake, you'll lose both
fuel and cake,'" said he.
"Well, I am comfortable enough where I am," said the Cock, "but it's
better to have your own roost than to sit on a stranger's perch and
crow; and that cock is best off who has a home of his own," said he. "If
I could join such fine company as yours, I, too, would like to go to the
woods and build a house."
"Well, flapping and crowing is all very well for noise, but it won't cut
joists," said the Pig. "You can't help us to build a house," he said.
"It is not well to live in a house where there is neither dog nor cock,"
said the Cock; "I am early to rise and early to crow."
"Yes, 'early to rise makes one wealthy and wise,' so let him come with
us!" said the Pig. (He was always the heaviest sleeper.) "Sleep is a big
thief, and steals half one's life," he said.
So they all set off to the woods and built the house. The Pig felled the
trees and the Ram dragged them home; the Hare was the carpenter, and
gnawed pegs and hammered them into walls and roof; the Goose plucked
moss and stuffed it into the crevices between the logs; the Cock crew
and took care that they did not oversleep themselves in the mornings,
and when the house was ready and the roof covered with birch bark and
thatched with turf, they could at least live by themselves, and they
were all both happy and contented.
"It's pleasant to travel both East and West, but home is, after all, the
best," said the Ram.
But a bit farther into the wood two wolves had their lair, and when they
saw that a new house had been built hard by they wanted to know what
sort of folks they had got for neighbors. For they thought, "a good
neighbor is better than a brother in a foreign land, and it is better to
live among good neighbors than to be known far and wide."
So one of them made it his business to call there and ask for a light
for his pipe. The moment he came inside the door the Ram rushed at him,
and gave him such a butt with his horns that the wolf fell on his head
into the hearth; the Pig snapped and bit, the Goose nipped and pecked,
the Cock flew up on a rafter and began to crow and cackle, and the Hare
became so frightened that he scampered and jumped around, both high and
low, and knocked and scrambled about from one corner of the room to the
other.
At last the Wolf managed to get out of the house.
"Well, to know one's neighbors is to add to one's wisdom," said the Wolf
who was waiting outside; "I suppose you had a grand reception, since you
stayed so long. But what about the light? I don't see either pipe or
smoke," said he.
"Yes, that was a nice light I got, and a nice lot of people they were,"
said he who had been inside. "Such treatment I never met with before,
but 'as you make your bed so you must lie,' and 'an unexpected guest
must put up with what he gets,'" said the Wolf. "No sooner was I inside
the door than the shoemaker threw his last at me, and I fell on my head
in the middle of the forge; there sat two smiths, blowing bellows and
pinching and snipping bits of flesh off me with red-hot tongs and
pincers; the hunter rushed about the room looking for his gun, but, as
luck would have it, he couldn't find it. And up on the rafters sat some
one beating his arms about and shouting: 'Let's hook him! let's hook
him! Sling him up! sling him up!' and if he had only got hold of me I
should never have come out alive."
_The Troll's Hammer_
WHEN a great famine prevails in a country even the rich suffer. Hard,
indeed, must the lot of the poor peasant be at such a time.
During a famine a poor peasant, unable to support all his family, told
his eldest son, Niels, that he would have to go out in the world and
provide for himself.
Niels left home and went out to seek his fortune. As the evening of the
first day drew on, he found himself in a dense forest, and fearing lest
the wild beasts might do him harm during the night, he climbed into a
tree. Hardly had he reached his perch, when he saw a little man running
toward the tree. He was hunchbacked, and had crooked legs, a long beard,
and wore on his head a red cap. He was pursued by a wolf, which attacked
him just under the tree in which Niels was sitting. The little man began
to scream; he bit and scratched, and defended himself as well as he
could. But the wolf was the stronger, and would have torn the little
fellow to pieces if Niels had not sprung down from the tree. As soon as
the wolf saw that he had two to contend with, he fled back into the
forest.
The troll then said to Niels:
"Thou hast preserved my life and done me a good service; in return I
will also give thee something that will be of use. See! here is a hammer
with which thou shalt be able to do smith's work that no one shall be
able to equal." When the troll had spoken these words, he sank into the
ground and disappeared.
The next day the boy wandered on until he came to the neighborhood of
the royal palace, and here he engaged himself to a smith.
Now it just happened that a few days before a thief had broken into the
King's treasury and stolen a large bag of money. All the smiths in the
city were therefore sent for to the palace, and the King promised that
he who could make the best lock should be appointed court locksmith, and
have a handsome reward into the bargain. The lock had to be finished in
eight days, and so constructed that it could not be picked by anyone.
When the smith, with whom Niels lived, returned home and related this,
the boy thought he should like to try whether his hammer really
possessed those qualities which the troll had said. He therefore begged
his master to allow him to make a lock, and promised that it should be
finished by the appointed time. Although the smith had no great opinion
of the boy's abilities, he permitted the trial.
Niels then requested a separate workshop, locked himself in, and began
hammering the iron. One day went, and then another, and the master began
to be curious; but Niels let no one come into his shop, and the smith
was obliged to remain outside, and peep through the keyhole. The work,
however, succeeded far better than the boy himself had expected; and,
without his really knowing how it came to pass, the lock was finished on
the evening of the third day.
The following morning he went down to his master and asked for some
money. "Yesterday I worked hard," said Niels, "and to-day I will enjoy
myself."
He went out of the city, and did not return to the workshop till late in
the evening. The next day and the next he did the same, and so through
the rest of the week.
His master was very angry at this, and threatened to turn him away
unless he finished his work at the appointed time. But Niels told him to
rest easy, and engaged that his lock should be the best.
When the day arrived, Niels brought his work forth, and carried it up to
the palace. His lock was so ingenious and so delicately made, that it
far excelled all the others. Niels's master was acknowledged as the most
skillful, and he received the promised office and reward.
The smith was delighted, but he took good care not to confess to anyone
who it was that had made the curious lock. He received one job after
another from the King, and let Niels do them all.
In the meantime the report spread from place to place of the wonderful
lock the King had got for his treasury. Travelers came from a distance
to see it, and a foreign King came among them. When he had examined the
work a long time he said that the man who had made such a lock deserved
to be honored and respected.
"But however good a smith he may be," added the foreign King, "I have
his master at home."
He continued boasting in this manner, till at length the two kings made
a wager as to which smith could execute the most skillful piece of
workmanship. The smiths were sent for, and the two kings determined that
each smith should make a knife.
The smith related to Niels what had passed, and desired him to try
whether he could make as good a knife as the lock he had made. Niels
promised to do so, although his last work had not brought him much. The
smith was in truth a mean man, and treated Niels so niggardly that
sometimes he had not enough to eat and drink.
One day, as he was out buying steel to make the knife, he met a man from
his own village, and, in the course of conversation, Niels learned that
his father was in great want and misery. Then he asked his master for
some money, but this was the answer: "You shall not have a shilling
until you have made the knife."
Thereupon Niels shut himself up in the workshop for a whole day, and, as
on the former occasion, the knife was made without his knowing how it
had happened.
When the day arrived on which the work was to be exhibited, Niels
dressed himself in his best clothes, and went with his master up to the
palace where the two kings were expecting them.
The strange smith first showed his knife. It was so beautiful, and so
curiously wrought, that it was a pleasure to look at; it was, moreover,
so sharp and well-tempered that it would cut through a millstone as
easily as through a cheese. Niels's knife, on the contrary, looked very
poor and common.
The King already began to think he had lost his wager, and spoke harshly
to the master-smith, when his boy begged leave to examine the stranger's
knife a little more closely.
After having looked at it for some time, he said: "This is a beautiful
piece of workmanship which you have made, and shame on those who would
say otherwise; but my master is, nevertheless, your superior, as you
shall soon experience."
Saying this, he took the stranger's knife and split it lengthwise from
point to handle with his own knife as easily as one splits a twig of
willow. The kings could scarcely believe their eyes, and the consequence
was that Niels's master was declared the victor.
When Niels asked for payment, the master refused to give him anything,
although knowing full well that the poor boy only wanted the money to
help his father. Upon this Niels grew angry, went to the King, and told
who it was that had made both the lock and the knife. The master was
then called, but he denied everything, and accused Niels of being an
idle boy, whom he had taken into service out of charity and compassion.
"We shall soon find out the truth of this story," said the King, who
sided with the master. "Since thou sayest it is thou who hast made this
wonderful knife, and thy master says it is he who has done it, I will
adjudge each of you to make a sword for me within eight days. He who can
make the most perfect one shall be my master-smith; but he who loses
shall forfeit his life."
Niels was well satisfied with this agreement. He went home, packed up
all his things, and bade his master farewell. The smith would gladly
have made all good again, but Neils appeared not to understand him, and
went his way. He engaged with another master, and began cheerfully to
work on the sword.
When the appointed day arrived, both Niels and his former master met at
the palace, and the master produced a sword of the most beautiful
workmanship that anyone could wish to see. It was inlaid with gold and
set with precious stones. The King was greatly delighted with it.
"Now, little Niels," said he, "what dost thou say to this sword?"
"It is not so badly made as one might expect from such a bungler," said
the boy.
"Canst thou show anything like it?" asked the King.
"I believe I can," answered Niels.
"Well, where is thy sword?" said the King.
"In my waistcoat pocket," replied Niels.
Hereupon there was a general laugh which was increased when they saw the
boy take a little packet out of his waistcoat pocket. Niels opened the
paper in which the blade was rolled up like a watch-spring. "Here is my
work," said he. "Will you just cut the thread, master?"
The smith did it willingly, and in a moment the blade straightened out
and struck him in the face.
Niels took out of his other pocket a hilt of gold and screwed it fast to
the blade; then he presented the sword to the King; and all present were
obliged to confess that they never before had seen such matchless
workmanship.
Niels was declared the victor, and the master was obliged to
acknowledge that the boy had made both the lock and the knife.
The King in his indignation would have had the master put to death if
the boy had not begged for mercy on the culprit.
Niels received a handsome reward from the King, and from that day all
the work from the palace was intrusted to him. He took his old father to
reside with him, and lived in comfort and happiness till his death.
_The Clever Prince_
ONCE upon a time there was a youthful Prince who was so wonderfully
handsome that no one had ever seen his like; and he knew this, and was
very glad of it. And everybody said that he was as clever as he was
handsome, and that no one could be compared to him. Of this he was quite
convinced, and he made a solemn vow that he would never take any woman
to wife unless she was as handsome and nearly as clever as he was
himself. If he could find such a paragon he would marry her. There were
many beautiful maidens in the land, but they were not the cleverest.
There were also many maidens who were clever enough, but they were not
the fairest. This much is certain, the Prince found no girl who combined
in her person half enough good looks and wit to suit him. He was now of
an age when he and his father the King, and their faithful subjects,
were all of opinion that he ought to get married; but, as we have seen,
because of the vow he had made, there was not a maiden in the land to
whom he could pay his addresses.
So he determined to journey to other countries, and to travel
_incognito_ and unattended. He wanted to see things for himself, and to
have no one with him who could reveal anything about him. He traveled
far and wide, from one land to another, but it fared with him abroad as
it had fared with him at home; he could find no girl beautiful or
clever enough for him, much less could he find one who could lay claim
to the possession of both these attributes. So once more he felt his
quest for a worthy bride had proved vain, and turned his face homeward.
One day he was riding through a wood. He rode and rode, still he could
not get to the end of the forest. Noonday came, and the evening came,
and still he was in the wood, and still could see no way out of it. He
had completely lost his way; he had no idea where he was, nor where he
was going, nor where he should find shelter for the night and food and
rest for himself and his horse. And they were both tired out. At last he
saw a small cloud of blue smoke rising amid the green trees, and riding
toward it he soon came to a little cottage, very poor and mean-looking.
But he was glad enough, for here at least he should find somebody. He
got off his horse and knocked at the door. A poor old man opened it, and
a poor old woman also came forward. They appeared very much astonished
to see such a fine, handsome young knight. The Prince, after wishing
them good evening, said that he had lost his way, and that he had been
riding through the wood all day long without coming to a dwelling of any
kind, and now he begged them to give him shelter for the night. At first
they said they were not the sort of people to receive such grand
gentlefolk. It was easy to see they wanted to get rid of him; but when
he told them that neither he nor his horse could hold out any longer, so
greatly did they need rest and a night's lodging, the old couple had not
the heart to refuse, so they agreed to take him in if he would put up
with what they could offer him. His first care was for his horse. Stable
there was none, but there was a bit of a shed for the old people's cow.
As it was summer time the cow was out to grass, so the Prince put his
horse up in the shed, and gave him a drink of water and a bundle of hay,
to the great content of the poor, tired beast. Then he went into the
cottage, which consisted of one little room, which was both dark and
low. He sat down on a wooden bench and began to talk to the old people.
Did they live here all alone in the wild wood? Yes, the old folk said,
they did. There was nobody else in the house, and there was no other
house for miles and miles around. They got on as best they could, and
managed to make a living out of their goat and their cow.
Then the Prince had his supper, the best the house could afford--a crust
of dry bread and a bowl of milk. The old folk then fetched a wisp of
straw and spread it out on the floor, intending to lie upon it--they had
but one bed, and they meant to give it up to their grand guest. But the
Prince would not hear of such a thing; they should sleep in their own
bed, and he would lie on the bundle of straw that was spread upon the
floor. So it was arranged as he wished, and they all three retired to
rest. It was quite a different sort of couch from the one he was
accustomed to, but he was thoroughly tired out, so he soon fell asleep,
and he dreamt of all the beautiful maidens who were not clever enough,
and of all the clever maidens who were not beautiful enough, and so he
slept sweetly till the day began to dawn.
Then he awoke, and stiff enough he was in all his limbs from lying on so
hard a bed; twist and turn as he might, he could not get to sleep again.
Presently he heard something stirring in the little loft overhead. It
might be rats or mice, or perhaps a cat. Yes, it was certainly a cat.
But a little while after he heard a whirring sound, exactly like a
spinning wheel. Then he heard singing. That could not be the cat, nor
was it the song of the birds out in the wood; no, it was a woman's sweet
voice keeping time with the whirring of the wheel. So sweet a song he
had never heard before. He sprang to his feet, rubbed his eyes, pricked
up his ears, and at the same moment the old folk got up too. The Prince
at once asked them who it was up there in the loft that had begun
spinning and singing at break of day. All was quite quiet again overhead
now, and the old people persisted, as they had done the previous night,
that there was no one in the house but themselves.
"Nay," said the Prince, "it is no use trying to make me believe that. I
prefer believing what I have heard with my own ears. And you may as well
tell me the plain truth, for I am determined to learn it, one way or
another."
So then the old man made a clean breast of it. The Prince was quite
right, there was somebody else in the house--it was their daughter, in
her little room up in the loft. They were so afraid lest some one should
see her and want to take her away from them; for, indeed, they would
miss her sadly, old and feeble as they were; she earned a few pence by
her spinning and weaving. Who else was there to take care of them? Soon
they would be no longer able to look after themselves.
Well, the Prince said he had heard her, and now he wanted to see her. He
was no man-eater, nor woman-eater either, so far as he knew; therefore
they might surely let him see the maiden. So the old man had to go and
call her, and she came running down, tripping along, clad in mean
attire, so blithe and fresh and fair. When she saw the handsome young
man, she blushed rosy red, and the Prince was thunderstruck as he looked
on her. Never had he seen anything half so lovely as she was! He was
utterly at a loss what to say or do. In all his travels he had seen no
one to be compared with her. This poor peasant's daughter was far more
beautiful than all the princesses and grand ladies he had ever met at
home or abroad. He could not picture to himself anything more lovely.
But a poor beggar-maid, such as she was, he might not even dream of
making his wife. So he turned resolutely away, and at once bestirred
himself, getting his horse ready to start, and would not so much as
allow himself to look at her again. But when he was in the saddle, just
setting off, as he nodded good-by to the old folk, to whom he had given
a broad gold piece for his night's lodging, and who now were bowing and
scraping before him, he could not help giving a side glance to where she
stood gazing at him with lovely, wondering eyes. And now, of course, he
was obliged to lift his hat and bow "farewell"; and as she returned his
greeting with downcast eyes, and bowed and blushing face, the Prince
felt as if his heart were in his mouth. The lovely eyes looked up once
more as he galloped off, and they followed him till he was out of sight.
And not only did they follow him thus far, but long after he had left
both house and wood far behind those beautiful eyes still haunted him.
And as he rode along he said to himself:
"Yes, she is beautiful, and more than beautiful enough for me; but I
also vowed that she whom I marry must be as clever, or nearly as clever,
as I am, and that, of course, she cannot be."
He marked well where the little cottage stood, and soon he reached a
road he knew well, for the wild wood lay on the very border of his own
land. He rode straight home to his father's castle, and told him he had
not yet found anyone who could be considered his equal.
The old King was much vexed on hearing this, but he was so certain of
his son's exceeding cleverness that he had no doubt matters were exactly
as the Prince represented. He had but one wish, to see his son married
before closing his eyes forever, and he had such faith in his son that
he knew the Prince's choice of a wife would be a wise one.
So now the Prince was at home once more, surrounded by all the good
things imaginable, and yet he knew not one moment's content. Dainty food
failed to tempt his appetite, no sweet sleep came to him on his downy
couch. His thoughts were always with the fair young maiden who dwelt in
the wild wood. He thought of her early and late, and whether he would or
not.