IN a little log hut at the edge of a forest in far-away Sweden lived
Harald and his widowed mother. The winter snows crept in through the
window cracks and the biting winds found their way between the decaying
logs. All the fuel they had was the dry sticks that Harald gathered in
the woods, and, indeed, nearly all the money used in their humble home
was earned by his hands. But, notwithstanding the poverty and
uncomfortable habitation, Harald was as happy as though he lived in a
palace; for he loved the fading beauty of his mother’s tender face and
the whitening hair under her stiff cap. And for playmates he had all the
elves and fairies about whom his mother had told him so many wonderful
tales.
Harald had never seen a Bible or heard about the Saviour, but he knew
the Eddas by heart and he prayed to Odin and Thor with as devout
reverence as a Christian boy prays to the Lord Jesus, and he had firmly
resolved to live the noble life of a brave hero so as to be worthy to
die on the battlefield, and by kind Valkyrias be borne to the fair
gardens of Valhall.
One December evening, when the wind howled dismally among the forest
trees and piled up snow in great drifts across the roadway, little
Harald, chilled and shivering, returned home from a hard day’s work. To
keep up a brave heart he whistled as he walked, looking earnestly at the
flashing flames of light which people now call the “Northern Lights,”
but which, to him, was the flickering of the helmets and shields and
spears of Odin’s maidens; for so had he been taught.
Just as he turned into the dark forest he heard a faint moan, as of a
human being in distress. Hastening to the spot whence it came, he found
an ugly Dwarf lying in the snow nearly frozen. Although Harald was quite
numb himself from cold, he began briskly to rub the Dwarf’s hands and
face, and after a little while helped him to his feet, and Harald then
asked the Dwarf to go home with him where he might get warm and have
some supper.
“Why should you befriend a poor wretch such as I am, who cannot repay
you?” whined the Dwarf as he leaned heavily on Harald’s young shoulders.
“I don’t ask to be repaid,” replied Harald. “Have you not heard the
proverb, ‘Do good and throw it into the sea. If the fishes don’t know
it, Odin will.’”
“Yes; Odin shall know about this, you may be sure of that, and although
I am only a poor deformed wretch, I know how to be grateful, and would
like to do you a favor,” replied the Dwarf. “I wonder if you have
happened to notice a little green ash tree somewhere near here.”
“A green ash tree in winter!” exclaimed Harald.
“It is an unusual sight, indeed,” said the Dwarf, “but in one of my
rambles, the other night, I saw one in this vicinity. Oh, here it is,
right before our eyes!”
There, sheltered by a cluster of evergreen trees, was a small ash
sapling, with green leaves on its branches as in summer, while the other
forest trees stood about nodding in their slumber, their leaves all gone
and their hearts frozen within them.
When Harald went and touched its branches, the little tree came right up
out of the ground.
“Take home the little ash and plant it beside your window,” said the
Dwarf, and when Harald turned about to thank him he was gone out of
sight.
Then Harald started to run home with the little ash tree, but had gone
only a few steps when he struck his foot against something. Stooping to
see what it was, he found a bag, glistening with brightness and full of
something heavy. Upon opening the bag, he found it to be full of pieces
of gold money.
“I must go to town and ask who has lost a bag filled with gold,” thought
the boy. “Oh, I do wish I might keep it and buy mother a nice warm
coat.”
But the next instant he loosened his tightening grip on the bag. “It is
not my gold, and stolen money is worse than a mill-stone about one’s
neck, says mother, so I think it would be too heavy for me.”
“Keep the purse, little boy,” said a sweet voice at his elbow. Turning,
he saw a little girl as radiant as a sunbeam, dressed in shining gold.
“I am your friend, little boy, and I tell you that a lady who wears a
fine cloak and a long veil, and who has more gold than she needs,
dropped that purse, and if she asks for it I will say it fell into a
hole in the ground.”
“Poor misguided Angel,” said Harald, “you are a beautiful temptress, but
I must go to town and try to find the lady you speak of, who wears a fur
cloak and a long veil.”
“Well, if you are determined to be so foolish, I will go with you to
show you the way,” replied the Fairy, for such was the beautiful little
girl.
So Harald wrapped his jacket about the little ash tree, to protect the
tender roots from the cold, and tucking it under his arm, ran to town in
the footsteps of his guide. The beautiful fairy led him to the doorsteps
of a great mansion and then vanished from sight.
The lady of the house was glad to get her purse back, and offered Harald
one of the gold pieces as reward for bringing it to her. But, much as he
wished to have it, he shook his head, saying, “My mother taught me not
to take pay for not being a thief, and she always tells me to be honest
without hope of reward.”
Then Harald ran home with all speed to tell his mother of his wonderful
adventures, and while they were talking together about the strange
little ash tree they discovered a soft, unfrozen spot of earth near a
southern window, and there planted the green sapling. Harald cared for
it tenderly and prayed Odin to shield it from frost and wind.
Next morning was the twenty-fifth of December, and was a holy day then
as now, though it was not called Christmas and was not celebrated in
memory of the birth of Christ, but to commemorate the death and
cremation of the pure and loving Balder, who was the Saviour of the old
Northmen’s religion.
Contrary to our Christian custom, the old pagans of Sweden celebrated
the birth of their Redeemer at Easter, when all nature becomes imbued
with renewed life.
At the winter solstice, when nature slumbers, they kept fires burning on
the mountain tops, in memory of his death and funeral pyre.
Early on Christmas morning, when Harald went out to see the Balder
fires, he met three armed men in the forest. One of them asked gruffly
if he knew what had become of a little green ash tree that Loki, the
giant, had planted there.
Harald became very much frightened. He knew the men must be looking for
the green sapling he took home the night before, for there was no other
such green bush in the forest. He also knew that Loki was a fierce and
terrible god to offend.
“I will not tell,” he first thought, “but run home and pull up the bush
and burn it. Then they will never know what became of it.”
But, notwithstanding his fears, he could not forget his mother’s
counsel: “Speak always the truth, my son, even though a sword should be
swinging over your head.” Indeed, a sword was just now hanging over his
head, but he would speak the truth.
As soon as he could control his trembling voice Harald confessed that he
had removed a little green ash tree the night before. He begged for
mercy, for he did not know that it belonged to the fearful giant.
The men told Harald to lead the way to his mother’s dwelling. Arriving
there, they at once recognized the little green ash as the one belonging
to Loki, and commanded Harald to pluck it up and follow them with it to
the giant’s castle.
Stiff and white as though the frost giant had breathed upon him, Harald
reached out his hand and touched the tree. Instantly it came from the
ground of its own accord. For a moment it stood quivering and shaking
its branches, which gradually became arms, and in another moment it was
no longer a green sapling, but a dazzling, beautiful girl.
“Poor men! I pity you for being in Loki’s service,” she said in a sweet
voice. “Go, tell your cruel master that his plotting against me has
failed and that my enchantment is over. This little boy has saved me,”
she continued, pointing to Harald. “The merciless Loki, enraged at the
love I bore humanity, changed me into an ash tree, but he had no power
to keep me so forever, and was obliged to make a condition. He made the
hardest he could think of. Said he: ‘Since you so love mankind, none but
the child of man shall free you from your enchantment. You shall remain
a tree until you feel the touch of a child who is generous enough to
share his last loaf with a stranger; honest enough to give back a reward
for honesty, and brave enough to speak the truth when a lie might save
his life. Long shall you wait for such a deliverer.’”
Then the soldiers left, glad the little brave boy had escaped the
threatened doom.
Harald, looking at the beautiful child, thought she looked very much
like the one he had met the evening before, and spoke of it.
“That little elf was my sister,” replied the fairy, “and the brown dwarf
who pointed me out to you was my dear friend. He had heard of the little
Harald, who was said to be so generous and brave and true, and he tried
you, as also did my little sister, who was greatly delighted when she
found you could not be tempted to steal.”
Harald’s mother, who had been standing near unnerved and speechless, now
came up. Clasping her boy to her heart, she said: “I am prouder today
than I would have been if my son had slain a hundred men on the
battlefield.”
The little grateful elf always remained Harald’s true friend. She
whispered into the ear of the old King about the generosity, bravery,
honesty and truthfulness of the boy who lived in the forest.
The King sent his men to bring Harald and his mother to the palace. For
his noble virtues he became so well loved by everybody in the land that
when the old King, who had no children, died, Harald was chosen King.
For many years he ruled, constantly widening his country’s domain and
for his victorious sword was called Harald Hildetand, which means
“Harald, the Biting Tooth.”
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[This story incorporates some fragmentary elements of certain
old Swedish legends, and the following explanations will be
useful to the unfamiliar American reader.
The Eddas, mentioned in the story, are books containing the
sacred lore of the old Scandinavians.
In the old Norse mythology the first human beings were
represented as having sprung from the ash tree; hence the use
made of the ash in this story.
A continual state of warfare existed among the tribes of the
ancient Scandinavians, and valor in war was regarded the supreme
virtue, and prowess in battle the supreme achievement of men.
Valhall was the heaven of sword-fallen heroes, called Enherjar,
who forever lived there in the enjoyment of fighting each other
daily, drinking mead from beakers, and eating the flesh of a hog
that was slaughtered each day, but each night became alive and
whole again.
In Norse mythology the Valkyrias made contests on the Vidar
Plains (at the North Pole) to determine which favorites should
enter Valhall first. In the course of these events, the spears
and shields of the contestants gleamed and flashed until the
northern heavens were illuminated—the “Northern Lights.”
At the winter solstice was held a great sacrificial feast in
memory of Balder, the second son of Odin, the god of heaven, and
Frigga, the goddess of earth. He was of heaven and earth, like
the Christ, and, like Him, was pure and loving. At the
instigation of the evil Loki, the son of Surtur (Satan) he was
killed by blind Hoder, as Christ was killed by the truth-blind
people.
The Scandinavian pagans believed in a God-Power so holy and
great that they dared not even give a name. The three head
representatives of this Power were Odin, Vele and Ve, who
overcame the evil giants. These giants strove to injure men,
while the gods fostered them. Thor was Odin’s son, the
strong-arm of retribution, punishing evil doing among men and
giants.]
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