will be right along, and he is sure to know, for he sweeps and blows
about in every corner. Well, I declare, you have a horse, too!" said the
old woman when she came in again. "Now don't let the poor beast stand
by the door there and starve to death; but take it out to the pasture
instead. Or would you like to change with me? We have a pair of old
boots, that carry you twelve miles further with every step. I will
give them to you in exchange for the horse, and then you will reach
Soria-Moria Castle more quickly." Halvor at once agreed, and the old
woman was so pleased with the horse, that she almost started dancing
then and there. "For now I can ride to church, too," said she.
Halvor was very restless, and wanted to go right on again, but the woman
said there was no need to hurry. "Lie down on the bench by the stove,
and take a nap, for we have no bed for you," said she. "I will watch for
the West Wind's coming."
All of a sudden the West Wind came rushing along so that the walls
creaked. The woman ran out: "You West Wind! You West Wind! Can you tell
me the way to Soria-Moria Castle? There is a fellow here who wants to
know." "Yes, indeed," said the West Wind, "I have to go to that very
place, and dry the wash for the wedding soon to be held. If he is quick
afoot, he may come along with me." Halvor ran out. "You must hurry if
you are going with me," said the West Wind; and at once he was up and
off over hill and dale, land and sea, so that Halvor could hardly keep
up with him. "Now I have no more time to keep you company," said the
West Wind, "because I have first to tear down a stretch of pine forest,
before I come to the bleaching-field and dry the wash. But if you keep
going along the hills, you will meet some girls standing there and
washing, and then you will not be far from Soria-Moria Castle."
After a time Halvor came to the girls who were washing, and they asked
him whether he had seen anything of the West Wind, who was to come and
dry the clothes for the wedding. "Yes," said Halvor. "He is only
tearing down a stretch of pine forest, and will soon be here," and then
he asked the way to Soria-Moria Castle. They showed it to him, and when
he reached the castle it was fairly alive with men and horses. But
Halvor was so tattered and torn because he had followed the West Wind
over stick and stone, and through thick and thin, that he kept to one
side, and could not come forward until the last day of the feast. Then
all the folk, as was the custom, had to drink the health of the bride
and groom, and the cupbearer had to pledge all of them in turn, knights
and serving-men. So at length they came to Halvor. Halvor drank the
health, and then let the ring which the princess had put on his finger
when he lay by the water fall into the glass, and told the cupbearer to
greet the bride, and bring her the ring. And the princess at once rose
from the table. "Who do you think has first claim to the hand of one of
us," she asked, "the man who delivered us, or the one who now sits here
in the bridegroom's place?" There was only one opinion as to that,
and when Halvor heard it, he did not delay, but cast off his rags and
dressed himself as a bridegroom. "Yes, he is the right one!" cried the
youngest princess when she caught sight of him, and she drove the other
one away, and celebrated her wedding with Halvor.
NOTE
The "Soria-Moria Castle" (Asbjoernsen and Moe, N.F.E., No. 27,
p. 115) occurs in Ibsen's Per Gynt as a fabled fairy-palace. The
hero cannot hold his tongue at the right time, and as a result
loses the princess for whom he had so strenuously fought. The
recognition of Halvor by his mother by the flickering light of the
hearth-fire, in whose ashes Halvor was always digging when a boy,
is touchingly told.
XXXVII
THE PLAYER ON THE JEW'S-HARP
Some two or three generations ago, a three-year-old ox, belonging to
some people who lived in an alpine meadow in Westfjall, disappeared. And
look for him as they would, they could not find him, and in the fall
they moved down into the valley again. But while the grandmother was
skimming the cream from the milk-pans in the lean-to the day before
their departure, and the oldest maid in the hut was scooping the cheese
out of the big kettle, a little shepherd girl came running up, and
called out that the big ox was standing at the salt-lick, and licking
the salt. When the mother stepped out for a moment, she saw nothing that
looked at all like an ox. So she thought the little girl had probably
been mistaken; but the little one insisted that the big ox had been
there.
"I saw the white spot he had on his forehead, and he had broken off one
of his horns," said she. The man himself and his two sons were each out
searching in a different direction, and they searched and searched; but
all three came back at evening, and none of them had found anything.
When they heard the little girl's story, one of the sons flung himself
on his horse, and rode home at full gallop, in order to fetch his
gun; loaded it with small splinters from a steel arrow, hurried back
posthaste, and shot it off cross-wise over the salt-lick. "If the ox is
bewitched, he ought to appear now," said he. But it was of no use, the
ox was gone and he stayed gone.
The oldest son was to go up on the hill once more, and take a good look
all around. And he searched in every direction, far and near, until he
thought he could smell the ox; yet in spite of this, he could see no
sign of a living being anywhere, all day long. Finally he grew angry,
and swore that for his part, the bewitched beast might go to the end of
the world; if he did not want to join the rest of the herd, he could
please himself. With that he turned around, and went to the herdsman's
hut as fast as he could, meaning to take home with him the bear he had
shot.
And there, at the fence of the herdsman's hut, stood the great ox
licking salt. And one of his horns had been broken off. Where he had
been knocking about so long he himself probably knew, the young fellow
did not.
But now day was so nearly over that he could just about reach home if he
went as he was, and hurried as fast as he could. But if he had to lead
and pull along the ox besides, it would have been pitch-dark before he
had fairly started. And let me tell you, the fall nights are really
dark, and cold besides, and it is not wise to camp under the open sky in
the mountains. For this reason he decided to wait until morning, though
a night at the herdsman's hut would be bleak and lonely. So he chopped a
good armful of birch-boughs, laid them on the hearth, and soon the hut
grew warm and comfortable, and as bright as a room lit with Christmas
candles. When he had eaten his supper, he threw himself down on the bed
of planks, pulled his jew's-harp out of his waistcoat pocket, and began
to play the "Bells of St. Thomas" round. But he had not been playing
long before he fell asleep, with the instrument in his mouth. Suddenly
he woke again, and it seemed to him that he could hear something
rustling softly at the other end of the hut. He turned his head
slightly, and saw a beautiful young girl standing by the table, braiding
her hair. It was so long that it fell down over her hips, and as lovely
and shiny as though it had been gilded. At first the young fellow could
not see her face, but once, when she happened to turn in his direction,
it seemed to him that she was the fairest and finest-looking maiden he
had ever laid eyes on. Her like could not have been found far or near,
and he knew every girl in the parish, well-to-do or otherwise. The young
fellow did not dare address her, for she thought herself alone, and
looked so dear and trustful that he dreaded frightening her away. So he
lay there as still as a mouse, and did not venture to move so much as a
foot.
Suddenly in came another girl; but she appeared to be coarser, and had a
large mouth and dark complexion, not as clear and fresh as that of the
first girl; and she did not please him as well. Both were dressed alike,
in green jackets and bodices of red satin, blue stockings, and with
bright silver buckles on their shoes. The younger maiden had white
sleeves, that were so fresh and clean they fairly shone. Her bodice was
cut low, and showed a handsome round clasp, which tinkled delicately
whenever the maiden made the slightest move. And now the young fellow
realized what sort of maidens these were, and could not get over his
astonishment that there were such beautiful women among the underground
folk. It was Saturday evening, and this was probably the reason they
were dressing and adorning themselves so busily: no doubt they were
expecting company or suitors. The young fellow could not make out what
they said to each other, for they whispered so softly that he only
caught a word now and then. Once they spoke of a little white lamb that
had gone lame that day.
"Yes, it is the fault of that young fellow who has been rushing around
in all the empty huts among the hills, looking for his fire-red ox. I
saw him throw a stone at the little lamb," said the older girl, the one
with the large mouth and dark skin. "He really should be punished for
that!" said she.
"Yes, but he never knew it was a lamb," replied the younger one, the
beauty with the red cheeks. "And it was not right of grandmother to hide
his ox, and make him hunt for it far and near."
"He might have taken his ox, for it was standing just beside the hut,
and he ran right past it," said the other girl.
"Yes, but you know he took it to be a rat," the younger one answered.
"O, how stupid those people are," said the older one again, and laughed
until she shook. "They pretend to be wiser than wise, and cannot even
tell a fire-red ox from a rat! Ha, ha, ha!" and she laughed so heartily
that her sister was also carried away, and the young fellow himself
could not help but smile a bit.
After a time he began to play a boisterous dance-tune. And what a fright
it gave the girls! They screamed, ran off helter-skelter in their
terror, and were gone in a flash. But the young fellow kept on playing.
After a little while one of them thrust in her head at the door, and
when they saw what had frightened them so, they began to whisper and
giggle outside, in front of the hut. And after a time they ventured in
again, and began to dance to the music. And those girls could really
swing around and use their legs. They almost flew over the uneven floor,
and were so sure of the time that every step they took was in place.
When they had danced a while, and the young fellow had made their
acquaintance--or thought that he had--he unclasped his belt, and passing
it around the handsomer of the two, drew her to him. And she allowed him
to do so. This angered the young fellow, for he would not have believed
that so dainty and lovely a girl would have allowed him to act so
familiarly on such short acquaintance. And as though by chance, he let
go one end of his belt and swish!--off she was. Her sister ran after
her, and slammed the door behind her.
Now the young fellow was angry with himself because he had been angry
with her. But he thought he was probably not worthy of obtaining the
hand of so fair and loveable a maiden, for there is an old saw to the
effect that none may escape their fate. Finally he thought that perhaps
he could coax her back again with his music, and he played one tune
after another, the most beautiful ones he knew. But the _huldra_ maidens
did not appear again. At last his hands and mouth grew so tired that he
had to stop. And then he happened to think of "The Blue Melody," which a
minstrel from his part of the country had learned in ancient times from
the underground folk. No sooner had he commenced it than both girls came
sweeping in once more.
"You play beautifully, you do!" said the younger.
"One has to play beautifully when one has such beautiful listeners,"
returned the young fellow.
"Yes, that's what the cat said when she caught a mouse," laughed the
maiden.
"Come here, and I will teach you 'The Blue Melody'!" said he. So they
came to him, and watched while he played. After a time the younger one
put her hand in his waistcoat pocket.
"And what is that, is it liquorice?" she asked, as she pulled out a roll
of tobacco.
"Yes, try it!" the young fellow answered. She bit off a little piece,
but spat it right out on the floor again.
"Yes, it is liquorice that bites," said she, and she wiped her tongue on
her sleeve.
"Is it really so biting?" asked the other one, and also wanted to try
it. So the young fellow gave her some as well, and she had the same
experience. They never wanted to taste such liquorice again in their
lives, so they assured him.
"Well, I can tell you how to get good liquorice," said the one. "You
must boil the root of a plant called merilian, and you must pour the
water into juniper-berry juice, and then you will have a liquorice that
is so sweet and good that it will even cure a toothache." The young
fellow said he would try it, some time, when he had found the plant.
Toward evening the girls wanted to leave. Yet that drove him to despair,
and he begged them to stay for a little while. But the girls simply
would not. Their mother would not allow it, said they. When the young
fellow saw that they were really going, he went quite out of his mind.
He had grown so very fond of the younger _huldra_ maiden, and now he
was never to see her again. Without knowing what he did, he threw the
jew's-harp at her, and hit her on the head, just as she was passing
through the door. And with that she came in again.
"Mother, mother! A Christian has won sister Sireld!" cried the other,
out in front of the hut. Soon after a very ancient woman came hobbling
and shuffling into the hut. Her face was so wrinkled and dark that her
yellow teeth shone out from it, for teeth she had, in spite of her age.
"Now you may keep her, since you have won her, for now she is no longer
bewitched," said the old woman to the young fellow. "And if you are
kind to her, you shall never lack food or clothing, and you shall have
all that you need, both Sundays and workdays. But if you treat her
unkindly, you shall pay for it!" said the old woman, and raised her cane
as though she were about to use it on the young fellow. Then she hobbled
out again.
It seemed to him that he had won a wife very quickly, after all, in this
manner, and he asked her how it all came to be.
"The jew's-harp struck my head with such force, that a drop of blood
flowed," said the girl, "and it was the best thing you could have done,
for I would much rather live with Christians than with the underground
folk," said she.
He still thought the world and all of her, and yet it seemed to him as
though he could have done nothing worse: all had happened so quickly,
and he had nothing on which to marry; but after all, what was done was
done. The following morning she went home with him. His family were much
surprised to see him come back in such company, and were angry with
him, and looked for excuses to find fault with the girl: but there was
nothing to object to about her, except that she had yellow teeth, and
after all, this was no such great matter. In her dealings with others
she was uncommonly amiable, and there was not a girl that went to church
who could equal her in beauty.
But after the wedding he gradually began to ill-treat her. For you must
know that he could never forget she was not a Christian. He sulked, and
was always angry and ill-natured, and never gave her a kind word. And
he refused to grant her least request. Though it might be the merest
trifle, he never had more than a short "No" for anything she asked. And
in spite of this she was kind and friendly, and acted as though she did
not hear his angry words, and was always helpful and amiable. But it
made no difference, he grew worse from day to day. And they began to go
downhill, for strife in the home drives luck away. At last it seemed as
though they would have to take the beggar's bowl and staff, and wander
from one farm-stead to another like any other beggars.
One day she did not know what to give the people to eat, for there was
not even a crust of bread in the house. And then she grew sad, for all
might have been different for them had he but treated her better. He was
standing in the smithy at the moment, about to shoe a horse, and she
went out to him.
"Won't you build me the pen now, the one I have so often, often asked
you for?" she begged. "Do it now, and I will shoe the horse!" And she
tore the red-hot horse-shoe from the anvil, and bent it in shape with
her bare hands. When he saw that she was mistress of such arts, he grew
frightened, and actually built her a fine, big pen back of the stable,
set in a post, and drove a hook into it, just as she had said. The
following morning the pen filled with fire-red cattle, big, fat,
handsome beasts, that gave a great deal of milk. Such fine cows had
never been seen anywhere. And on the hook hung a copper milk-pail, and
a pair of horns of salt, with a silver ring from which to hang them. And
now it was not long, as you may imagine, before they were more than
prosperous at the farm-stead again.
For a time everything went well. He let her work and command in the
house, and she had unfailing luck in all she undertook, so that wealth
flowed in to them from every side. But at length he once more began to
ill-treat her. Wherever he went he remembered that she was no Christian,
no matter how kind, and amiable and obedient she might be, and just like
any one else, save that she was far, far handsomer. Once he reached down
the poker from the wall, and was about to beat her. She jumped up and
begged him insistently not to touch her: "For else both of us will be
unhappy!" But he would not listen to her, and beat her about the head,
until the blood ran over the poker and fell on his hand. And then she
suddenly disappeared from his sight. It seemed as though she had floated
through the wall, or sunk into the ground. He saw nothing, but he heard
a woman sob and weep, very quietly and softly, and painfully, and with a
deadly sadness. After a little while all was silent--and then he heard
no more. He searched day in, day out, here and there, hither and yon,
and his neighbors, too, went along and helped him search; but to no
avail, for he did not find her, and could not even discover a trace of
her. When he was in the hill pastures during the summer, and the rest
of the folk were up there as well, and even after they had gone, he
would sit night after night, and play "The Blue Melody"; yet he never
saw her again, nor any of her folk.
In the summer his little girl was old enough to begin going to school.
And one day she said to her father, when he came up to the hills: "I am
to bring you a kind greeting from mother!"
"Ah, no, my little girl, is that really the truth? Where did you speak
to her?" he asked.
"She and two others came here the day that Guro fetched the sheep, and
since then she often comes here," answered the little one, "and they
gave me their clasps, too," said she, and showed him three handsome
round clasps.
"Won't she come back home to us?" he asked, as well you may imagine.
"She said that she really could not do that, and that she had to protect
you continually against folk who wanted to harm you!" said the little
one.
Sadness had been his portion before this, and now it did not grow any
less. And it was a blessing that before many years had passed the earth
closed over him.
NOTE
Touching in its simplicity, and characteristically local is this
final fairy-tale of "The Player on the Jew's-Harp" (Bergh, p. 38).
In its cheerful beginning, and toward its sad close sounds the
magic music of "The Blue Melody," which some one caught from the
underground folk in ancient times. From primal days folk-lore
has glorified the irresistible power of music as magic of
supernatural origin. Horand in the "Hegeling Saga" is credited
with having learned this melody on the wild wave, from a
water-spirit; and the legend that his compelling art was a gift of
the underground folk was even current of the Norwegian fiddler Ole
Bull (1880).
Transcriber's notes
The illustrations have been moved slightly for reader convenience. A
few obvious printer's errors have been corrected. Otherwise the original
text has been preserved, including inconsistent spelling and
hyphenation.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Norwegian Fairy Book, by Clara Stroebe