Norwegian Folktales

by Peter Christen Asbjornsen

  The Trolls had only one eye among them, and they took turns using it.

  The boys come home.

  THE SEVENTH FATHER OF THE HOUSE

  There was once a man who was travelling. He came, at last, to a beautiful, big farm. It had a manor house so fine that it could easily have been a small castle.

  “This will be a good place to rest,” he said to himself as he went in through the gate. An old man, with grey hair and beard, was chopping wood nearby.

  “Good evening, father,” said the traveller. “Can you put me up for the night?”

  “I’m not the father of the house,” said the old one. “Go into the kitchen and talk to my father.”

  The traveller went into the kitchen. There he found a man who was even older, down on his knees in front of the hearth, blowing on the fire.

  “Good evening, father. Can you put me up for the night?” said the traveller. “I’m not the father of the house,” said the old fellow. “But go in and talk to my father. He’s sitting by the table in the parlor.”

  So the traveller went into the parlor and talked to the man who was sitting by the table. He was much older than both the others, and he sat, shivering and shaking, his teeth chattering, reading from a big book almost like a little child.

  “Good evening, father. Will you put me up for the night?” said the man.

  “I’m not the father of the house, but talk to my father who’s sitting on the settle,” said the old man who sat by the table, shivering and shaking, his teeth chattering.

  So the traveller went over to the one who was sitting on the settle, and he was busy trying to smoke a pipe of tobacco. But he was so huddled up, and his hands shook so that he could hardly hold onto the pipe.

  “Good evening, father,” said the traveller again. “Can you put me up for the night?”

  “I’m not the father of the house,” replied the huddled up old fellow. “But talk to my father who’s lying in the bed.”

  The traveller went over to the bed, and there lay an old, old man in whom there was no sign of life but a pair of big eyes.

  “Good evening, father. Can you put me up for the night?” said the traveller.

  “I’m not the father of the house, but talk to my father who’s lying in the cradle,” said the man with the big eyes.

  Well, the traveller went over to the cradle. There lay an ancient fellow, so shrivelled up that he was no bigger than a baby. And there was no way of telling there was life in him except for a rattle in his throat now and then.

  “Good evening, father. Can you put me up for the night?” said the man.

  It took a long time before he got an answer, and even longer before the fellow finished it. He said — he like all the others — that he was not the father of the house. “But talk to my father. He’s hanging in the horn on the wall.”

  The traveller stared up along the walls, and at last he caught sight of the horn, too. But when he tried to see the one who was lying in it, there was nothing to be seen but a little ash-white form that had the likeness of a human face.

  Then he was so frightened that he cried aloud: “GOOD EVENING, FATHER! WILL YOU PUT ME UP FOR THE NIGHT?”

  There was a squeaking sound up in the horn like a tiny titmouse, and it was all he could do to make out that the sound meant: “Yes, my child.”

  Then in came a table decked with the costliest dishes, and with ale and spirits, too. And when the traveller had eaten and drunk, in came a good bed covered with reindeer hides. And he was very glad that at last he had found the true father of the house.

  THE PARSON AND THE SEXTON

  There was once a parson who was such a blusterer that whenever he saw anyone come driving towards him on the highway, he would roar from afar: “Off the road! Off the road! Here comes the parson himself!”

  Once when he was carrying on like this, he met the king.

  “Off the road! Off the road!” he shouted a long way off; but the king kept on driving straight ahead. So, for once, the parson had to turn his horse aside. And when the king came alongside he said, “Tomorrow you shall come to the court. And if you can’t answer three questions I am going to put to you, you shall lose both frock and collar for the sake of your pride!”

  This was quite a different tune from what the parson was used to. Bluster and bellow he could, and carry on worse than bad, too. But question-and-answer was out of his field. So he went to the sexton, who was said to have a better head on his shoulders than the parson, and told him that he wasn’t keen on going, “for one fool can ask more than ten wise men can answer,” he said. And so he got the sexton to go in his place.

  Well, the sexton went; and he came to the royal manor dressed in the parson’s frock and ruff collar. The king met him out on the porch, wearing both crown and scepter, and looking so grand he fairly shone.

  “So you’re there, are you?” said the king.

  Yes he was … . that was sure enough.

  “Now, tell me first,” said the king, “how far is it from east to west?”

  “That’s a day’s journey, that is,” said the sexton.

  “How so?” asked the king.

  “We.…ll, the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, and does it nicely in a day,” said the sexton.

  “Tell me what I’m thinking now!”

  “All right,” said the king, “but tell me now, what do you think I’m worth, just as you see me here?”

  “Let’s see, Christ was valued at thirty pieces of silver, so I’d better not set you any higher than.… twenty-nine,” said the sexton.

  “Mmmmmmmmmmmm!” said the king. “Well, since you’re so wise on all counts, tell me what I’m thinking now!”

  “Oh, I suppose you’re thinking that it’s the parson who’s standing here before you. But I’m sorry to say you’re wrong, for it’s the sexton!”

  “Aha! Then go home with you, and you be parson and let him be sexton!” said the king.

  And so it was!

  THE ASH LAD WHO MADE THE PRINCESS SAY, “YOU’RE A LIAR!”

  There was once a king who had a daughter, and she was such a liar that no one could equal her. So he made it known that the one who could lie so that he made her say, “You’re a liar!” would get both her and half the kingdom. There were many who tried, for everyone was only too willing to have the princess and half the kingdom, but all of them fared badly.

  Then there were three brothers who were bent upon trying their luck. The two eldest set out first, but they fared no better than all the others. So the Ash Lad set out, and he met the princess in the stable.

  “Good day!” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Good day,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you, too! You don’t have as big a barn as we do,” she said, “for, when a shepherd stands at each end and blows on a ram’s horn, one can’t hear the other!”

  “Oh, yes indeed!” said the boy. “Ours is much bigger, for when a cow is got with calf at one end of it, she doesn’t bear it before she gets to the other.”

  “You don’t say so!” said the princess. “Well, you haven’t such a big ox as we do. There you can see it! When a man sits on each horn, one can’t reach the other with a twelve-foot pole!”

  “We have an ox so big that, when someone is sitting on each horn blowing a lure, one can’t hear the other!”

  “Pooh!” said the boy. “We have an ox so big that, when someone is sitting on each horn blowing a lure, one can’t hear the other!”

  “Oh indeed?” said the princess. “But you don’t have as much milk as we do, all the same,” she said, “for we milk into enormous troughs, and carry it in and pour it into big cauldrons, and curdle big cheeses!”

  “Oh, we milk into great cauldrons, and cart them in and pour it into huge brewing vats, and curdle cheeses as big as a house. And then we have a grey mare to tread the cheese. But once it foaled in the cheese, and after we had been eating cheese for seven years, we came upon a big grey horse. I was g
oing to drive to the mill with it one day, then its backbone broke; but I knew a remedy for that. I took a spruce tree and put it in for a backbone, and no other back did the horse have as long as we had it. But that tree grew, and became so big that I climbed up to Heaven through it, and when I got there, one of the saints was sitting weaving a bristle rope of barley broth. All at once the spruce broke and I couldn’t get down again, but the good saint lowered me down on one of the ropes, and I landed in a fox’s den. And there sat my mother and your father patching shoes, and all at once my mother gave your father such a blow that the scurf flew off ’im!”

  “You’re a liar!” said the princess. “My father’s never been scurvy in his life!”

  TAPER-TOM WHO MADE THE PRINCESS LAUGH

  There was once a king who had a daughter, and she was so beautiful that she was known both far and wide; but she took herself so seriously that she could never laugh, and then she was so haughty that she said “No” to everyone who came and courted her. She would not have anyone, no matter how fine, whether he was prince or gentleman. The king had long since tired of this, and felt that she could get married like the others; she had nothing to wait for, she was old enough; nor would she be any richer, either, for she was to have half the kingdom, which she inherited from her mother.

  So the king had it proclaimed from all the pulpits in the land, both quickly and soon, that the one who could make his daughter laugh was to get her and half the kingdom. But if anyone tried and failed, he was to have three strips cut out of his back and salt rubbed in. And it’s certain that there were many sore backs in that kingdom. Suitors came from south and from north, and from east and from west, and believed it would be an easy matter to make the king’s daughter laugh. And queer fellows came too. But for all the monkeys there were, and for all the monkeyshines they did, the king’s daughter was just as gloomy and serious as ever.

  Close to the king’s manor there lived a man who had three sons. They also heard that the king had proclaimed that the one who could make the king’s daughter laugh was to get her and half the kingdom.

  The eldest wanted to set out first; so he rushed off, and when he came to the king’s manor, he told the king that he wanted to try to make the princess laugh.

  “Well, to be sure,” said the king, “but it will be of little use, my man, for there have been many here who have tried. My daughter is so serious that it is no use, and I don’t like to see more get into trouble.”

  But the boy felt it would be of some use. It couldn’t be so much trouble to make a king’s daughter laugh for him, for both highborn and lowborn had laughed at him so many times when he had served as a soldier and drilled under Nils sergeant. So he started marching up and down outside the princess’ window, doing all the mistakes he used to do as a recruit. But it didn’t help. The king’s daughter was just as gloomy and serious. So they took him and cut three broad strips out of his back, and sent him home again.

  When he had come safely home, the second son wanted to set out. He was a schoolmaster, and a strange figure of a man he was, too. He had legs of unequal length, and that with a vengeance. One minute he was as short as a boy, then he stood up on his long leg and became as tall as a Troll. And he was really a champion at running.

  Yes, he too set out for the king’s manor and said he wanted to try to make the king’s daughter laugh. That wasn’t at all unlikely, thought the king, “but heaven help you if you don’t!” he said. “We cut the strips broader for each one who tries!”

  The schoolmaster strode out on the field. There he placed himself outside the princess’ window, and he preached and said Mass like seven parsons, and read and sang like seven sextons who had been in the parish there. The king laughed so that he had to hold onto the porch post, and the king’s daughter almost cracked a smile, but she caught herself and was just as gloomy and serious again, and so it went no better with Paul the Schoolmaster than it had gone with Per the Soldier — for they were called Per and Paul, you might know. They took him, and cut three strips out of his back, and rubbed in salt, and then they sent him home again.

  Then the youngest wanted to set out, and that one was Taper-Tom. But the brothers laughed and made fun of him, and showed him their sore backs; and the father wouldn’t let him go, for he said it couldn’t be of any use for him who had no sense. He knew nothing and did nothing, but only sat by the hearth like a cat and poked in the ashes and whittled pine torches. But Taper-Tom didn’t give in. He nagged and whined so long that they grew tired of it, and at last he was allowed to go to the king’s manor and try his luck.

  When he came to the king’s court, he didn’t say that he wanted to make the king’s daughter laugh, but asked if he could get a serving-job there. No, they had no serving-job for him, but Taper-Tom didn’t give up. They certainly could make use of one who could carry wood and water to the kitchen maids on such a big farm, he said. Well, the king didn’t think that could be so unlikely, and he was pretty well tired of Taper-Tom’s whining, he too; and at last Taper-Tom was allowed to stay there, and carry wood and water to the kitchen maids.

  One day, as he was fetching water from the brook, he caught sight of a big fish lurking under an old fir root, where the water had washed the earth away. He put his bucket carefully under the fish and caught it. But on the way back to the king’s manor, he met an old crone who was leading a golden goose.

  “Good day, grandmother!” said Taper-Tom. “That’s a fine bird you have; and such splendid feathers, now! They shine a long way off — if one had such feathers, there’d be no need to whittle pine torches,” he said.

  The old woman thought just as well of the fish Taper-Tom had in his bucket. So she said that if he would give her the fish, he could have the golden goose. And the goose was such that if any person so much as touched it, he would be stuck fast if Taper-Tom just said, “Hang on, if you want to come along!”

  Well, Taper-Tom was quite willing to swap. “A bird is just as good as a fish,” he said to himself. “And, if it’s the way you say, I can easily use it as a fishhook,” he said to the old crone, and was well pleased with the goose.

  He hadn’t gone very far before he met an old woman. When she saw that fine golden goose, she just had to come over and touch it. So she made herself nice and sweet, and then she asked Taper-Tom if she couldn’t pet his pretty golden goose.

  “All right,” said Taper-Tom, “but you mustn’t take any of her feathers.” The very moment she put her hand on the goose, he said, “Hang on, if you want to come along!” The old woman pulled and tugged, but she had to hang on, whether she wanted to or not, and Taper-Tom walked on as if he were alone with the golden goose.

  When he had travelled a little farther, he met a man who had a score to settle with the old woman for a trick she had played on him; and when he saw her struggling so hard to get loose, and understood that she was stuck fast, he thought he could safely give her a blow, and so he gave her a swift kick with one foot.

  “Hang on, if you want to come along!” cried Taper-Tom, and the man had to follow along and hop on one foot, whether he wanted to or not. When he pulled and struggled and wanted to get loose, it was even worse, for then he nearly fell over backwards.

  Now they trudged along for a good while until they were close to the king’s manor. There they met the king’s blacksmith. He was on his way to the smithy and had a big pair of tongs in his hand. This smith was a jester, who was always full of fun and rascally tricks, and when he saw this procession come hopping and hobbling along, he almost doubled up with laughter. But then he said, “This must be a flock of geese for the princess. Now who’s gander and who’s goose? That must be the gander, the one who’s jogging along in front. Goosie! Goosie! Goosie! Goosie! Goosie!” he called, and threw out his hand as if he were scattering corn to the geese.

  And so with his tongs he grabbed the old man by the seat of the breeches.

  But the procession did not stop — the old woman and the man just glared at the smith for
making fun of them.

  So the smith said, “It would be fun to hold back the whole flock of geese, as many as they are.” For he was a strong man. And so with his tongs he grabbed the old man by the seat of his breeches, and the old fellow began to shout and wriggle.

  But Taper-Tom said, “Hang on, if you want to come along!”

  So the smith also had to go along. And for all he bent his back, and dug his heels in the ground and wanted to get loose, it helped not one bit. He was stuck as fast as though he had been screwed into the big anvil in the smithy, and whether he wanted to or not, he had to dance along.

  When they arrived at the king’s manor, the watchdog flew at them and started barking as if they were tramps or thieves, and when the king’s daughter looked out of the window to see what was going on, and caught sight of this gang of scarecrows, she burst out laughing. But Taper-Tom wasn’t satisfied with that.

  “Wait a moment, and she’ll soon be splitting her sides!” he said, and turned back of the king’s manor with his procession.

  As they came past the kitchen, the door stood open and the cook was busy stirring the porridge. But when she caught sight of Taper-Tom and his flock, she rushed out of the kitchen, with the ladle in one hand and the pot of steaming porridge in the other, and laughed until she shook. And when she saw that the smith was along, she slapped her thighs and screamed with laughter. But when she had really laughed her fill, she also thought that the golden goose was so fine that she had to go over and stroke it.