Norwegian Folktales

by Peter Christen Asbjornsen

  “Taper-Tom, Taper-Tom,” she cried, running after him with the porridge ladle in her hand. “May I stroke that lovely bird you have?”

  “Let her stroke me instead!” said the smith.

  “So I will!” said Taper-Tom.

  But when the cook heard that, she became angry. “What’s that you say?” she shrieked, and swung at the smith with the ladle.

  “Hang on, if you want to come along!” said Taper-Tom; so she stuck fast, she too; and for all she scolded, and for all she tugged and tore, and as wild as she was, she had to hobble along. But, when they came outside the front window, the princess stood and waited for them, and when she saw that they had the cook along, with both ladle and pot, she burst out laughing, and laughed so hard that the king had to hold her up. So Taper-Tom got the princess and half the kingdom, and they held a wedding so grand that it was the talk of the whole land.

  THE CHARCOAL BURNER

  There was once a charcoal burner who had a son, and the son was a charcoal burner, too. When the father had died, the son took a wife, but he wouldn’t do any work; poor he was at looking after the kiln, too, and at last nobody wanted to hire him to burn charcoal any more. But one day he did manage to burn a kiln full, and went to town with some loads of charcoal to sell. When he had sold them, he rambled along the main street and had a look around. On his way home he joined company with neighbors and parish folk, and reveled and drank and chattered about all the things he had seen in town. The funniest thing he had seen, he said, was that there were so many parsons there, and everybody greeted them and tipped their hats at them. “I wish I were a parson, too, for then people might tip their hats at me. Now they mostly act as though they didn’t see me,” he said.

  “Well, you’re black enough if nothing else to be a parson,” said the neighbors to the charcoal burner. “But as long as we’re on our way anyhow, we can go to the auction of the late parson’s things and get ourselves a drop of something, and at the same time you can buy the cassock and ruff,” they said. Well, that’s what they did, and when he got home he hadn’t a shilling left.

  “I hope you have both food and money with you,” said the wife.

  “Yes, now there’ll be food, mother,” said the charcoal burner, “for I’ve become a parson!” he said. “Here you see both the cassock and the ruff.”

  “That I’m likely to believe! Strong ale makes for brave words!” said the old woman. “It makes no difference to you which end is up,” she said.

  “Never blame nor praise the kiln before the coals have cooled,” said the charcoal burner.

  Then came a day when so many clergymen, in cassocks and ruff collars, passed the charcoal burner’s place on the way to the king’s manor that they could tell something was to happen there. Well, the charcoal burner wanted to go along too, and dressed himself in his clerical garments. The old woman thought it would be just as well if he stayed at home, for if he were to hold a horse for a fine gentleman, he’d just drink up the tip he got for it.

  “Everybody talks about the drink, but nobody about the thirst, mother,” he said, and strode to the king’s manor.

  There all the strangers were invited in, and the charcoal burner went in too. Now the king told them that he had lost the costliest of all his rings, and he was quite certain it had been stolen. So he had summoned all the learned clergymen in the land on the chance that they could tell him who the thief was. And he promised that he would reward the one who could: if it were someone studying to become a parson, he would get a parsonage; if he were already a parson, he should be made a dean; if he were a dean, he would be made a bishop; and if he were a bishop, he would be next in rank to the king himself. Then the king went from one to the other and questioned them all, and when he came to the charcoal burner he said, “Who are you?”

  “I am the wise parson and the true prophet,” answered the charcoal burner.

  “Then you can surely tell me who has stolen my ring,” said the king.

  “Well, it’s not good sense to think that what is hidden in darkness should now be visible in daylight,” said the charcoal burner. “But it’s not every year that the salmon spawns in the top of a spruce tree. Now I’ve been studying for seven years for me and mine, but I have no parish of my own yet. So if I am to bring the thief to light, I must have a lot of time and plenty of paper, for I have to write and reckon through many a land.”

  Well, he was promised plenty of time and all the paper he wanted if only he could produce the thief. He was given a room to himself in the king’s manor, and it didn’t take long before everybody realized that he must know more than the Lord’s Prayer, for he used up so much paper that it lay in great heaps and piles. But there wasn’t one of them who could understand a word of what he had written, because it looked like nothing but scrawls and pothooks. Time went on, and still he could say nothing about the thief. At last the king grew tired of it, and told him that if he could not find the thief in three days, he would lose his life.

  “The one who is to rule must not be too hasty. One shouldn’t rake out the coal before the kiln is cold,” said the charcoal burner. But the king was firm, and the charcoal burner realized that his life was not worth much after that.

  Now, three of the king’s servants had been appointed to wait on the charcoal burner, one each day. And it was these three who had banded together to steal the king’s ring. When one of the servants came in and cleared off the table after supper, the charcoal burner sighed deeply and looked at him. “That was the first,” he said, meaning that it was the first of the three days he had left of his life.

  They went in and fell on their knees before the charcoal burner, and begged him, for heaven’s sake, not to tell the king.

  “This parson knows about more than just eating,” said the servant when he had his comrades by themselves, and then he told them he had said “That was the first.” The second, who was to wait on the parson the next day, was told to listen carefully to what he said, and sure enough, when he had cleared the table and was going out after supper, the charcoal burner stared hard at him, sighed deeply, and said, “That was the second.” The third one was told to pay very close attention to the way the charcoal burner behaved on the third day, and it was no better; for when the servant took hold of the doorknob, and was about to leave with cups and plates, the charcoal burner folded his hands and said, “That was the third!” And then he sighed as though his heart would break.

  When the servant got outside, he was so frightened he could hardly breathe, and he told the others that it was quite clear that the parson knew. So they went in and fell on their knees before the charcoal burner, and begged him, for heaven’s sake, not to tell the king. They would each gladly give him a hundred dalers, if he would save them from certain death. He promised sure and certain that he would not tell on them if they would give him the money and the ring, and a big lump of porridge as well. Then the parson rolled the ring well inside the lump of porridge, and told one of them to give it to the biggest hog in the king’s barn, and watch that the hog didn’t drop it.

  The next morning the king came. He was in a difficult mood, and wanted to know at once who the thief was.

  “Well, now that I have reckoned and written through many a land,” said the charcoal burner, “I know it’s not a human being who has stolen your ring.”

  “Nonsense! Who has stolen it, then?” asked the king.

  “Oh, it’s the big hog in your barn,” said the charcoal burner. Well, they butchered the hog, and sure enough, in its belly they found the ring.

  Then the charcoal burner was made a parson, and the king was so pleased that he gave him a horse and a manor, and a hundred dalers besides. The charcoal burner wasted no time moving in, and on the first Sunday after he had been made a parson, he was to go to church and read his letter of appointment. But before he left home he had to have lunch, so he put the letter beside him on a piece of bread. But then he dipped the letter in the broth, mistaking it for the slice o
f bread, and when he found it tough to chew on, he threw it to the dog, who gobbled it up in no time.

  Now he didn’t know what he was going to do, but to church he had to go, for the parishoners were waiting. And when he got there, he went straight up into the pulpit. There he started puffing himself up so that everyone thought he was indeed a fine parson. But after a while, he didn’t seem so fine any more.

  “My listeners, the words you should have heard today have gone to the dogs. But come back another Sunday, my dear parishoners, and you shall hear something different. And with this, my sermon for today is ended.”

  The congregation thought this was a very strange parson, for such a sermon they had never heard before; but then they thought he might improve, and if he didn’t, there would always be a way to have things changed.

  On the next Sunday there was another service, and the church was so full of people who wanted to listen to the new parson that there was hardly room for them all inside. Well, when he came, he went straight up into the pulpit where he stood for a while without saying a word. Then he banged on the pulpit and shouted, “Listen, you old Buck-Berit, why do you sit so far back in the church?”

  “I have such trashy shoes, father,” she said.

  “Oh, you could take an old sow hide and make yourself a pair of shoes so you could sit just as far up in the church as the other respectable women. Furthermore, all of you should bear in mind what road you are following, for I see, when I come to church, that some come from the north and some from the south, and it’s the same when you leave the church again. But you must stop, and then the question is: what will become of you? Who knows what will become of any one of us? — And now I have to announce that a black mare has got away from our former parson’s wife. She has a fetlock and a hanging mane, and more like that, which I shan’t mention in this place. — And then I have a hole in the pocket of my old breeches; that I know, but not you; but if anyone has a patch which could fit the hole, neither you nor I know it.”

  Some of the parishoners were pretty well pleased with the sermon. They could not but think that he would be a good parson in time, they said. But most of them felt it was much too bad, and when the time came for the dean’s visit, they complained about the parson and said that no one had ever heard such sermons before, and one of them recalled the last one, and repeated it to the dean.

  That was a very good sermon, said the dean, for it was only to be assumed that the parson had spoken in parables about seeking divine light and fleeing darkness and its evils, and about those who went on the broad and the narrow paths. The reference to the old parson’s black mare was an excellent parable about what would happen to us all at the end; and as to the hole in his pocket, that was to express his need, and the patch was to signify offerings and charity which he expected from the congregation, explained the dean.

  “Well, that much we understood, too, that it was the parson’s moneybag,” they thought. At last the dean said he thought the congregation had got such a fine and intelligent man for a parson, that they ought not complain about him. And in the end they didn’t get another. But, as they thought things were growing worse and not better, they complained to the bishop.

  Well, he came at last, and he was to conduct the service. But the day before, the charcoal burner had gone to the church when no one knew about it, and sawed loose the pulpit so that it only just didn’t collapse when one climbed carefully into it. When the congregation had taken their seats, and it was time for the charcoal burner to preach for the bishop, he tiptoed into the pulpit, and started preaching in his usual manner. But when he had been preaching for a little while, he became more and more excited, threw up his arms and shouted, “If there is anyone here who has a bad conscience for something evil he has done, he had better leave this church, for on this day will occur a mighty fall, unequalled by anything that has happened since the creation of this world.” With that he struck the pulpit a thunderous blow, and pulpit and parson and all fell down with a terrible crash, and the whole congregation ran out of the church as though the Day of Judgement had come.

  But now the bishop told the congregation that he was surprised that they could complain of a parson who was so gifted, and had such wisdom that he could predict things to come. He thought the parson ought at least to be a dean, he said; and it wasn’t long, either, before he was. So there was no way out, they were saddled with him.

  Now, the king and the queen had no children, but when the king learned that perhaps one was on the way, he was anxious to know whether the child would be an heir to land and kingdom, or merely a princess. So all the learned men in the kingdom were summoned to the palace to see if they could tell what the child was to be. But as none of them could answer that question, both the king and the bishop remembered the charcoal burner, and it wasn’t long before they got him to the manor, where they tried to get him to give an opinion. But no, he couldn’t help them, either, he said, for it is not for anyone to guess what no one could know.

  “That’s all very well,” said the king. “I don’t care whether you know it or not, but you are supposed to be the wise parson and true prophet who can predict things to come, and if you won’t tell us, you shall loose both cassock and collar,” said the king. “I shall put you to a test first,” he said, and then he took the largest silver beaker he owned, and went down to the shore. “If you can tell me what is in this beaker,” said the king, “you can also tell me about the child.” And he held the lid on the beaker.

  The charcoal burner wrung his hands and carried on badly. “Oh, you most miserable, creeping crab on this earth, what have you now for all your toiling and moiling?” he said.

  “Well, see if you didn’t know it!” said the king, for he had a big crab in the beaker. So the charcoal burner had to go into the front room to the queen. He took a chair and sat down in the middle of the floor, and the queen walked back and forth in front of the room.

  “One should never build a stall for an unborn calf, nor argue about the name before the child is born,” said the charcoal burner. “But never have I seen anything like this before,” he said. “When the queen walks towards me it looks as if it will be a prince, and when she walks away from me, it looks as if it were a princess.”

  In due time the queen gave birth to twins, so the charcoal burner had hit the nail on the head this time, too. And because he could tell what no one else knew, he was given money by the wagon-load, and then he became the highest person next to the king.

  Trip, trap, trill, he got more than his fill.

  THE THREE PRINCESSES IN THE MOUNTAIN-IN-THE-BLUE

  There were once a king and a queen who had no children, and they took it so to heart that they hardly ever had a happy moment.

  One day the king was standing on the porch of his house, looking out over his broad acres and everything he owned. There was plenty, and well it looked, too; but he did not feel that he could enjoy it, as long as he did not know what would become of it all after his death. As he stood there pondering, up came a poor old woman who went around begging for a pittance in God’s name. She greeted him and curtsied, and asked what ailed the king since he looked so unhappy.

  “Nothing you can do anything about, my good woman!” said the king. “There’s no use telling you.”

  “There just might be,” said the beggar woman. “A mere trifle is often enough when luck is on your side. The king is thinking that he has no heir to his land and kingdom, but he need not grieve over that,” she said. She told him his queen would have three daughters, but he must take good care never to let them out into the open before they were fifteen years old, or else a snowflurry would come and take them.

  When her time came, the queen was brought to bed and gave birth to a beautiful baby girl.

  When her time came, the queen was brought to bed and gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. The following year she had a second daughter, and the third year one more. The king and the queen were happy beyond words, but for all his joy,
the king remembered to place a guard at the hall door so that the princesses would not be able to go outside.

  As the princesses grew, they became both pretty and graceful, and they were happy in every way, except for the fact that they were never allowed to go outside and play like other children. But for all they begged and pleaded with their parents, and for all they pestered the guard, they were told they must not go out before all three of them were fifteen years old.

  One day, not long before the youngest princess reached her fifteenth birthday, the king and the queen were out driving in the fine weather, and the princesses were standing at the window gazing out. The sun was shining, and everything was so green and pretty that they felt they had to go out — come what might! So they begged and pestered the guard, and pleaded with him to let them go out into the garden. He could see for himself how warm and sunny it was — winter weather could never come on such a day.

  No, that didn’t seem very likely to the guard, either; and if they really insisted on going outside, they might as well, he said. But only for a tiny, little while; and he would go with them himself, and keep an eye on them.

  When they came into the garden, they ran hither and thither, and picked armfuls of flowers and greenery — they had never set eyes on anything so lovely. At last they couldn’t pick any more, but just as they were to go inside again, they caught sight of a big rose at the other end of the garden. It was far, far lovelier than any of the other flowers they had found, so they simply had to have it. But at the very moment they leaned over to pick the rose, a big snowflurry came, and they were gone.

  There was great sorrow throughout the land, and the king had it proclaimed in all the churches that the one who could rescue the princesses should get half the kingdom, and his golden crown, and whichever of them he wanted for a wife. There were plenty who wanted to win half a kingdom and a princess into the bargain, you may be sure, and highborn and lowborn set out and searched in every corner of the land. But there was not one who could find the king’s daughters, or even so much as a trace of them.