Norwegian Folktales

by Peter Christen Asbjornsen

  When she got there, she wailed and carried on, and said that she didn’t know the weather could be so rough. But she thought there must have been someone along beating both her and the ram; and indeed she was both black and blue all over her body, so badly had she fared on the way. And then she said that the suitor had found the ball of golden yarn too; how that had happened neither she nor the Troll could understand.

  “But do you know what I’ve hit upon now?” she said.

  No, the Troll couldn’t know that.

  “Well,” she replied, “I’ve told him to get me what I’m thinking about by midday tomorrow, and that was your head. Do you think he can get that, my friend?” she said and hugged the Troll.

  “I hardly think so!” said the Troll, and he swore to that, and then he laughed and roared, worse than a spirit in torment. And both the king’s daughter and the Troll thought that before the boy could get the Troll’s head, he would be broken on the wheel, and the ravens would peck out his eyes.

  As it was getting on toward morning, she had to go home again. But she was afraid, she said, for she thought there was someone behind her, and she dared not go home alone. The Troll would have to see her home. Yes, he’d go with her, and he got out his ram, for he had one like the king’s daughter’s, and smeared it well between the horns, too. When the Troll had seated himself, the Companion mounted behind him, and off they went through the air, back to the king’s manor. But on the way the Companion struck the Troll and the ram, and dealt them blow upon blow with his sword so that they sank lower and lower, and at last they were almost on the point of sinking in the sea they were flying over. When the Troll realized he was so far out of the way, he followed the king’s daughter straight back to the king’s manor, and waited outside to see that she got home safe and sound. But at the very moment she closed the door behind her, the Companion cut off the Troll’s head and strode up to the boy’s chamber.

  “This is what the king’s daughter is thinking about!” he said.

  Now, that was both well and good, you might know, and when the boy was invited down to dinner, and had eaten, the king’s daughter was as happy as a lark.

  “Perhaps you have what I was thinking about?” she said.

  “Indeed I have!” said the boy. He pulled it out from under the flap of his robe, and threw it on the table, so that the table and all the things on it were overturned. The king’s daughter was as pale as if she had lain in the ground, but she couldn’t deny that it was what she had been thinking about, and now he was to have her, as she had promised. So the wedding was celebrated, and there was great joy throughout the whole kingdom.

  But the Companion took the boy aside and told him that he could close his eyes and pretend he was asleep on the wedding night, but if he valued his life and would listen to him, he mustn’t sleep a wink before he had rid her of the Troll-hide which she was wearing. He was to beat it off her with the twigs of nine new birch brooms, and then rub it off her in three tubs of milk: first he was to scrub her in a tub of last year’s whey, and then he was to rub her in sour milk, and then he was to rinse her in a tub of sweet milk. The brooms lay under the bed, and he had put the tubs in the corner. It was all ready. Well, the boy promised he would heed him and do as he said.

  When they went to the marriage bed in the evening, the boy pretended to go to sleep. The king’s daughter raised herself on her elbows to see if he were asleep, and tickled him under the nose. The boy went on sleeping just as soundly as before. Then she pulled his hair and beard, but he still slept like a log, she thought. Then she took out a big butcher’s knife from under the pillow, and was going to hack off his head, but the boy jumped up, knocked the knife out of her hand and grabbed her by the hair. Then he beat her with the broom twigs, and went on thrashing her until there wasn’t a stick left. When that was done, he threw her in the tub of whey, and then he saw what kind of animal she was: she was as black as a raven all over her body. But when he’d scrubbed her in whey, and rubbed her in sour milk, and rinsed her in sweet milk, the Troll-hide was gone, and she was sweet and pretty as she had never been before.

  Next day the Companion told him that they had to leave. Well, the boy was ready to travel, and the king’s daughter too, for the dowry had long since been ready. During the night, the Companion had carried all the gold and silver and precious things the Troll had left in the mountain to the king’s manor, and, when they were about to leave in the morning, the yard was so full that they could hardly get out. The dowry was worth more than the king’s land and kingdom itself, and they didn’t know how they were to carry it with them. But the Companion knew a way out of all difficulty. There were six of the Troll’s rams left, which could fly through the air. These they loaded with so much gold and silver that they had to walk on the ground, and weren’t able to raise themselves and fly with it. And what the rams couldn’t carry had to remain at the king’s court. So they journeyed far, and farther than far, but at last the rams became so tired that they weren’t able to go another step. The boy and the king’s daughter didn’t know what to do, but when the Companion saw that they couldn’t move, he put the whole load on his back, placed the rams on top, and carried it so far that there wasn’t much more than half a mile left to where the boy had his home.

  Then the Companion said, “Now I must leave you. I cannot stay with you any longer.”

  But the boy didn’t want to be parted from him. He didn’t want to lose him at any cost. So the Companion stayed with him half a mile more, but he wouldn’t come any farther, and although the boy begged and pleaded with him to come home and stay with him, or at least come inside and celebrate the homecoming with his father, the Companion said “No,” he couldn’t do that.

  Then the boy asked what he wanted for having helped him.

  If it was to be anything, it must be half of what he bred in five years, said the Companion.

  Yes, he would get that.

  When he was gone, the boy left all his riches behind and went home empty-handed. Then they celebrated the homecoming until it was both heard of and talked about in seven kingdoms; and when they had finished, it took them the whole winter, using the rams as well as the twelve horses which his father had, to cart all the gold and silver home.

  At the end of five years, the Companion came back for his share. Then the boy had divided everything into two equal parts.

  “But there’s one thing you haven’t divided,” said the Companion.

  “What’s that?” said the boy. “I thought I had divided everything.”

  “You have bred a child,” said the Companion. “You must also divide it into two parts.”

  Yes, that was so. The boy took the sword, but just as he raised it to cleave the child, the Companion grabbed hold of the sword so that he could not strike.

  “Weren’t you glad that you weren’t allowed to strike?” he said.

  “Yes, happier than I’ve ever been,” said the boy.

  Now they must part forever.

  “Well, I was just as happy when you released me from that block of ice, for I am a wandering spirit,” he said.

  He was the wine-tapper, who had been frozen fast in the block of ice, on which everyone spat outside the church door. And he had been the boy’s Companion and helped him, because he had spent all he had to give him peace and lay him in consecrated ground. He had received permission to serve the boy for a year, and his time had been up when they parted the last time. Then he had been allowed to see him again. But now they must part forever, for the heavenly chimes were calling for him.

  BUTTERBALL

  There was once an old woman who sat baking. She had a little boy, and he was so round and fat, and fond of good things to eat, that she called him ‘Butterball’. And she had a dog called ‘Goldtooth’. All at once the dog started to bark.

  “Run out, my little Butterball,” said the old woman, “and see who Goldtooth’s barking at.”

  So the boy ran out, and came back in and said, “Oh, heaven he
lp me! Here comes a big, tall Troll-hag, with her head under her arm and a sack on her back!”

  “Run under the breadboard and hide!” said his mother.

  Then in came the big Troll.

  “Good day!” she said.

  “God bless you!” said Butterball’s mother.

  “Isn’t Butterball at home today?” asked the Troll.

  “No, he’s in the woods with his father bagging grouse,” replied the mother.

  “Devil take it!” said the Troll-hag. “I’ve got such a fine little silver knife I wanted to give ’im!”

  “Is Butterball at home today?” asked the Troll.

  “Pip, pip! Here I am!” said Butterball, from underneath the breadboard, and out he came.

  “I’m so old and my back’s so stiff,” said the Troll. “You’ll have to pop down into the sack and fetch it yourself.”

  When Butterball was well down inside, the Troll swung the sack on her back and rushed out through the door. But, when they had gone a bit on the way, the Troll grew tired and asked, “How far must I go to find a place to take a nap?”

  “A furlong,” said Butterball.

  So the Troll put the sack down by the side of the road, and went off through the woods by herself, and lay down to sleep.

  In the meantime, Butterball saw his chance. He took his knife, ripped a hole in the sack, and popped out. Then he put a large pine root in his place, and home he ran to his mother. When the Troll got home and laid eyes on what she had in the sack, she was beside herself with rage.

  The next day the old woman sat baking again. All at once the dog started to bark.

  “Run out, my little Butterball,” she said, “and see what Goldtooth’s barking at.”

  “Oh nay! Oh nay! That nasty beast!” said Butterball. “Now she’s coming back, with her head under her arm and a big sack on her back!”

  “Run under the breadboard and hide!” said his mother.

  “Good day,” said the Troll. “Is Butterball at home today?”

  “Indeed he isn’t,” said the mother. “He’s in the woods with his father bagging grouse.”

  “Devil take it!” said the Troll-hag. “I’ve got such a pretty little silver fork I wanted to give ’im.”

  “Pip, pip! Here I am!” said Butterball, and out he came.

  “My back’s so stiff,” said the Troll. “You’ll have to pop down into the sack and fetch it yourself.”

  When Butterball was well down inside the sack, the Troll flung it on her back and set off.

  When they had gone a good bit on the way, she grew tired and asked, “How far off is it to where I can sleep?”

  “Half a mile,” replied Butterball.

  So the Troll put the sack down by the side of the road, and went up through the woods, and lay down to sleep. While the Troll was away, Butterball made a hole in the sack, and when he was out he put a big stone inside. When the Troll-hag got home, she made a fire in the hearth, hung a huge pot over, and was going to stew Butterball. But when she took the sack, thinking it was Butterball she was going to shake out, down fell the stone, making a hole in the bottom of the pot, so the water ran out and put out the fire. Now the Troll was terribly angry and said, “No matter how heavy he makes himself this time, I’ll trick him just the same, I will!”

  The third time was just like the others: Goldtooth started to bark, and so the mother said to Butterball, “Run out, my little Butterball, and see who Goldtooth’s barking at.”

  “Now she’s coming back, with her head under her arm …”

  So Butterball ran out, and came back in again and said, “Oh mercy me! It’s that Troll again, with her head under her arm and a sack on her back!”

  “Run under the breadboard and hide!” said his mother.

  “Good day,” said the Troll and stepped in through the door. “Is Butterball at home today?”

  “Indeed he isn’t!” said the mother. “He’s out in the woods with his father bagging grouse.”

  “Devil take it!” said the Troll-hag. “I’ve got such a pretty little-silver spoon I wanted to give ’im!”

  “Pip, pip! Here I am!” said Butterball, and out he came from underneath the breadboard.

  “My back’s so stiff,” said the Troll-hag. “You’ll have to pop down into the sack and fetch it yourself.”

  When Butterball was well down inside, the Troll threw the sack on her back and set off on the way. This time she didn’t go off by herself and lie down to sleep, but strode straight home with Butterball in the sack. And when they got there, it was a Sunday.

  Then the Troll said to her daughter, “Now you must take Butterball, and cut ’im up, and make broth out of ’im by the time I come back. For now I’m going to church and invite my friends to a feast.”

  When the Troll had gone, the daughter was going to take Butterball and butcher him, but she didn’t quite know how she was to set about it.

  “Wait and I’ll show you how to go about it, I will,” said Butterball. “Lay your head on the stool and you’ll see.”

  She did just so, poor thing, and Butterball took the axe and chopped off her head, just like a chicken’s. Then he put the head in the bed and the carcass in the pot, and made broth of the Troll’s daughter. And when that was done, he scrambled up over the door, dragging the pine root and the stone with him, and one he placed over the door and the other on the Troll’s chimney pipe.

  When the folks came home from church and saw the head in the bed, they thought the daughter was asleep; but then they went over to taste the broth.

  “Tastes good, this Butterball broth!” said the Troll-hag.

  “Tastes good, this daughter broth!” said Butterball, but they paid no attention to that.

  Then the Mountain Troll took the spoon and was going to taste.

  “Tastes good, this Butterball broth!” he said.

  “Tastes good, this daughter broth!” said Butterball, perched up on the chimney pipe.

  Then they took to wondering who was talking, and wanted to go out and have a look. But when they got to the door, Butterball threw the pine root and the stone at their heads and killed them all. Then he took all the gold and silver there was in the house — and now he was rich indeed, if you please — and then home he went to his mother.

  THE RAM AND THE PIG WHO WENT INTO THE WOODS TO LIVE BY THEMSELVES

  On a farm there was once a Ram who was being fattened for slaughter, and so he lived well, and grew big and fat from eating all that was good. The dairymaid always came and gave him more.

  “Go ahead and eat, Ram,” she said, “for you won’t be here much longer. Tomorrow we are going to kill you!”

  There’s an old saying that no one should ever scorn an old woman’s advice, for wise counsel and strong drink are given for everything except death itself.

  “But maybe there’s a way out of this too,” thought the Ram to himself. So he filled his belly until he could eat no more, butted out the door and dashed over to the neighboring farm and into the pigsty to a Pig, whom he had got to know very well in the field, and since then they had always been friends and on good terms.

  “How do you do, and well met again,” said the Ram to the Pig.

  “How do you do yourself,” replied the Pig.

  “Do you know why you’re so well off, and why they fatten and take such care of you?” said the Ram.

  “No, I don’t,” said the Pig.

  “Many thirsty throats soon empty a barrel,” said the Ram. “They want to kill you and eat you.”

  “Is that so?” said the Pig. “I hope they won’t forget to say grace before they eat.”

  “If you would like to do as I would, we can run away to the woods, and build a house and live by ourselves. There’s nothing like having your own home, you know,” said the Ram.

  The Pig agreed and said, “There is happiness in good company.”

  And so off they went together, and, after they had travelled a while, they met a Goose.

  “Hell
o, good folks. Well met again,” said the Goose. “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

  “How do you do, and well met yourself,” said the Ram. “We were much too well off at home, so now we are going to the woods to live by ourselves; in his own home each man is master.”

  “Well, I’m pretty well off where I live, myself,” said the Goose. “But could I join you? Friendship and play shorten the day, you know.”

  “With chat and quack one builds neither house nor shack,” said the Pig. “So what could you do?”

  “Good advice and skill will help a lame man up a hill,” said the Goose. “I can pluck moss and stuff the cracks in the walls so that the house would be both warm and snug.”

  So the Goose was allowed to come along, for the Pig wanted it to be warm and snug. When they had gone a bit farther they met a Hare who came hopping out from the woods.

  “How do you do, good folks. Well met again,” said the Hare. “How far are you travelling today?”

  “Good day, and well met yourself,” said the Ram. “At home we were much too well off, but now we are going into the woods to build a home for ourselves. When the temptation is gone, home is best!”

  “Well, I have my home under every bush in the woods,” said the Hare. “But when winter comes, I often say to myself that if I live until next summer, I shall build a real house for myself. So I would almost like to come along and build one at last.”

  “If we were molested on our way, you could not keep the hounds at bay!” said the Pig. “Besides you wouldn’t be of much use to us in building a house.”

  “For everyone living there is taking and giving,” said the Hare. “I have sharp teeth to shape wooden pegs with. And with my paws I can hammer them into the wall, so I will always be a good carpenter, for it takes good tools to do good work, as the man said when he skinned his mare with an auger.”