Norwegian Folktales

by Peter Christen Asbjornsen

  So the Hare, too, was allowed to come along, and they all went on together.

  When they had trudged along for a while, they met a Cock.

  “Good day! Good day, good folks, and well met again!” said the Cock. “And where are you bound for today?”

  “Good day to you, too, and well met yourself,” said the Ram. “At home we were much too well off. So now we are going into the woods to build a house and live by ourselves. For the one who goes out to bake loses both coal and cake,” he said.

  “Well, I am pretty well off where I am,” said the Cock. “But better to build your own place anywhere than sit on another’s perch and gape and stare. A cock should always be his own master. So, if I could join such fine company, I would like to come along and build a house!”

  “All your cackling and crowing will help to keep the axes going, but your morning laughter won’t help raise the rafter. So you can’t help us build a house,” they said.

  “A place without a dog or a cock is like a house without a clock,” said the Cock. “I am early awake and early to wake.”

  “Yes, early awake more gold you make, so let him come along too,” said the Pig, who was a terrible sleepyhead. “Sleep is a great thief; he will always steal half the time.”

  So they all trudged along to the woods, one after the other, and built the house. The Pig hewed the timber, and the Ram carried it home. The Hare was the carpenter, gnawing pegs and hammering them into walls and roof. The Goose picked moss and stuffed it into the cracks. And the Cock crowed and took care that no one overslept in the morning.

  When the house was finished and the roof covered with bark and turf, they all lived happily by themselves and fared good and well.

  But a little farther over in the woods was a lair in which two Wolves were living. When they saw that a new house had sprung up in their neighborhood, they wanted to find out what kind of folks their neighbors might be, for a good neighbor is better than a brother in a far off land, and it is better to live in a friendly neighborhood than to be widely known.

  So one of them feigned an errand, and went in and wanted to borrow a light for his pipe. But as soon as he came in through the door, the Ram butted him so hard that he fell headlong into the fireplace. The Pig started beating and biting, the Goose started hissing and nipping, the Cock started crowing and yelling at the top of his lungs, but the Hare was so scared out of his wits that he ran high and low and tramped and trod in every corner.

  At last the Wolf came out again.

  “But if he had caught me, I never would have come out alive!”

  “I suppose you found that good neighbors make good friends,” said the Wolf who had waited outside. “You must have found it a paradise on earth since you stayed so long. But how did it go with the light? Why, you have neither smoke nor pipe!” he said.

  “Well, that was a strange light and a strange company,” said the Wolf who had been inside. “Such folks and such manners I have never seen before; but as one chooses his company so is one rewarded, and unexpected guests might not always be welcome,” said he. “When I came inside the house, the shoemaker threw a sack at me, so I tumbled headlong into the smithy; there sat two smiths blowing their bellows, and they tore bits of flesh from my body with red-hot tongs and pincers! The hunter ran about like a madman looking for his gun, and it was just luck that he did not find it, and a fellow who sat perched high under the ceiling flapped and shouted: ‘Put the hook in ’im and drag ’im here! Drag ’im here!’ But if he had caught me, I never would have come out alive!”

  THE FOX AS SHEPHERD

  Once upon a time there was a woman who was going out to hire a shepherd. Then she met a bear.

  “Where are you going?” said the bear.

  “Oh, I’m going to hire myself a shepherd,” answered the woman.

  “Won’t you have me for your shepherd?” asked the bear.

  “Yes, if only you know how to call the animals,” said the woman.

  “Brrrrr,” growled the bear.

  “No, you won’t do!” said the woman, when she heard that, and went on her way.

  After walking along for some time she met a wolf.

  “Where are you going?” said the wolf.

  “I’m going to hire myself a shepherd,” said the woman.

  “Could I be your shepherd?” asked the wolf.

  “Well, if only you know how to call the animals,” said the woman.

  “Ouh, ouh, ouh!” said the wolf.

  “Oh no! I don’t want you,” she said.

  When she had gone a little farther, she met a fox.

  “Where are you going?” asked the fox.

  “Oh, I’m looking for a shepherd to hire,” said the woman.

  “Will you hire me as your shepherd?” said the fox.

  “Yes, if you know how to call the animals,” the woman said.

  “Dilly, dally, holli, dolli,” cried the fox in a clear and ringing voice.

  “Yes, you’re just the right fellow I want for a shepherd,” said the woman, and hired the fox on the spot.

  The first day the fox was to herd the livestock, he ate up all the woman’s goats. The next day he gobbled up all her sheep, and on the third day he ate up all her cows.

  When he came home in the evening, the woman asked what he had done with all her animals, as she could see none around.

  “Their skulls are in the river and their bones are in the woods,” said the fox.

  The woman was busy churning butter, but she thought she had better go outside to see what had become of all her animals, and while she was gone, the fox popped down in the churn and ate up the cream. When the woman came back and saw what the fox had done, she was so angry that she took the little drop of cream that was left and threw it at the fox, so he got a drop on the tip of his tail.

  And that is why the fox has a white tip on his tail to this very day.

  THE MILL THAT GRINDS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SEA

  Once, in the old, old days, there were two brothers; one was rich and the other was poor. When it was Christmas Eve, the poor brother hadn’t a crumb of food in the house — neither clabber nor bread — and so he went to his brother and begged for a little food for Christmas. It certainly wasn’t the first time the brother had had to give him something; but he was always stingy, and he didn’t grow any fonder of him this time, either.

  “If you’ll do what I ask you, you’ll get a whole ham,” he said. The poor wretch promised on the spot, and thanked him into the bargain.

  “There it is. Now go straight to the Devil!” said the rich one, and flung the ham at him.

  “Well, whatever promise I’ve made I’ll have to keep,” said the other. He took the ham and set out on the way.

  He walked and he walked the whole day, and at nightfall he came to a place all splendidly lighted up. “This is the place,” thought the man with the ham. Out in the woodshed stood an old man with a long white beard, chopping wood for Christmas.

  “Good evening!” said the man with the ham.

  “Good evening, yourself! Where are you off to so late?” said the old fellow.

  “Why, I’m going to the Devil, if I’m on the right road,” replied the poor man.

  “Oh, you’ve gone right enough, for here you are,” said the other. “Now when you go inside, they’ll all want to buy your ham, for it’s uncommon fare here. But you’re not to sell it unless you get the handmill, which stands behind the door, for it. Then, when you come out again, I’ll teach you how to stop the mill. It’s good for a little of everything, that mill is.”

  Well, the man with the ham thanked him for his good advice, and knocked at the Devil’s door.

  When he went in, everything happened just as the old man had said: all the devils, both big and small, swarmed around him like ants, and each one outbid the other for the ham.

  “To be sure, my old woman and I were going to have it for our Christmas dinner, but since you’re so bent on having it, I dare say I’ll just
have to leave it with you,” said the man. “But if I’m going to sell it, I want the handmill behind the door over there.”

  The Devil was loath to part with the mill, and he haggled and bargained, but the man held out, and at last the Devil had to hand it over.

  When the man came out into the yard, he asked the old woodcutter how to stop the mill, and when he had learned that, he said his thanks and set out for home as fast as he could; but still he didn’t reach home before the clock struck twelve on Christmas Eve.

  “Where in the world have you been, then?” said the old woman. “Here I’ve been sitting hour in and hour out, waiting and yearning, without so much as two sticks to lay in a cross under the pot of Christmas porridge!”

  “Oh, I couldn’t get here any sooner. I had a little of everything to fetch, and the way was long, too. But now you’ll see!” He put the mill on the table and bade it first grind out candles, then a cloth, and then food and ale, and all that was good for Christmas fare. And, according to what he said, the mill ground.

  The old woman crossed herself again and again, and wanted to know where the man had got the mill from, but he wouldn’t tell that.

  “It makes no difference where I got it. You see the mill is good, and the millstream doesn’t freeze over,” said the man. Then he went on grinding out food and drink, and all kinds of good things for Christmas, and on the third day he invited his friends to come, for now he wanted to have a feast.

  When the rich brother saw all the things there were at the feast, he became wild with rage, for he begrudged his brother everything.

  “On Christmas Eve he was so poverty-stricken that he came to me and begged for a little in God’s name. And now he’s giving a party as if he were both count and king,” he said.

  “But where in the devil did you get all your riches from?” he said to the brother.

  “Behind the door,” said the man who owned the mill. He certainly wasn’t going to account to his brother for that. But later in the evening, when a little ale had gone to his head, he couldn’t help himself, and he brought out the mill. “There you see what’s brought me all my riches!” he said, and he had the mill grind out one thing after another. When the rich brother saw that, he wanted to have the mill at any cost, and at last he got it, too. But he had to give three hundred dalers for it, and the other was to keep it until haying time. “For if I have it that long, I can grind out food for many a year,” he thought. In the interval you can be sure the mill didn’t grow rusty, and when haying time came, the rich brother got it. But the other had taken good care not to teach him how to stop it.

  It was evening when the rich brother took the mill home, and the next morning he bade his wife go out and spread hay after the mowers. He would make lunch himself today, he said.

  When it was getting on toward lunch time, he put the mill on the kitchen table. “Grind out herring and porridge, and do it both fast and well!” said the man. The mill started to grind out herring and porridge, first all the dishes and troughs full, and then all over the kitchen floor. The man fumbled with the mill, and tried to get it to stop, but for all he turned and prodded it, the mill kept on grinding, and in a little while the porridge reached so high that the man was close to drowning. So he threw open the parlor door, but it wasn’t long before the mill had ground the parlor full, too, and it was only in the nick of time that the man got hold of the doorknob down in the flood of porridge. It’s safe to say he didn’t stay long in the parlor once he got the door open. He rushed out, with herring and porridge pouring out after him over both yard and fields.

  Now the old woman, who was busy spreading hay, began to think that time was dragging on too long before lunch was ready. “If my man doesn’t call us home, we’ll have to go all the same. He certainly doesn’t know much about cooking porridge. I’ll just have to help him,” said the wife to the mowers.

  So they headed for home. But when they had gone a little way up over the hill, they met herring and porridge and bread, rushing and pouring pell-mell, and the man, himself, leading the flood.

  “If only there were a hundred bellies to each of you! But take care you don’t drown in the porridge!” he cried, and lit out past them as though the Devil himself were at his heels, down to where the brother lived. He begged him, for goodness sake, to take back the mill that very minute. “If it grinds one more hour, the whole parish will drown in herring and porridge!” he said. But the brother wouldn’t take it unless the other one paid him three hundred dalers more. So he had to pay.

  Now the poor brother had both money and mill, and it wasn’t long before he put up a manor for himself much finer than the one the brother lived in. With the mill he ground out so much gold that he covered the manor only with sheets of gold, and that manor stood close to the shore, so it shone and sparkled far out over the fjord. Now everyone who sailed past there wanted to drop in and pay his respects to the rich man in the golden manor, and they all wanted to see that wonderful mill, for word of it had spread far and wide, and there was no one who had not heard of it.

  He rushed out, with herring and porridge pouring out after him over both yard and fields.

  After a long time there also came a skipper who wanted to see the mill; he asked if it could grind out salt. Why yes, it could grind out salt, said the owner. When the skipper heard that, he determined to get the mill by force if need be, cost what it might; for if he had it, he thought, he’d get out of having to sail far away over sea and foam after cargoes of salt. At first the man wouldn’t part with the mill, but the skipper begged and pleaded, and at last he sold it and got many, many thousands of dalers for it, too.

  When the skipper had put the mill on his back, he didn’t stay there long for fear the man would change his mind; he had no time at all to ask how to stop the mill, but headed down to the ship as fast as he was able. And, when he had sailed a little distance out to sea, he brought the mill up on deck.

  “Grind salt, and do it both fast and well!” said the skipper. Well, the mill started grinding salt so fast that it spouted. When the skipper had the ship full, he wanted to stop the mill; but no matter what he did, or how he handled it, the mill went on grinding just as fast as ever, and the pile of salt grew higher and higher, until at last the ship went down.

  And there sits the mill at the bottom of the sea, grinding away to this very day. And that is why the sea is salt!

  THE OLD WOMAN AGAINST THE STREAM

  There was once a man who had an old wife, and she was so cross and contrary that she was hard to get along with. The man, in fact, didn’t get along with her at all. Whatever he wanted, she always wanted the very opposite.

  Now one Sunday in late summer it happened that the man and the wife went out to see how the crop was getting along. When they came to a field on the other side of the river, the man said, “Well, now it’s ripe. Tomorrow we’ll have to start reaping.”

  “Yes, tomorrow we can start to clip it,” said the old woman.

  Then the man flew into a rage, and ducked her both good and long.

  “What’s that? Shall we clip? Aren’t we going to be allowed to reap either, now?” said the man.

  No, clip it they should, the old woman insisted.

  “There’s nothing worse than knowing too little,” said the man, “but this time you certainly must have lost what little wits you had. Have you ever seen anyone clip the crop?”

  “Little do I know, and little do I care to know,” said the old woman, “but this I know to be sure: the crop is going to be clipped and not reaped!” There was nothing more to be said. Clip it they should, and that was that.

  So they walked back, wrangling and quarreling, until they came to a bridge over the river, just by a deep pool.

  “It’s an old saying,” said the man, “that good tools do good work. But I dare say that’ll be a queer harvest which they clip with sheepshears!” he said. “Shan’t we be allowed to reap the crop at all, now?”

  “Nay, nay! — Clip, clip, cl
ip!” shrieked the old woman, hopping up and down, and snipping at the man’s nose with her fingers. But in her fury she didn’t look where she was going, and she tripped over the end of a post in the bridge and tumbled into the river.

  “Old ways are hard to mend,” thought the man, “but it’d be nice if I were right for once — me too.”

  He waded out in the pool and caught hold of the old woman’s topknot, just when her head was barely above the water. “Well, are we going to reap the field?” he said.

  “Clip, clip, clip!” shrieked the old woman.

  “I’ll teach you to clip, I will,” thought the man, and ducked her under. But it didn’t help. They were going to clip, she said, when he let her up again.

  “I can only believe that the old woman is mad!” said the man to himself. “Many people are mad and don’t know it; many have sense and don’t show it. But now I’ll have to try once more, all the same,” he said. But hardly had he pushed her under before she thrust her hand up out of the water, and started clipping with her fingers as with a pair of scissors.

  Then the man flew into a rage, and ducked her both good and long. But all at once her hand sank down below the surface of the water, and the old woman suddenly became so heavy that he had to let go his hold.

  “If you want to drag me down into the pool with you now, you can just lie there, you Troll!” said the man. And so there the old woman stayed.

  But after a little while, the man thought it a pity that she should lie there and not have a Christian burial. So he went down along the river, and started looking and searching for her. But for all he looked and for all he searched, he couldn’t find her. He took with him folk from the farm, and other folk from the neighborhood, and they all started digging and dragging down along the whole river. But for all they looked, no old woman did they find.

  “No,” said the man. “That’s no use at all. This old woman had a mind of her own,” he said. “She was so contrary while she was alive that she can’t very well be otherwise now. We’ll have to start searching upstream, and try above the falls. Maybe she’s floated herself upstream.”