Sobbing-and-Sorrow

There was once a magnificent and mighty king who had three beautiful daughters by his first queen. But he had no sons, and he therefore held the three princesses all the dearer, so much so that he gave them anything they desired of him.

Now, warring armies broke into his kingdom and the king would go out to meet them. When the time came for him to leave, he asked his three beautiful daughters what he should bring home for them.

Well, the eldest asked him to buy her a ring that was such that she would not die for as long as she wore it on her finger.

The middle one had a mind for a wreath that was such that she would be glad and happy if only she gazed upon it, no matter how fretful and wretched she had felt.

“Buy sobbing and sorrow for me!” bade the youngest princess. She mourned and wept so for her mother, you see.

Yes, the king promised to do so.

When he had chased away the warring armies, both from his and the neighbouring kingdom, and contemplated his journey home, he remembered what he had promised his three beautiful princess. He obtained the ring and wreath easily enough, but sobbing and sorrow were not for sale, neither here nor there, neither in one place nor in the other: every man was so glad that the warring hordes were gone, and so cheerful, that neither sobbing nor sorrow were to be found in all the country and kingdom. Well, if it couldn’t be found to buy, then it wasn’t possible to buy it, and so he journeyed home without it, no matter how little he liked to.

Now, when the king and his army didn’t have far left to travel to the king’s farm, they passed through a copse. Here sat a squirrel in a tree by the road.

“Buy me, buy me! I am called Sobbing-and-Sorrow,” he said. Well, it would be better to return with a squirrel than with two empty hands, the king thought, and so he brought it along for his youngest daughter. She was as glad for her gift as her two sisters were for the ring and the wreath.

The squirrel was allowed to jump where he wanted in her chamber. Sometimes he wobbled on the bedpost; just like that, he sat on the dresser. And he was constantly full of chatter.

But after nightfall, the form of the squirrel fell off him, and he transformed into a handsome young prince. An evil gyger – he told her – lived in the golden forest, who had cast the form of the squirrel upon him, and as the day dawned each morning he had to take on that form again.¹

Time passed and went, and after some time, it came to pass that the princess should have Sobbing-and-Sorrow. But after they were engaged, he bade her both sweetly and well, both nicely and beautifully, never to strike a light from a desire to see him: “then would she make them unhappy, the both of them,” he said.

No, she would never do so; she was as sure of that as could be, she replied.

And so it came to pass every night that a man came and lay down beside her, after she had retired and put out the light. But when she awoke in the morning, she lay alone, and the squirrel sat on the bedpost, greeting her and chattering at her about everything there was.

Then once, as he slept so deeply, it happened that she fancied that she was not able to control herself any longer, so she struck a light and dared to go with it to where he lay.

As she shone the light upon him, she saw that he was much more handsome than the most handsome of princes; she could barely believe how elegant and dashing he was, and she leaned over, so she could see him even more closely. Finally, she couldn’t stop herself; she had to kiss him on the mouth. Then she accidentally let three drops fall from the light on to his chest.

“No! Why have you done this, then?” he cried, groaning. “If you had but held out for three more days, then we would have been saved!” he said. “But now I must return to the irksome, loathsome gyger in the golden forest, and marry her; things between you and me are over,” he said.

“Can’t I go with you, though?” wept the princess.

“Oh no, you will never manage it, for when you rest in the evening, and bow your knees, then you will fall as far behind as you came during the day,” he said, going towards the door. And he was gone.

There was the princess, sobbing and wailing and weeping, and looking for him to come home. But he was neither heard of nor asked of again. Then she grew so restless and uneasy that she could no longer stay at home, so she began to entreat her maid to go with her to the golden forest.

Oh yes, her maid was eventually persuaded to go, but she wouldn’t take one step, she said, unless she could take along one ell of sackcloth, one of hemp, and one of canvas. This was not refused her; there was always more than a good supply of such at the king’s farm, you see.²

So they set off on their way, and before they knew it, they had entered a great forest. They walked and wandered the whole day long, first this way, and then that, until their feet were sorer than sore, and their courage was less than a little. They set off along both roads and paths, yet even though they looked in the north and in the south, in the east and in the west, they could not find their way out of such great gloomy darkness.

At length, the princess grew so tired and sullen that there was hardly any end to it, and she wanted to sit down for a while, so she could rest a little. But her maid took hold of her, and wouldn’t allow her to bow her knees, for then they would fall as far behind as they had come that day.

By the time that night should fall, they hardly knew of it before they stood by a huge great mountain.

“Well, here shall I knock,” said the maid, knocking and banging.

“Oh no!” said the princess. “Oh dear, don’t knock here; you see how awful it looks!” she said.

“Who is it who knocks at my door?” cried the gyger, coarsely and foully, from within the mountain, cracking the door open and poking out her nose, which was a good ell long, through the crack.

“It is the youngest princess and her maid, who want to go to the golden forest,” replied the maid.

“Oh fie! It’s so far to the north,
That rowing or sailing, no one comes forth!”

said the gyger. “You may as well turn for home sooner rather than later,” she said. No, they would in no way turn back, not by any means, I wouldn’t think. The maid then began to ask if it might be so well that they spend the worst of the night there, if nothing more.

“You can always spend the night,” replied the gyger, “but when my husband comes home, he’ll twist off your heads,” she said.

Well, they couldn’t go any further now, in the middle of the charcoal-black night. So the maid brought out the ell of sackcloth she had with her, and gave it to the gyger for a bonnet.

“Oh my, oh my, no!” cried the gyger. “Now, I have been married for a hundred years, but never have I worn a bonnet of sackcloth before,” she said, and was so glad that she invited them in, welcomed them, and treated them well.

After a while, when they had helped themselves to the food and drink they needed, the gyger said:

“Well, he is certainly always in a foul mood, this husband of mine. But since you are so kind, then I shall try to hide you in the pantry, so that perhaps he won’t find you,” she said, and made up a cot there, as soft and good as any cot could be. Even so, they dared neither to lie nor to sit down, not so long as they could blink their eyes. They stood the whole night through, taking turns to stay awake, each holding the other up under her arms, for now the maid too was so weak and feeble that she could hardly manage any longer.

At the turn of midnight, there was a great roaring and shaking. It was the troll coming home, it was, and he had but reached his first head in through the door before he screamed so roughly and foully:

“Fie, fie, it smells of the smell of a Christian here!” he screamed, turning so wild and mad that sparks flew from him.

“Yes,” replied his gyger, “a bird came flying here with a Christian’s bone, and dropped it down through the fireplace chimney; I hurried to get it out, I did, but I should think that must be what it smells of anyway,” she said, soothing him. At this he calmed down.

But in the morning, she told him that a princess and her maid had come, thinking to go to the golden forest.

“Oh fie! It’s so far to the north,
That rowing or sailing, no one comes forth!”

screamed the troll, too. “It’s the princess who should have had Sobbing-and-Sorrow then, I suppose. She’ll never have him, for in three days he shall marry the great gyger herself; everything is being prepared for the wedding. But wherever are they? They won’t leave here!” he screamed, sniffing and nosing in all the nooks and corners.

“Oh no, you won’t do them any harm,” said the gyger. “They gave me a whole ell of sackcloth for a bonnet, they did. And I have been married for a hundred years, but never have I worn a bonnet of sackcloth before,” she said. “So you shall lend them your trotting tunic, you shall, to our nearest neighbour!” said the gyger, entreating on their behalf. Yes, he too would do so, the troll would, when he heard that they had been so kind.

After they had eaten in the morning, and stood ready to leave, he fastened the trotting tunic to them.

“Now you shall say: ‘Forward, forward, over willow hollow and spruce-tops, over mountain, over valley, to our nearest neighbour!’ shall you say,” he said. “And when you arrive, you shall say, ‘Where you were fastened today shall you hang up tonight,’” said the troll.

They did so. And now they went forth over mountain and over valley, from horizon to horizon. At twilight they came to a huge great mountain. Here they took off the trotting tunic, and said:

“Where you were fastened today shall you hang up tonight!” And so it went home by itself.

“Well, here shall I knock,” said the maid, knocking and banging.

“Oh no,” sobbed the princess. “Oh dear, don’t knock here; you see how awful it looks!” she complained.

“Who is it who knocks at my door?” cried this gyger, even coarser and fouler than the first, poking out her nose, which was a good two ells long, through the crack of the door.

“It is the youngest princess and her maid who want to go to the golden forest,” replied the maid.

Well, this gyger also began to crow, she did, about how it was so far to the north that “rowing or sailing, no one comes forth!” and at length she wanted them to turn around. “It’d be better they return home sooner rather than later,” she said.

No, they would by no means turn back. The maid then began to ask if it might be so well that they spend the worst of the night there, if nothing more.

“You can always stay the night,” said the gyger, “but when my husband comes home tonight, he’ll twist off your heads,” she said. Well, then the maid took out the ell of hemp she had brought, and gave it to the gyger for a bonnet.

“Oh no, oh my, no!” cried the gyger. “Now, I have been married for two hundred years, but never have I worn a bonnet of hemp before!” she said, and was so happy that she invited them in, welcomed them, and treated them well.

After a while, when they had taken food and drink for themselves, there where they were staying, the gyger said:

“Well, he is certainly always in a foul mood, this husband of mine, and he tears asunder the soul of any Christian who enters in here, sorely and at length. But since you have been so kind, I shall try to hide you out in the pantry, I shall, so perhaps he won’t find you,” she said. And she made up a cot for them there; but they dared not lie nor sit down. They stood and held one another, and the one stayed awake whilst the other slept.

At the turn of midnight, there was a terribly great roaring and shaking. They felt how the earth quaked. Straightway, the troll came rushing in.

“Fie, fie! It smells of the smell of a Christian here!” he screamed, with such a coarse voice. And he turned so wild and carried on so that the sparks crackled as they flew from him.

“Yes,” said the gyger, “a bird came flying and dropped a Christian’s bone down through the fireplace chimney. I hurried to get it out again, I did, but I should think that must be what it smells of anyway,” she said, soothing him. Well, he contented himself with this.

At the time they should get up in the morning, she told him that a princess and her maid had come, who wanted to go to the golden forest. Straightway he heard this, he too began shouting that it was so far to the north that “rowing or sailing, no one comes forth!”

“Is it the princess who was supposed to have Sobbing-and-Sorrow, I suppose? But she shall never have him, for in two days he shall marry the great gyger herself; the wedding is already being prepared,” said the troll, just as the other had done. “But wherever are they? They won’t come from here alive!” he screamed, sniffing and nosing both high and low.

“Oh no, you shall do nothing to them,” the gyger said. And she told that she had given her an ell of hemp for a bonnet. “And I have been married for two hundred years, but never have I worn a bonnet of hemp before. So you shall lend them your trotting tunic, you shall, to our nearest neighbour,” she said. Yes, then he was willing, that very hour, the troll was too, when he heard they had been so kind.

After they had eaten that morning, he fastened the trotting tunic to them. “And when you arrive, then you shall say this: ‘Where you were fastened today shall you shall hang up tonight!’ and it will return by itself,” the troll said.

Now they went over mountain and deep valley, from horizon to horizon. At twilight they again came to a huge great mountain.

“Well, here shall I knock!” said the maid, and knocked and banged on the rock wall.

“Oh no!” begged the princess. “Oh dear, don’t knock here; you see how awful it looks!” she said.

“Who is it who knocks at my door?” cried the gyger within the mountain, even coarser and fouler than either of the others; she opened the door so that she could get her nose, which was a good three ells long, out through the crack.

“It is the youngest princess and her maid, who want to go to the golden forest,” replied the maid.

“Oh fie! It’s so far to the north,
That rowing or sailing, no one comes forth!”

screamed the gyger. “You may as well return home sooner rather than later,” she too said. Then the maid then began to ask if it might be so well that they spend the worst of the night there, if nothing more.

“You can always spend the night,” said the gyger. “But when my husband comes home tonight, he’ll twist off your heads,” she said. But there was no travelling in the forest and wilderness in the middle of the charcoal-black night. Then the maid took out the ell of canvas she had with her, and gave it to the gyger for a bonnet.

“Oh no, oh dear, no!” said the gyger. “Now I have been married for three hundred years, but never have I worn a bonnet of canvas before!” she cried. And she was so glad that she invited them in, welcomed them, and treated them nicely.

“Well, he certainly is always terribly fierce, this husband of mine, and he tears asunder the soul of any Christian who enters in here, sorely and at length. But as you were so kind, I shall try to hide you out in the pantry, I shall. Perhaps he won’t find you,” she said, and made up a cot for them there, as soft and good as any cot could be.

Now the princess was so weak and sleepy and sullen that there was nearly no end to it. She couldn’t hope to stand any longer, she said, and wanted finally to lie down, and even doze, though it would be little more than a short nap. The maid, too, had grown so weak that she slept where she stood; her head nodded a few times. But even so, she remembered so much that she supported the princess under her arms, not letting her bow her knees.

At the turn of midnight, there was a roaring and banging such that the whole house rocked, as if both the roof and walls should fall down. This was the huge great troll, this one, who now came rushing home. As soon as he got his first head in through the door, he screamed, so coarsely and horribly that they had never heard anything so coarse and horrible in all their livelong days:

“Oh fie! Oh fie! It smells of the smell of a Christian here!” he said, and was so wild and mad that the sparks thundered from him.

“Yes,” replied the gyger. “A bird came flying and dropped a Christian’s bone down through the fireplace chimney. I hurried to get it out, I did, but I should think that must be what it smells of anyway,” she said, soothing him.

Well, he contented himself with this. But when they got up in the morning, she told him that there was a princess and her maid there, who wanted to go to the golden forest.

“Oh fie! It’s so far to the north,
That rowing or sailing, no one comes forth!”

screamed the big troll, too, as the other trolls had done.

“It’s the princess who should have had Sobbing-and-Sorrow then, I suppose. But she shall never have him; tomorrow or the next day he shall marry the great gyger herself,” said the troll. “And wherever they are, they won’t come from here with their lives!” he screamed, jumping up and running around the floor, sniffing and nosing with his nine noses all at once.

“Oh no, you shall do nothing to them!” said the gyger. “They gave me an ell of canvas for a bonnet. And I have been married for three hundred years, but never have I worn a bonnet of canvas before. So you shall lend them your trotting tunic to our nearest neighbour!” said the gyger, you understand.

Well, when the great troll heard this, he wanted to do so too, he did.

In the morning, when they had eaten their food, he fastened his trotting tunic to them. And now they went far and farther than far, over mountain and deep valley, from horizon to horizon.

At twilight they came to a great, great forest. All the trees were as black as charcoal here. As soon as you went in, even a little, you would turn sooty and dirty.

In a flat clearing in the midst of the darkness stood a small crooked hut which was mostly rotten. It looked worse than the most squalid of pasture cabins. Before the door lay a foul heap of rubbish, scrap, and straw, which closed the way for them. Still, the maid took the trotting tunic off them and said:

“Where you were fastened today shall you hang up tonight!” and now it went home by itself.

“Well, here shall I knock,” said the maid.

“Oh no, oh dear no! Do not knock here; you see how horrible it is here!” complained the princess.

“Do now as I do, or things will go badly with the both of us,” said the maid, as she waded through the midden to knock on the door. An ancient gyger with a horribly long nose peered out at them.

“If these women-folk want to come in, then they may, and if they don’t, then they may leave be!” she growled in a fierce rage.

“Yes thank you, we will come in,” replied the maid, dragging the princess behind her.

“Oh my, oh dear me!” sighed the princess.

“If the women-folk want to come away from the door, then they may, and if they don’t, then they may leave be!” growled the gyger, growing fiercer and fiercer.

“Yes thank you, we will,” replied the maid, wading across the floor, up to her knees in rubbish and rags.

“Oh my, oh dear me!” sighed the princess.

Then the gyger went for some milk for them.

“If the women-folk want to drink, then they may, and if not, then they may leave be!” she growled, nearly taking the vessel away again.

“Yes thank you, we want a drink,” replied the maid, drinking and wiping the milk away.

“Oh my, oh dear me!” sighed the princess when the time came for her to drink, for the milk was in a pig trough, and it was full of dirt, and had tufts of hair floating on top.

Then the gyger made some food for them.

“If the women-folk want to come over and eat, they may, and if they don’t, then they may leave be!” bellowed the gyger at them, you understand.

“Yes thank you, we want to,” replied the maid, before the gyger could take the food away again. The bread was moldy, the cheese mouse-eaten, the butter rancid, and the meat completely spoiled. It smelt from afar. And two dirty calf tails lay in a ring around the butterdish.

“Oh my, oh dear me!” sighed the princess, nearly weeping. But she should do as her maid said anyway, she thought, and tasted the banquet.

Then they should thank her for her hospitality.

In some furs on a horrid cot in the corner lay an old man whom they had not seen before, and when the princess went to thank him, too. He stood up and kissed her hand. Straightway he became a handsome young prince, who was so outwardly comely and elegant and dashing that no one could imagine how elegant and fine he was. And she recognised Sobbing-and-Sorrow, whom she had grieved for and yearned for so sorely.

“Now you have saved me!” he told her.

“Bother!” screamed the gyger, rushing for the door. But as soon as she came out on to the threshold, she remained standing there as stock and stone, for the forest was no longer charcoal black. The trees looked as if they were gilded from top to bottom. They blinked and gleamed like the midday sun. And after the princess and her maid had stared for long enough, the squalid dark cabin had become a king’s farm so magnificent and fine that there was no measure. You would think the walls and ceilings were made of silver and gold. And they were so, too.

“Now you may bow your knees!” said the prince. “And no matter how much you have been sobbing in sorrow, you shall have all the more joy henceforth,” he said.

The gyger had brewed and baked and readied all the wedding fare. In the morning, as early as the day dawned, the maid and all the people in the king’s farm and in the whole country came to where the prince and princess would now be king and queen, and began to celebrate their wedding. They all carried on celebrating for four fortnights, so that it was heard of and asked about across seven kingdoms and all the way home to the father of the bride and her two sisters. They were supposed to be at the celebration too, but they lived too far away for that.

I was at the banquet and helped them with the carrying. But on the last day of the wedding, the bridegroom stuffed me into a canon and shot me hither.

And here I sit, and there you are. I haven’t been with them since, but as far as I know, they live still, and that both in gladness and in joy.

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1. Gyger: a female troll. ↩

2. Ell: an ell is a measure of six handbreadths, or appoximately 45cm (18"). ↩

The Cock and the Hen Who Went Out into the World to Take a Look Around

The following tale was probably composed by Moltke Moe, as there is no extant record of its collection. It would therefore best be described as a literary tale.

There was once upon a time a cock and a hen who stood upon a dungheap, kicking and scraping and digging. Just like that the cock began to flap his wings:

“Ho, ho, ho! I’ve found - Ho, ho, ho! I’ve found!” he crowed.

“What have you found?” asked the mother hen.

“A sleigh runner,” said the Toppe; he had scratched up a wood-plane shaving and a couple of bits of straw.

Then the hen grew envious and began to kick and scrape so that it flurried about her. Just like that she found some twine and a stick.

“Hey-ho, now I’ve found, I’ve found!” crowed the hen.

“Have you found?” said father Toppe.

“I’ve found some timber and mouth bits, timber and mouth bits,” said the hen, preening and flapping her wings.

“A good ear has much to hear!” said the cock. “But it’s easy to dance when fortune is your minstrel. We shall make ourselves a vehicle, and take a look around the world,” he said; “It’s not every day the wind is so favourable.”

So the cock took the plane shaving and made a sleigh; the straw he fastened as shafts, and for the carriage he took an old blackened besom, for it was so good and soft to sit on. Then he went away into the barn and found himself a couple of fleas, and bridled them and harnessed them before the sleigh.

Then the cock and the hen stepped up into the sleigh and drove off. And they went both quickly and well. The cock lashed, the fleas dashed, and the hen laughed so that she fell backwards in her seat.

When they had come a little distance, they met a mouse. “Good day and well met! You drive quickly today, my fellow,” she said.

“It is good we go so quickly; it’s better we go so well,” said the cock. “Or else we’d be driving like someone with a horse,” he said. And he lashed so that the fleas jumped in their harnesses.

“I would also like to have a holiday. May I come along?” asked the mouse.

“The sleigh is little and the horses are small, so you’ll have to sit up behind,” said the cock.

Then he cracked the whip. And the fleas dashed, and the cock lashed, and the hen laughed so that she fell backwards in her seat.

When they had driven a distance, they met a sheep.

“Good day!” said the sheep.

“Good day to you,” replied the cock.

“Are such good folk out driving in the fine weather today? It is fun to sled when one has such handsome equipage and good horses,” said the sheep.

“It’s easy to divine what everyone can see,” said the cock. “It usually shows on the horses which garden they graze in.”

“May I come along?” asked the sheep. “He must ask who does not receive an invitation,” he said.

“It’s not polite to answer before one is asked,” said the cock. “The sleigh is little and the horses are small, so you’ll have to sit up behind.”

When the sheep had sat down, the cock cracked the whip. And the fleas dashed, and the cock lashed, and the hen laughed so that she fell backwards in her seat.

Then they drove a long distance, and then they met a hare who jumped across the road.

“Good day and good courage!” said the hare.

“Good day and thank you for that,” replied the cock.

“You drive quickly, you do,” said the hare.

“It goes as it started,” said the cock. “The world is broad and the road is long, so I have to drive hard,” he said.

“Would it be possible for me to come along?” asked the hare. “He who walks far and gathers little, he grows tired in the end,” he said.

“The sleigh is little and the horses are small, so you’ll have to sit up behind. Otherwise, it is not heavy to drive, that which has little to draw,” said the cock.

So the hare got up behind. And the cock cracked the whip. And the fleas dashed, and the cock lashed, and the hen laughed so that she fell backwards in her seat.

When they driven a good distance farther, they met a fox.

“Bless our meeting!” said the fox.

“Thank you for that,” the cock said.

“You’re driving handsomely today,” said the fox.

“Yes, but not everyone likes it; some like it cold and some hot, some lean and some fat,” replied the cock. “But as the day draws on, and the road is long, the horses make all the difference,” he said.

“Yes, craft and understanding account for much,” said the fox. “If only it were so well that I too could join such a fine company. Then I would show you shelter for the night. He who wants to enjoy something, he must contribute something, too” he said.

“A newly-begotten guest is often best; no one can take a hostel along with them. “But the sleigh is little and the horses are small, so you’ll have to sit up behind.” said the cock, cracking the whip.

Then they drove, the whole company. The cock lashed, and the fleas dashed, and the hen laughed so that she fell backwards in her seat.

At great length the evening drew in, and the horses grew tired. “I know of a hostel close by here,” said the fox. He had an old lair in the forest. “I don’t suppose it’s anything like what you’re used to, but as the old proverb says: it is better to lie in a house than upon the wild heath,” he said. “We’ll relax and retire for the darkest night.”

“Whosoever wants a good day must think of a quiet night,” replied the cock; he was the weariest, he was. “Wind and water go their way,” he said.

So they unharnessed the fleas, and everyone went together into the fox’s lair.

“Many guests make for a crowded house, but there is alway room in the house where there is room in the heart,” said Mikkel. “Now let me count. I locks fox one, you wee flea two, you house mouse three, you fair hare four, you locky cocky five, you penny henny six, you leap sheep seven – there shall you lie!” Then Mikkel bit the sheep’s head off and threw him away in a corner.

“That was one. Now let me see: I locks fox one, you wee flea two, you house mouse three, you fair hare four, you locky cocky five, you penny henny six – there shall you lie!” said the fox, and then he bit mother hen’s head off.

“Who is there now, shall I say? I locks fox one, you wee flea two, you house mouse three, you fair hare four, you locky cocky five – there shall you lie!” Then he bit the cock’s head off and cast him into the corner with the others.

“Now let me see who’s left: I locks fox one, you wee flea two, you house mouse three, you fair hare four – there shall you lie!” and things went the same way with the hare.

“That was four: I locks fox one, you wee flea two, you house mouse three – you’re next in line, and there shall you lie,” and with that he bit the mouse.

Then there were just the fleas left. But Mikkel wasn’t good to catch them in the dark. They had noticed something sinister going on and hidden in his fur, and there they bit him so that he danced both on one and two, and had he not been bare-footed, then he would have worn out both his socks and his shoes. And there they remain today. Mikkel fox has been tired and flea-bitten since.

Patreon Campaign

I am remiss. The Patreon account I launched to fund the editing of The Complete Norwegian Folktales and Legends of Asbjørnsen & Moe has been running for nearly a week, and I haven’t posted about it here.

There are two tiers of investment available:

• For $1 per creation, you get a professionally edited, illustrated .pdf of each of the 150 texts as it is made ready.

• For $2 per creation, you get the professionally edited, illustrated .pdf of each of the 150 texts, plus the original notes of Asbjørnsen & Moe where available, plus all the information I have been able to put together, including the identity of the collector, where he collected the folklore, who from, and where and when.

In both cases the names of all my patrons will appear both in the .pdfs and in the books, when they are eventually ready for publication.

I have uploaded a sample of what you can expect: “The Three Billy-goats Gruff” with notes (and a little bit of scholarship).

I am ready to release the first patron text in the next couple of days, and it’s a good-un. Not only is it the most charming of the so-called hulder tales and folk legends, but in the notes there are details of Asbjørnsen’s tragic love life, how it relates to this text, and how it relates to the project as a whole.

If this sounds interesting to you, and you have a buck or two to invest in the project every couple of weeks or so, then please do take a look, and consider becoming a patron to the arts.

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Swedish folktale: The Rat Princess

There was once upon a time a king who had three sons. When they were old enough to be married, they asked their father’s leave to go out into the world to seek brides for themselves. Their father gave his consent, and the eldest was the first to set off on his way.

When he had ridden a little, he saw the daintiest rat running before the horse’s feet. No matter how he steered the horse so that he might not hurt her, she kept as close as she could to the hoofs.

“Away with you, rat, before I ride you to death!” he cried at last.

“No, don’t do that, but take me as your fiancée!” bade the rat. “You won’t regret it.”

“A rat as my fiancée! No thank you!” replied the prince, and he rode quickly away.

He soon arrived at the king in the neighbouring country and was betrothed to his daughter. Then he drove home again, and the second brother took his turn to set off.

Things went with him as they had gone with his elder brother. The rat also asked him to take her as his fiancée, but he scornfully rejected her proposal. He rode on and was betrothed to a princess in another court.

When the third prince rode out, he met the rat. She begged him so earnestly to betroth himself to her, that he gave in and gave her a betrothal ring.

“Come now, and you shall see where I live,” said the rat. She ran ahead, showing the way, and the prince rode after. At length they came to a large stone. “Here is where I live,” said the rat, crawling into a hole. “Just wait, and I’ll get you a ring.”

The prince grew curious, dismounted his horse, and peered into the hole. He was almost dazzled by the brilliance that gleamed back at him. After a little while, the rat came out again and handed him a ring so beautifully and intricately worked that he had never seen its like.

The prince rode home again, showed off his ring, and said that he too was now betrothed. But he would not speak of with whom. Everyone marvelled at the beautiful ring, and the rings of the other princes looked like brass and bits of glass beside it.

After some time, the king said: “Now I would like to see what kind of bread your fiancées bake.”

“What kind of bread should my rat be able to bake?” thought the youngest prince sadly. “But I suppose I ought to tell her what my father wants.” He rode to the stone where the rat lived, and called out to her. When she came out, he asked her if she could bake bread.

“Yes, don’t worry about that,” she said. “It will be ready early tomorrow morning.”

When he returned to the stone the next morning, the rat stood there with the neatest, most delicious loaf of bread. He took it home to his father, and no one had ever eaten such good bread before. And the other princes only came with ordinary buns.

“Yes, I have seen and tasted the loaves your fiancées bake,” said the king. “Now I want to know if they can brew good beer.”

The youngest prince rode to the rat, and told her what his father wanted. She bade him return the next morning. Then, by the stone stood a golden flagon, set with shimmering gems, and when the prince lifted the lid, he smelt the finest and most appetizing fragrance. No one at court had ever drunk such good beer, and the king was enraptured.

“The three of you appear to have betrothed yourselves well,” he said, “but you, my youngest son, have certainly got the best. One would be able to live happily here upon the earth, with such bread and beer.”

Then after some time had passed, at length the king asked them to fetch their brides, so that he might see them.

“Oh, God’s grace!” thought the youngest, horrified. “How shall things go now?”

Most distressed, he went to the stone and told the rat that she must go with him to court. “But,” he added, “how shall this end?”

“It shall surely end happily,” replied the rat, “if only you do as I say. Bring me an egg shell, six dung beetles and two horseflies. Harness the dung beetles before the eggshell, and put one horsefly before and one behind me in the shell. Then make sure your brothers’ fiancées go first, and I shall come last. When we arrive at the castle, do with me as your brothers do with their fiancées, and all shall be well.”

The prince did as she said, and soon the strange equipage stood ready. The rat climbed up into the eggshell, and then off it went, quickly and lustily. When they arrived, the two elder brothers embraced their fiancées and kissed them. The youngest did the same with the rat. Hardly had he done so before he held the most beautiful young princess in his arms, and when he looked around, the dung beetles and the eggshell had disappeared. In their place stood a magnificent carriage, drawn by the most stately of horses. The horseflies had become footmen, dressed in fine liveries.

Happy and glad, the prince led his bride in to the king. He nearly fell off his throne in surprise, when he saw such a radiantly beautiful princess. The other princesses looked like washerwomen next to her.

Soon the princesses should leave, each to her own, and their carriages were made ready.

“Yes, I certainly have a beautiful fiancée, but I wonder what her home looks like?” thought the youngest prince. “The stone wasn’t much of a home, as far as I could tell.”

But when they came to the place where the stone lay, to his amazement he saw a beautiful, stately castle. When the unfortunate princess had been transformed into a rat, the castle had become a stone, but now the enchantment was broken. They lived a long and happy life together in the princess’s beautiful castle. And are they not dead, then yet do they live.

– Svenska Folksagor IV. Efter Prosten C. F. Cavallius’ Uppteckningar. Berättade av Gudrun och Jöran Sahlgren. Illustrationer av Einar Norelius. Stockholm: P. A. Norstedt & Söners Förlag, 1941.

Andreas Faye’s Legends of the Black Death

Not everyone wants to read about plagues and pandemics, especially as there is too much of it around at the moment. But some people do. So I have posted a page upon which I will be posting the Black Death section of Andreas Faye’s Norwegian Folk Legends (1844). Although they are harrying, it is important to remember that these legends are just that – legends.

If you’re feeling up to it, take a look.

The Daughter of the King of the Finns

There was a king whom they called the King of the Finns, and he had a daughter whom he held so dear. One time when he was going out to war, he dared not leave her at home; he thought he had noticed that something was going on between her and the servant boy. So he put her in a mound in the forest. She took with her nine maids and food and clothing and whatever else they might need. The king’s daughter and the maids tried to dig themselves out of the mound with their bare hands. They dug for nine years, and each year one of the maids died; but when the ninth year was drawing to an end, the king’s daughter made a hole in the mound and went on her way. The King of the Finns discovered that his servant boy was a king’s son. So he wanted to go home and let his daughter out of the mound and let her have the king’s son. But the king died on his way home, and no one could find the king’s daughter. Then came a witch and said that she was the king’s daughter, and things went such that she and the king’s son were to hold a wedding.

In the meantime, the rightful king’s daughter had stayed with some charcoal burners on her first night, the following day a wolf had helped her cross a large river. Eventually she had come to the king’s farm, but no one knew her, and so she went into service there.

One day, the king’s son said to the witch, “If you are the daughter of the King of the Finns, you will complete the seam that is begun here.” She tried, but couldn’t do it; she had to get the king’s daughter to help her.

The next day, the king’s son set the sorceress to finish some weaving; but this went just as well: the king’s daughter had to help her.

Then the king’s son said to the witch: “Tomorrow we shall be married, and if you are the daughter of the King of the Finns, then you will ride the horse you rode in the old days.” But the witch hag could not get up on to the horse, Grey-buckskin, and had the king’s daughter ride to the church in her stead.

When the time came for them to set off, the king’s daughter said:

Fall down, fall down, gentle Grey-buckskin,
To church rides the daughter of The King Finn!

When they came to the mound, she said:

My tears they ran, which no one has found,
I lost nine maids, right here in the mound;
I dried up my tears, but no one dared say,
That I was left here with nary a maid.

When they came to the charcoal heaps, she said:

Much and many things did I learn,
Stacks of charcoal here I watched burn.

When they came to the river, she said:

Though suffering hurt and many a lack,
I rode across here on the greyshanks’s back.

At the church, the groom gave his gloves to the bride and bade her hide them well and to not give them to anyone else but him. In the evening, the groom went to bed, and when the bride came to the bedroom, he would not let her get into bed with him, until she had repeated what she had said when she got on the horse. So the bride went off to ask the king’s daughter, and returned with the answer. But then he would not let her get into bed with him, until she had repeated what she had said when they were riding past the mound. The bride again went off to ask the king’s daughter, and once and again when he asked her to repeat what she had said at the charcoal stacks and the river. But then he asked what he had done with his gloves, and these the king’s daughter would not part with, but she flew to the king’s son herself. And then it all came out, and the witch was put in a nail barrel and rolled into the sea.

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— Moltke Moe. Samlede skrifter, vol. 2. Oslo: Aschehoug, 1926 (p. 235–6).

King Finn Was My Father Called

There was once upon time a king who had an only daughter. When the queen died, the king married a witch who also had a daughter. Now, there was a prince who should have the king’s daughter, but the witch would not allow it, and so she sent her away into the forest, to dwell in a pit in the ground. Here she stayed for seven years. A linden tree stuck its roots down to her and she bound them with gold thread and silver thread.

But one day a horse, being chased by wolves, ran across the mound, and it trod through into the pit. A wolf that came after it fell through the hole and came down into the pit. The king’s daughter clung on to its coat, and got out that way.

When she had got up, she took a foal standing there and rode on it to the king’s farm. The following day, the witch’s daughter was to hold a wedding with the foreign prince.

The king’s daughter went in and asked if she might help in the kitchen.

Yes, she might.

But see, the witch’s daughter had given birth to a son down in the stable, and it hurt her so to stand as bride. So her mother determined that the stranger girl should dress as the bride, and go to the church her stead.

The prince had not seen his bride before, only a picture of her. He thought the bride he had been given was very beautiful, but even so, he noticed that something bad was going on. Before they went to the church, he gave her a glove, and told her not to return it to anyone else but him. The bride asked for her own foal to ride on, and said to the prince:

“Pay attention to what I say today!”

When they had ridden for a while, she said:

“Stand still young foal. The bride lies in the stable and has had a young son!”

The prince ruminated on this. When they came to the linden tree by the mound, she said:

“Here, the linden stands renowned.
All its roots with gold are bound!”

And by the pit:

“Seven years did I sit in the pit
All my ballads and tales I have quit
A foal I gained,
a king’s son attained
On the wolf I have sat
Now with glory as my hat!”

After a while they came to a gate that no one could pass through. The bride then had to come forward. She said:

“Stand still there, my fair, fine gate.
You by my father Finn were shaped!”

After they had returned home and the wedding should begin, the witch’s daughter was dressed as the bride, and the king’s daughter had to go out into the kitchen again.

But in the middle of the wedding, the prince asked the bride where she kept his glove.

“Oh, I forgot it,” she said, and went out into the kitchen to ask the other for the glove.

No, the king’s daughter wouldn’t give it to anyone but him. So it was decided that the strange girl would follow her in and poke her hand with the glove forth under her arm, so the prince should believe she had it.

Thus it was done, but the prince took hold of the hand, too, and saw his rightful bride. Then the witch and her daughter were sent out into the forest and thrown down into the pit. But the prince and the king’s daughter celebrated the proper wedding.

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ATU-870 - The King’s Daughter Confined in the Mound
Place: Sandar, Vestfold
Informant: Jørgen Nilsen Golied’s grandmother
Collector: S. Sørensen
https://www2.hf.uio.no/eventyr_og_sagn/index.php?id=%2052258

Sigrid Undset’s East of the Sun and West of the Moon

Take a look here for information on Sigrid Undset’s puppet-theatre play East of the Sun and West of the Moon, the translation of which I have released under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License, which means that you can use it how you like, so long as you give credit where credit is due.

The play is freely available for use at home, in home education, in schools, in youth clubs, drama groups, and by professionals. I do hope you will find a use for it, even if that use is as personal entertainment.

Swedish folktale: The Castle that Stood on Golden Columns

from Westmanland, Sweden

There was once upon a time a smallholder, who with his wife lived far, far away in the forest. He had two children, a boy and a girl. He was otherwise very poor, for a cow and a cat constituted all his wealth.

The smallholder and his wife lived in continual strife, and you could be sure that if the man wanted one thing, then his wife always wanted another. It so happened one day that the man cooked some porridge for their supper. When the porridge was ready and each one had eaten their fill, the man wanted to scrape out the cauldron. But his wife wouldn’t let him; she said that she and no one else had scraping rights. They began to quarrel violently, and neither would give way to the other. Finally the man took the cauldron and the wooden spoon and ran on his way; but the wife grabbed the whisk and ran after him. Then they went through forests and over mountains, the man before and the wife after; but the tale doesn’t tell who it was that got to to scrape out the cauldron.

After some time had passed, and their parents had not been heard from, the children knew not what to do but to go out into the world and seek their fortunes, each in their own way. So they agreed together to divide the estate and take their inheritance. But as is usual, the division was terribly difficult, for there was nothing to divide except a cow and a cat, and both children wanted the cow. As the siblings most eagerly discussed this, the cat went over to the young smallholder’s daughter, giving her much attention, rubbing itself up against her knees, and purring: “Take me! Take me!” As the boy did not want to give up the cow, the girl dropped her case and contented herself with the cat. The siblings were then separated from each other. The boy took the cow and went off on his way. But the girl and her cat walked the path through the forest, and nothing has been told me of their journey before they came to a large and magnificent king’s farm, which lay there on their way.

As the two travellers approached the beautiful king’s farm, the cat began to speak to her mistress, saying, “If you will now obey my advice, it will bring you happiness.” The girl put a great deal of trust in the wisdom of her companion, and promised therefore to do what he desired of her. Then the cat said that she should take off her old clothes and climb into a tall tree, but he would to go to the king’s farm, and say that there was a king’s daughter, who had been assaulted by bandits and robbed of both goods and clothes. The smallholder girl did as she was told; she took off her old clothes and climbed the tree. Then the cat ran on its way; but the girl remained behind in great trepidation of how his advice might turn out.

When the king who ruled over that country heard that a foreign princess had suffered such overwhelming distress, he was greatly aggrieved, and he sent his servants to invite her as his guest. The young lady was now abundantly provided with clothes and whatever else she needed, and then she followed the king’s messenger. When she came to the king’s farm, everyone was enraptured by her beauty and courtly manners; and the king’s son praised her most of all, saying that he would not want to live in the world without her. But the queen sensed something was wrong, and asked where the beautiful princess’s king’s farm was. The girl answered as the cat had taught her: “I live far, far away in a castle called Kattenborg.”

The old queen was not yet satisfied, but set her mind to discover whether the unknown maiden was indeed a king’s daughter or not. To such an end she went in the evening to the guest chamber, furnished the smallholder girl’s bed with soft silk mattresses, but hid a bean beneath the bed sheet. “For,” she thought, “she cannot but notice it, if she is a princess.” The young maiden was then led to her bedchamber with tokens of great honour. But the cat noticed the queen’s cunning, and warned her mistress. When morning had broken, the old queen came in, and asked how her guest had slept during the night. The girl answered as the cat had taught her: “Oh yes, of course I have a slept, for I was very weary from my walking. But it felt as if there were a big stone under me. I slept much better in my bed at Kattenborg.” The queen thought now that the maiden had to be very nobly bred, but she held her peace until she had once again proven the truth of her statement.

On the second evening, the queen returned to the guest chamber, furnished the smallholder girl’s bed with soft silk mattresses, and put some peas under the first mattress, “for,” she thought, “she cannot but notice it, if she really is a king’s daughter, as she says.” The young maiden was then led to her bedchamber with tokens of great honour. But the cat had noticed the queen’s designs, and warned her mistress. As the morning broke, the queen came in and asked her guest how she slept during night. The girl answered as the cat had taught her: “Oh yes, of course I have slept, for I was very tired. But it felt as if there were big stones underneath me. I slept better in my bed at Kattenborg.” The old queen now thought that the maiden had passed her test. But she did not want to let her suspicions go, but set her mind to try again to discover whether or not the unknown maiden was as noble as she herself said.

Now, when the third evening came, the queen went back to the guest-house, bedded the torpedo-girl’s bed with soft silk mattresses, and laid a stalk of straw under the second mattress. “For,” she thought, “she cannot but notice it, if she really is a king’s daughter.” The young maiden was then led to her bedchamber with tokens of great honour. But the cat had noticed the queen’s cunning, and warned her mistress of it. As morning broke, the queen came in and asked her guest how she had slept during the night. The girl answered as the cat had taught her: “Oh yes, of course I have slept, for I was very tired; but it felt as if there were a big tree under me. I certainly slept better in my own bed at Kattenborg.” The queen now realised that she would never be able to discover the truth in this manner, and decided, therefore, to watch how the strange maiden behaved in every circumstance.

The following day, the queen sent to her guest a fair kirtle, which was embroidered in silk, and had a long, long train, as used by noble women. The smallholder girl thanked her for the good gift, and thought no more of it; but the cat was present, and she warned her mistress that the old queen wanted to try her again. After a little while, the queen asked if the princess wouldn’t accompany her on a constitutional walk. The smallholder girl agreed to this invitation, and they went on their way. By the time they came out into the garden, the court girls were very afraid of dirtying the trains of the kirtles, for it had rained that night; but the unknown maiden walked on her way, not caring that her long dress dragged along the ground. Then the queen said, “Dear princess, look to your kirtle.” The smallholder’s daughter replied proudly: “Oh, there must be other clothes besides these. I had much better when I was in my castle at Kattenborg.” Now the old queen could not think but that the maid was used to wearing silk-embroidered clothes, and judged now that she had to be a king’s daughter. The queen, therefore, let nothing further hinder her son’s proposal, and the smallholder’s daughter eventually said yes, and gave her consent as well.

It happened once that the prince and his sweetheart were sitting, talking. When the maiden looked through the window, she saw her parents come running out of the forest, the woman before with the cauldron and the man with the wooden spoon. Then the girl could not help herself, but burst into a loud laugh. The prince asked why she laughed so heartily, and the maiden answered as the cat had taught her: “Well, I can only laugh when I think how your castle stands on stone columns, but my castle stands on golden columns.” When the prince heard this, he was greatly amazed, and said: “Your mind is always turned towards the beautiful Kattenborg, and you say that everything there is better and richer than here with us. We will journey to see your beautiful king’s farm, no matter how far.” At this speech the smallholder’s daughter grew so ill at ease that she wanted to sink into the ground, for she well knew that she had no farm, much less a castle. But there was no help in the matter, so she put on a brave face, and said that she would look into which day it would be best to make their journey.

Now when the maid came to herself, she gave free run to her sorrow, weeping bitterly; for she thought of all the shame that would befall her, she who she had dealt with flattery and falsehood. As she sat weeping, the wise cat came in, rubbed up against her knees, and asked why she was so sad. The smallholder’s daughter replied: “I have to be sad. The king’s son has said that we should journey to Kattenborg, and now I shall pay dearly for obeying your advice.” But the cat bade her to take courage; he would arrange things so that everything would turn out much better than she could imagine. He also advised his mistress that the earlier they set off, the better. As the maiden had now seen so many proofs of the cat’s wisdom, she consented to his desire; but this time it was with heavy heart, for she could not think how their journey would turn out well.

Early in the morning, the king’s son had carriages and servants, and everything else that was needed for the long trip to Kattenborg, made ready. Then the company set off. The prince and his betrothed drove at the front in a gilded carriage, many knights and servants accompanied them, and the cat ran ahead to show the way, as he himself had desired. After they had been travelling for a while, the cat saw some shepherds walking the mark, herding a great flock of the most beautiful goats. So he went up to the shepherds, greeted them politely, and said, “Good day, shepherds! When the king’s son passes by and asks whose beautiful goats these are, I want you to say that they belong to the young princess at Kattenborg, who travels by the prince’s side. If you do so, you will be well paid, but if you will not, then I will tear you apart altogether.” When the shepherds heard this, they were completely astonished, and promised to do as the cat desired. He then ran on his way. But after a little while, the king’s son came approached with all his company. Now when he saw the beautiful goats grazing in the mark, he stopped his carriage, and asked the shepherds who it was who owned the beautiful flock. The shepherds answered as the cat had taught them: “The goats belong to the young princess at Kattenborg, who travels by your side.” Now the king’s son was greatly amazed, thinking that his betrothed could be a mighty princess; but the smallholder girl was gladminded, and considered that she was not the one who had lost out when she had divided her inheritance with her brother.

They continued travelling on their way, and the cat ran ahead as he was wont to do. When they had travelled for a while, they came to a crowd of people gathering hay in a beautiful meadow. Then the cat came forward, greeted them politely, and said, “Good day, good folk! When the king’s son passes by and asks whose this beautiful meadow is, you should reply that it belongs to the princess at Kattenborg, who travels by the prince’s side. If you do so, then you will be well paid; but if you do not do as I say, then I will tear you into many thousand pieces.” When the men heard this, they were greatly amazed, and promised to do as the cat desired. Then he ran on his way. But after a little while, the king’s son approached his company. When he saw the fertile meadows and the many people, he stopped his carriage, and asked whose land it was. The men replied as the cat had taught them: “The meadow belongs to the young princess at Kattenborg, who travels by your side.” Now the king’s son was even more amazed, thinking that his bride might be exceedingly rich, who owned such fine meadows.

They continued travelling on their way, and the cat ran ahead as was his custom. When they had travelled for a while, they came to a great big field; and the field were teeming with men and women who were cutting the grain. Then the cat went up to the harvester-folk, and greeted them, saying, “Good day, my friends! Good luck in such good work. In a while, the king’s son will pass by here, and will ask who owns such large cornfields. Then you should reply that they belong to the princess at Kattenborg, who travels by the prince’s side. If you says this, you will be well paid; but if you disobey my word, I will tear you to pieces as small as the leaves lying on the ground in the autumn.” When the harvesters heard this they were amazed, and promised to say as the cat had desired. Then he ran on his way. And after a while, the king’s son came up the road with his company. When he saw the large fields, he stopped his carriage, and asked who it was who owned the beautiful fields. The harvest men replied as the cat had taught them: “The cornfields belong to the young princess at Kattenborg, who travels by your side.” Now the king’s son was exceedingly glad; but the smallholder’s daughter did not know exactly what to think about everything that had befallen them on the trip.

By now, it was now late in the evening, and the prince with his company stopped to rest for the night. The cat did not rest, however, but ran ever onward, until he saw a fair castle, built with towers and pinnacles, and standing upon golden columns. The splendid castle belonged to a grim giant who ruled over the entire region; but the giant was not at home. So the cat entered through the castle door, and changed into a large loaf of bread. Then he sat in the keyhole, waiting for the giant to come home again.

Early in the morning, before dawn, the ugly giant came tramping out of the woods, and he was so big and heavy that the whole earth shook beneath him as he walked. When he reached the castle door, he could not open it because of the large loaf of bread that sat in the keyhole. Then he grew terribly angry, and cried, “Open up! Open up!” The cat replied: “Wait just a little, little while I tell my tale:

First they kneaded me, so they could knead me to death”

“Open up! Open up!” the giant screamed back; but the cat replied as before: ’Just wait a little, little while, as I tell my tales:

First they kneaded me, so they could knead me to death
then they ground me, so they could grind me to death”

“Open up! Open up!” the giant screamed bitterly; but the cat replied again: “Wait just a little, little while I tell my tales:

First they kneaded me, so they could knead me to death
then they ground me, so they could grind me to death
then they pricked me, so they could prick me to death”

Now the giant was wroth, and screamed so that the whole castle shook: “Open up! Open up!” but the cat was not moved, but replied as before: “Wait just a little, little while I tell my tales:

First they kneaded me, so they could knead me to death
then they ground me, so they could grind me to death
then they pricked me, so they could prick me to death
then they baked me so they could bake me to death”

Then the giant grew anxious, and pleaded so beautifully, so beautifully: “Open up! Open up!” but it didn’t help; the loaf of bread remained in the keyhole as before. Suddenly the cat cried out, “Just look at such a beautiful maiden riding up in the sky!” As the troll now turned, the sun rose above the forest. And when the giant saw the sun, he fell backwards and burst, and that was the end of him.

The loaf of bread now changed back into a cat, and he hurried to arrange everything for his guests. Now after some some time, the king’s son came with his young bride and the whole company. The cat was there to meet them, and welcomed them Kattenborg. They were now received in the best manner, and there was no want, neither of food nor of drink, nor of any other provision. And the beautiful castle was filled with gold, silver, and all kinds of costly treasures, such that no one has ever seen its like, neither before nor since.

A short time afterwards, the prince held his wedding with the beautiful young maiden, and everyone who saw her wealth thought she had good reason to say, “It is otherwise in my castle at Kattenborg.” The king’s son and the smallholder’s daughter now lived happily for many, many years; but I have not heard how things went with the cat, although one can guess that he did not suffer any distress. And then I was no longer with them.

— Gunnar Olof Hyltén-Cavallius. Svenska folk-sagor och äfventyr. Stockholm: A. Bohlins Förlag, 1844.

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I decided to translate this Swedish tale after having read Zalka Csenge Virág’s account of her quest in search of a source for H. C. Andersen’s “The Princess and the Pea,” on which quest she heroically waded through the folklore of two foreign tongues by means of Google Translate.

Hyltén-Cavallius’s tale is related to Asbjørnsen & Moe’s Herre-Per, and there is an unpublished Norwegian variant that includes the pea/ mattress motif, which suggests it was in general circulation in Scandinavia at the time Andersen was writing.

The Nisse’s New Clothes

A girl served on a farm where there was a nisse. This nisse was a good-natured kind of creature, and would gladly do everyone all possible manner of favours. Thus, for a long time he had given the girl a hand with little tasks about the kitchen, so that she never had to wash pots or plates, but simply put them on the chimney in the evening, and found them again clean in the morning. - In gratitude to her little helper, she decided to honour him. - One Christmas Eve, she put in the kitchen, next to the usual Christmas porridge, a small garment that would just about suit her favorite, as well as a mirror in which he could gaze upon his new finery. She hid herself, to see how he would behave when he - who was very raggedly dressed otherwise - beheld the glory of his appearance. The evening came, and after completing his meal, the nisse made his toilet. With the help of the mirror, he regarded his figure with pleasure. Then he ignored his usual work, exclaiming at last: “No, now you are far too handsome to wash pots.” The girl never saw him again!

— Morgenbladet. Kristiania, 1823-04-01