Part 1 (1/2)
The Norwegian Fairy Book.
by Clara Stroebe.
PREFACE
These Norwegian tales of elemental mountain, forest and sea spirits, handed down by hinds and huntsmen, woodchoppers and fisherfolk, men who led a hard and lonely life amid primitive surroundings are, perhaps, among the most fascinating the Scandinavian countries have to offer. Nor are they only meant to delight the child, though this they cannot fail to do. ”Grown-ups” also, who take pleasure in a good story, well told, will enjoy the original ”Peer Gynt” legend, as it existed before Ibsen gave it more symbolic meanings; and that glowing, beautiful picture of an Avalon of the Northern seas shown in ”The Island of Udrost.” What could be more human and moving than the tragic ”The Player on the Jew's-Harp,” or more genuinely entertaining than ”The King's Hares”?
”The Master-Girl” is a Candida of fairy-land, and the thrill and glamor of black magic and mystery run through such stories as ”The Secret Church,” ”The Comrade,” and ”Lucky Andrew.” In ”The Honest Four-s.h.i.+lling Piece” we have the adventures of a Norse d.i.c.k Whittington. ”Storm Magic”
is one of the most thrilling sea tales, bar none, ever written, and every story included in the volume seems to bring with it the breath of the Norse mountains or the tang of the spindrift on Northern seas. Much of the charm of the stories lies in the directness and simplicity of their telling; and this quality, which adds so much to their appeal, the translator has endeavored to preserve in its integrity. He cannot but feel that ”The Norwegian Fairy Book” has an appeal for one and all, since it is a book in which the mirror of fairy-tale reflects human yearnings and aspirations, human loves, ambitions and disillusionments, in an imaginatively glamored, yet not distorted form. It is his hope and belief that those who may come to know it will derive as much pleasure from its reading as it gave him to put it into English.
FREDERICK H. MARTENS.
THE NORWEGIAN FAIRY BOOK
I
PER GYNT
In the old days there lived in Kvam a marksman by the name of Per Gynt.
He was continually in the mountains, where he shot bear and elk, for at that time there were more forests on the Fjall, and all sorts of beasts dwelt in them. Once, late in the fall, when the cattle had long since been driven down from the mountain pastures, Per Gynt decided to go up on the Fjall again. With the exception of three dairy-maids, all the herd-folk had already left the mountains. But when Per Gynt reached Hovringalm, where he intended to stay over-night in a herdsman's hut, it already was so dark that he could not see his hand before his eyes.
Then the dogs began to bark so violently that he felt quite uneasy. And suddenly his foot struck something, and when he took hold of it, it was cold, and large and slippery. Since he felt certain he had not left the path, he could not imagine what it might be; but he sensed that all was not in order.
”And who are you?” asked Per Gynt, for he noticed that it moved.
”O, I am the crooked one,” was the answer. And now Per Gynt knew as much as he had before. So he went along its length, ”for sooner or later I will come to the end of it,” thought he.
As he went along he again struck against something, and when he felt it, it was again something cold, and large and slippery.
”And who are you?” asked Per Gynt.
”I am the crooked one,” was again the answer.
”Well, whether you be crooked or straight, you will have to let me pa.s.s,” said Per Gynt; for he noticed that he was going around in a circle, and that the crooked one had coiled himself about the herdsman's cottage. At these words the crooked one moved a little to one side, so that Per Gynt could get into the cottage. When he entered he found it as dark inside as it was out; and he stumbled and felt his way along the walls; for he wanted to lay aside his firelock and his hunting-bag. But while he was feeling his way about, he once more noticed the something large, and cold and slippery.
”And who are you now?” cried Per Gynt.
”O, I am the big crooked one,” was the answer. And no matter where he took hold or where he set his foot, he could feel the coils of the crooked one laid around him.
”This is a poor place to be in,” thought Per Gynt, ”for this crooked one is outside and inside; but I will soon put what is wrong to rights.” He took his firelock, went out again, and felt his way along the crooked one until he came to his head.
”And who are you really and truly?” he asked.
”O, I am the big crooked one of Etnedal,” said the monster troll. Then Per Gynt did not waste any time, but shot three bullets right through the middle of his head.
”Shoot again!” cried the crooked one. But Per Gynt knew better, for had he shot another time, the bullet would have rebounded and hit him. When this had been done, Per Gynt and his dogs took hold of the great troll, and dragged him out of the hut, so that they might make themselves comfortable there. And meanwhile the hills about rang with laughter and jeers. ”Per Gynt pulled hard, but the dogs pulled harder!” rang in his ears.
In the morning Per Gynt went out hunting. When he had made his way far into the Fjall, he saw a girl driving sheep and goats across a mountain-top. But when he reached the top of the mountain, the girl had vanished, as well as her flock, and all he saw was a great pack of bears.