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FOLK-LORE AND LEGENDS SCANDINAVIAN
W. W. Gibbings
18 Bury St., London, W.C.
1890
PREFATORY NOTE.
Thanks to Thiele, to Hylten-Cavallius and Stephens, and to Asbjoernsen
and Moe, Scandinavian Folklore is well to the front. Its treasures are
many, and of much value. One may be almost sorry to find among them the
originals of many of our English tales. Are we indebted to the folk of
other nations for all our folk-tales? It would almost seem so.
I have introduced into the present volume only one or two stories from
the Prose Edda. Space would not allow me to give so much of the Edda as
I could have wished.
In selecting and translating the matter for this volume, I have
endeavoured to make the book such as would afford its readers a fair
general view of the main features of the Folklore of the North. C.J.T.
CONTENTS
The Wonderful Plough (Isle of Rugen)
How a Lad stole the Giant's Treasure (Sweden)
Tales of Cats (Denmark)
The Magician's Daughter (Sweden)
The Hill-man invited to the Christening (Denmark)
The Meal of Frothi (Norway)
The Lost Bell (Isle of Rugen)
Maiden Swanwhite and Maiden Foxtail (Sweden)
Tales of Treasure (Denmark)
Holger Danske (Denmark)
Tales from the Prose Edda--
The Gods and the Wolf
The Strange Builder
Thor's Journey to the Land of Giants
How Thor Went a-Fishing
The Death of Baldur
The Punishment of Loki
The Origin of Tiis Lake (Denmark)
There are such Women (Norway)
Tales of the Nisses (Denmark)
The Dwarfs' Banquet (Norway)
The Icelandic Sorceresses (Eyrbiggia Saga)
The Three Dogs (Sweden)
The Legend of Thorguima (Eyrbiggia Saga)
The Little Glass Shoe (Isle of Rugen)
How Loki Wagered his Head (Edda Resenii)
The Adventures of John Dietrich (Isle of Rugen)
How Thorston Became Rich (Thorston's Saga)
Gudbrand of the Hillside (Norway)
The Dwarf-Sword Tirfing (Hervarar Saga)
THE WONDERFUL PLOUGH.
There was once a farmer who was master of one of the little black dwarfs
that are the blacksmiths and armourers, and he got him in a very curious
way. On the road leading to this farmer's ground there stood a stone
cross, and every morning as he went to his work he used to stop and
kneel down before this cross, and pray for some minutes.
On one of these occasions he noticed on the cross a pretty, bright
insect, of such a brilliant hue that he could not recollect having ever
before seen the like in an insect. He wondered greatly at this, but
still he did not disturb it. The insect did not remain long quiet, but
ran without ceasing backwards and forwards upon the cross, as if it was
in pain and wanted to get away.
Next morning the farmer again saw the very same insect, and again it was
running to and fro in the same state of uneasiness. The farmer began now
to have some suspicions about it, and thought to himself--
"Would this now be one of the little black enchanters? It runs about
just like one that has an evil conscience, as one that would, but
cannot, get away."
A variety of thoughts and conjectures passed through his mind, and he
remembered what he had often heard from his father and other old people,
that when any of the underground people chance to touch anything holy
they are held fast and cannot quit the spot, and so they are extremely
careful to avoid all such things.
"But," thought he, "you may even be something else, and I should,
perhaps, be committing a sin in taking the little insect away."
So he let it stay where it was.
When, however, he twice again found it in the same place, and still
running about with the same signs of uneasiness, he said--
"No, it is not all right with it, so now, in the name of God."
He made a grasp at the insect, which resisted and clung fast to the
stone; but he held it tight, and tore it away by main force, and lo!
then he found he had, by the top of the head, a little ugly black chap,
about six inches long, screeching and kicking at a furious rate.
The farmer was greatly astounded at this sudden transformation. Still he
held his prize fast, and kept calling to him, while he administered to
him a few smart slaps--
"Be quiet, be quiet, my little man! If crying was to do the business, we
might look for heroes in swaddling-clothes. We'll just take you with us
a bit, and see what you are good for."
The little fellow trembled and shook in every limb, and then began to
whimper most piteously, and begged of the farmer to let him go.
"No, my lad," replied the farmer, "I will not let you go till you tell
me who you are, and how you came here, and what trade you know that
enables you to earn your bread in the world."
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