Tales From The Old Norse

By Clive Gilson

And so we reach the final volume in this small collection of tales from the north. Originally I intended to complete the series with the Finnish volume, but as ever, there were just too many fabulous stories in my archive to call such an immediate halt.

In this volume we have work collected by Jørgen Engebretsen Moe and Peter

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clive Gilson
• Release date: Dec 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9781913500580

Book preview

I have edited Clive Gilson’s books for over a decade now – he’s prolific and can turn his hand to many genres. poetry, short fiction, contemporary novels, folklore and science fiction – and the common theme is that none of them ever fails to take my breath away. There’s something in each story that is either memorably poignant, hauntingly unnerving or sidesplittingly funny. 

Lorna Howarth, The Write Factor

Tales From The World's Firesides is a grand project. I've collected ‘000’s of traditional texts as part of other projects, and while many of the original texts are available through channels like Project Gutenberg, some of the narratives can be hard to read by modern readers, & so the Fireside project was born. Put simply, I collect, collate & adapt traditional tales from around the world & publish them for free as a modern archive. Part 1 covers a host of nations & regions across Europe. I'm not laying any claim to insight or specialist knowledge, but these collections are born out of my love of story-telling & I hope that you'll share my affection for traditional tales, myths & legends.

Cover image by Gill Eastwood from Pixabay

Tales From The Old Norse

Traditional tales, fables and sagas from the old Norse tradition

Compiled & Edited by Clive Gilson

Tales from the World’s Firesides

Book 11 in Part 1 of the series: Europe

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Tales From The Old Norse,

edited by Clive Gilson, Solitude, Bath, UK

www.clivegilson.com

First published as an eBook in 2018

2nd edition © 2019 Clive Gilson

3rd edition © 2023 Clive Gilson

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by United Kingdom copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Printed by IngramSpark

ISBN 978-1-913500-58-0

Planet

SOLITUDE

Contents

Preface

True And Untrue

Viggo And Beate

The Old Dame And Her Hen

Hacon Grizzlebeard

The Slaying Of Hallgerda’s Husbands

The Twelve Wild Ducks

The Fox As Herdsman

Princess On The Glass Hill

The Death Of Gunnar

The Cock And Hen

How One Went Out To Woo

The Two Step Sisters

Buttercup

Njal’s Burning

Taming The Shrew

Shortshanks

Gudbrand On The Hill-Side

Why The Bear Is Stumpy-Tailed

Not A Pin To Choose Between Them

The Three Aunts

Rich Peter The Pedlar

Gertrude’s Bird

Boots And The Troll

Goosey Grizzel

The Master Thief

The Best Wish

Well Done And Ill Paid

Dapplegrim

Farmer Weathersky

Lord Peter

The Seven Foals

Bushy Bride

Tatterhood

The Cock And Hen That Went To The Dovrefell

Thumbikin

Doll I’ The Grass

The Lad And The Devil

The Cock And Hen A-Nutting

The Big Bird Dan

Little Annie The Goose-Girl

Historical Notes

About The Editor

ORIGINAL FICTION BY CLIVE GILSON

Songs of Bliss

Out of the Walled Garden

The Mechanic’s Curse

The Insomniac Booth

A Solitude of Stars

AS EDITOR – FIRESIDE TALES – Part 1, Europe

Tales From the Land of Dragons

Tales From the Land of The Brave

Tales From the Land of Saints And Scholars

Tales From the Land of Hope And Glory

Tales From Lands of Snow and Ice

Tales From the Viking Isles

Tales From the Forest Lands

Tales From the Old Norse

More Tales About Saints and Scholars

More Tales About Hope and Glory

More Tales About Snow and Ice

Tales From the Land of Rabbits

Tales Told by Bulls and Wolves

Tales of Fire and Bronze

Tales From the Land of the Strigoi

Tales Told by the Wind Mother

Tales from Gallia

Tales from Germania

EDITOR – FIRESIDE TALES – Part 2, North America

Okaraxta - Tales from The Great Plains

Tibik-Kìzis – Tales from The Great Lakes & Canada

Jóhonaaʼéí –Tales from America’s Southwest

Qugaaĝix̂ - First Nation Tales from Alaska & The Arctic

Karahkwa - First Nation Tales from America’s Eastern States

Pot-Likker - Folklore, Fairy Tales, and Settler Stories from America

EDITOR – FIRESIDE TALES – Part 3, Africa

Arokin Tales – Folklore & Fairy Tales from West Africa

Hadithi Tales – Folklore & Fairy Tales from East Africa

Inkathaso Tales – Folklore & Fairy Tales from Southern Africa

Tarubadur Tales – Folklore & Fairy Tales from North Africa

Elephant And Frog – Folklore from Central Africa

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Preface

I’ve been collecting and telling stories for a couple of decades now, having had several of my own works published in recent years. My particular focus is on short story writing in the realms of magical realities and science fiction fantasies.

I’ve always drawn heavily on traditional folk and fairy tales, and in so doing have amassed a collection of many thousands of these tales from around the world. It has been one of my long-standing ambitions to gather these stories together and to create a library of tales that tell the stories of places and peoples from the four corners of our world.

One of the main motivations for me in undertaking the project is to collect and tell stories that otherwise might be lost or, at best forgotten. Given that a lot of my sources are from early collectors, particularly covering works produced in the late eighteenth century, throughout the nineteenth century, and in the early years of the twentieth century, I do make every effort to adapt stories for a modern reader. Early collectors had a different world view to many of us today, and often expressed views about race and gender, for example, that we find difficult to reconcile in the early years of the twenty-first century. I try, although with varying degrees of success, to update these stories with sensitivity while trying to stay as true to the original spirit of each story as I can.

I also want to assure readers that I try hard not to comment on or appropriate originating cultures. It is almost certainly true that the early collectors of these tales, with their then prevalent world views, have made assumptions about the originating cultures that have given us these tales. I hope that you’ll accept my mission to preserve these tales, however and wherever I find them, as just that. I have, therefore, made sure that every story has a full attribution, covering both the original collector / writer and the collection title that this version has been adapted from, as well as having notes about publishers and other relevant and, I hope, interesting source data. Wherever possible I have added a cultural or indigenous attribution as well, although for some of the tiles, the country-based theme is obvious.

This volume, Tales From The Old Norse is part of a set of collections covering the Scandinavian story-telling tradition. With this volume we reach the conclusion of our journey through the tales from the north. Originally I intended to complete the Scandinavian series with the Finnish volume, but as ever, there were just too many fabulous stories in my archive to call such an immediate halt.

In this volume we have work collected by Jørgen Engebretsen Moe and Peter Christen Asbjørnsen taken from East o' the Sun and West o' the Moon and Norske Folkeeventyr, much of which I have adapted from George Webbe Dasent’s translations in Popular Tales from the Norse and from Andrew Lang’s Red Romance Book.

Norse mythology is generally considered to be the body of myths of the North Germanic peoples , stemming from Norse paganism and continuing after the Christianization of Scandinavia and into the Scandinavian folklore of the modern period. The northernmost extension of Germanic mythology, Norse mythology consists of tales of various deities, beings, and heroes derived from numerous sources from both before and after the pagan period, including medieval manuscripts, archaeological representations, and folk tradition.

The collecting of generic Scandinavian folklore began when Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden, in the 1630’s, sent out instructions to all of the priests to collect the folklore of their area. They collected customs, beliefs that were not sanctioned by the church, and other traditional material.

As a result of their common Germanic origin, Scandinavian folklore shows a large correspondence with folklores elsewhere, such as England and Germany, among others.

These titles will grow over coming years to tell lost and forgotten tales from every continent, and even then, I’ll just be scratching the surface of the world’s lore and love. That’s the great gift in storytelling. Since the first of our ancestors sat around in a cave, contemplating an ape’s place in the world, we have, as a species, told each other stories of magic and cunning and caution and love. When I began to read through tales from the Celts, tales from Indonesia, tales from Africa and the Far East, tales from everywhere, one of the things that struck me clearly was just how similar are our roots. We share characters and characteristics. The nature of these tales is so similar underneath the local camouflage. Human beings clearly share a storytelling heritage so much deeper than the world that we see superficially as always having been just as it is now.

These tales were originally told by firelight as a way of preserving histories and educating both adult and child. These tales form part of our shared heritage, witches, warts, fantastic beasts, and all. They can be dark and violent. They can be sweet and loving. They are we and we are they in so many ways. I’ve loved reading and re-reading these stories. I hope you do too.

Clive

Bath, 2023

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True And Untrue

Translated by George Webbe Dasent in Popular Tales from the Norse, 1912, taken from an original in Asbjørnsen & Moe’s East o’ the Sun and West o’ the Moon, 1888. Popular Tales from the Norse was published by Edmonston & Douglas, Edinburgh.

ONCE ON A TIME THERE WERE TWO brothers; one was called True, and the other Untrue. True was always upright and good towards all, but Untrue was bad and full of lies, so that no one could believe what he said. Their mother was a widow, and hadn’t much to live on; so when her sons had grown up, she was forced to send them away, that they might earn their bread in the world. Each got a little scrip with some food in it, and then they went their way.

Now, when they had walked till evening, they sat down on a windfall in the wood, and took out their scraps, for they were hungry after walking the whole day, and thought a morsel of food would be sweet enough.

If you’re of my mind, said Untrue, I think we had better eat out of your scrip, so long as there is anything in it, and after that we can take to mine.

Yes! True was well pleased with this, so they fell to eating, but Untrue got all the best bits, and stuffed himself with them, while True got only the burnt crusts and scraps.

Next morning they broke their fast off True’s food, and they dined off it too, and then there was nothing left in his scrip. So when they had walked till late at night, and were ready to eats again, True wanted to eat out of his brother’s scrip, but Untrue said No, the food was his, and he had only enough for himself.

Nay! but you know you ate out of my scrip so long as there was anything in it, said True.

All very fine, I daresay, answered Untrue, but if you are such a fool as to let others eat up your food before your face, you must make the best of it; for now all you have to do is to sit here and starve.

Very well! said True, you’re Untrue by name and untrue by nature; so you have been, and so you will be all your life long.

Now when Untrue heard this, he flew into a rage, and rushed at his brother, and plucked out both his eyes. Now, try if you can see whether folk are untrue or not, you blind buzzard! and so saying, he ran away and left him.

Poor True! there he went walking along and feeling his way through the thick wood. Blind and alone, he scarce knew which way to turn, when all at once he caught hold of the trunk of a great bushy lime-tree, so he thought he would climb up into it, and sit there till the night was over for fear of the wild beasts.

When the birds begin to sing, he said to himself, then I shall know it is day, and I can try to grope my way farther on. So he climbed up into the lime-tree. After he had sat there a little time, he heard how someone came and began to make a stir and clatter under the tree, and soon after others came; and when they began to greet one another, he found out it was Bruin the bear, and Greylegs the wolf, and Slyboots the fox, and Longears the hare who had come to keep St. John’s eve under the tree. So they began to eat and drink, and be merry; and when they had done eating, they fell to gossiping together. At last the Fox said, Shan’t we, each of us, tell a little story while we sit here? Well! the others had nothing against that. It would be good fun, they said, and the Bear began; for you may fancy he was king of the company.

The king of England, said Bruin, has such bad eyesight, he can scarce see a yard before him; but if he only came to this lime-tree in the morning, while the dew is still on the leaves, and took and rubbed his eyes with the dew, he would get back his sight as good as ever.

Very true! said Greylegs. The king of England has a deaf and dumb daughter too; but if he only knew what I know, he would soon cure her. Last year she went to the communion. She let a crumb of the bread fall out of her mouth, and a great toad came and swallowed it down; but if they only dug up the chancel floor, they would find the toad sitting right under the altar rails, with the bread still sticking in his throat. If they were to cut the toad open and take and give the bread to the princess, she would be like other folk again as to her speech and hearing.

That’s all very well, said the Fox, but if the king of England knew what I know, he would not be so badly off for water in his palace; for under the great stone, in his palace-yard, is a spring of the clearest water one could wish for, if he only knew to dig for it there.

Ah! said the Hare in a small voice, the king of England has the finest orchard in the whole land, but it does not bear so much as a crab, for there lies a heavy gold chain in three turns round the orchard. If he got that dug up, there would not be a garden like it for bearing in all his kingdom.

Very true, I dare say, said the Fox, but now it’s getting very late, and we may as well go home.

So they all went away together.

After they were gone, True fell asleep as he sat up in the tree; but when the birds began to sing at dawn, he woke up, and took the dew from the leaves, and rubbed his eyes with it, and so got his sight back as good as it was before Untrue plucked his eyes out.

Then he went straight to the king of England’s palace, and begged for work, and got it on the spot. So one day the king came out into the palace-yard, and when he had walked about a bit, he wanted to drink out of his pump; for you must know the day was hot, and the king very thirsty; but when they poured him out a glass, it was so muddy, and nasty, and foul, that the king got quite vexed.

I don’t think there’s ever a man in my whole kingdom who has such bad water in his yard as I, and yet I bring it in pipes from far, over hill and dale, cried out the king. Like enough, your Majesty, said True, but if you would let me have some men to help me to dig up this great stone which lies here in the middle of your yard, you would soon see good water, and plenty of it.

Well! the king was willing enough; and they had scarcely got the stone well out, and dug under it a while, before a jet of water sprang out high up into the air, as clear and full as if it came out of a conduit, and clearer water was not to be found in all England.

A little while after the king was out in his palace-yard again, and there came a great hawk flying after his chicken, and all the king’s men began to clap their hands and bawl out, There he flies! There he flies! The king caught up his gun and tried to shoot the hawk, but he couldn’t see so far, so he fell into great grief.

Would to Heaven, he said, there was anyone who could tell me about a cure for my eyes; for I think I shall soon go quite blind!

I can tell you one soon enough, said True; and then he told the king what he had done to cure his own eyes, and the king set off that very afternoon to the lime-tree, as you may fancy, and his eyes were quite cured as soon as he rubbed them with the dew which was on the leaves in the morning. From that time forth there was no one whom the king held so dear as True, and he had to be with him wherever he went, both at home and abroad.

So one day, as they were walking together in the orchard, the king said, I can’t tell how it is that I can’t! there isn’t a man in England who spends so much on his orchard as I, and yet I can’t get one of the trees to bear so much as a crab.

Well! well! said True, if I may have what lies three times twisted round your orchard, and men to dig it up, your orchard will bear well enough.

Yes! the king was quite willing, so True got men and began to dig, and at last he dug up the whole gold chain. Now True was a rich man; far richer indeed than the king himself, but still the king was well pleased, for his orchard bore so that the boughs of the trees hung down to the ground, and such sweet apples and pears nobody had ever tasted.

Another day too, the king and True were walking about, and talking together, when the princess passed them, and the king was quite downcast when he saw her.

Isn’t it a pity, now, that so lovely a princess as mine should want speech and hearing, he said to True.

Ay, but there is a cure for that, said True.

When the king heard that, he was so glad that he promised him the princess to wife, and half his kingdom into the bargain, if he could get her right again. So True took a few men, and went into the church, and dug up the toad which sat under the altar-rails. Then he cut open the toad, and took out the bread and gave it to the king’s daughter; and from that hour she got back her speech, and could talk like other people.

Now True was to have the princess, and they got ready for the bridal feast, and such a feast had never been seen before; it was the talk of the whole land. Just as they were in the midst of dancing the bridal-dance in came a beggar lad, and begged for a morsel of food, and he was so ragged and wretched that everyone crossed themselves when they looked at him; but True knew him at once, and saw that it was Untrue, his brother.

Do you know me again? said True.

Oh! where should such a one as I ever have seen so great a lord, said Untrue.

Still you have seen me before, said True. It was I whose eyes you plucked out a year ago this very day. Untrue by name, and untrue by nature; so I said before, and so I say now; but you are still my brother, and so you shall have some food. After that, you may go to the lime-tree where I sat last year; if you hear anything that ca do you good, you will be lucky.

So Untrue did not wait to be told twice. If True has got so much good by sitting in the lime-tree, that in one year he has come to be king over half England, what good may not I get, he thought. So he set off and climbed up into the lime-tree. He had not sat there long, before all the beasts came as before, and ate and drank, and kept St. John’s eve under the tree. When they had left off eating, the Fox wished that they should begin to tell stories, and Untrue got ready to listen with all his might, till his ears were almost fit to fall off. But Bruin the bear was surly, and growled and said, Someone has been chattering about what we said last year, and so now we will hold our tongues about what we know; and with that the beasts bade one another Good-night, and parted, and Untrue was just as wise as he was before, and the reason was, that his name was Untrue, and his nature untrue too.

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Viggo And Beate

Adapted from the original by Jørgen Engebretsen Moe in East o’ the Sun and West o’ the Moon – Old Tales from the North, published by George H Doran & Co, New York, in 1914.

Part One - The Doll under the Briar Rosebush

THERE WAS ONCE A LITTLE GIRL, and her name was Beate. She was only five years old, but a bright and good little girl she was.

On her birthday her father had given her a beautiful straw hat. There were red ribbons around it, I can't tell you how pretty it was. Her mother had given her a pair of yellow shoes and the daintiest white dress. But her old aunt had given her the very best present of all; it was a doll, with a sweet pretty face and dark brown curls. She was a perfect beauty in every respect. There was nothing the matter with her except that the left eyebrow was painted a tiny bit too high up.

It looks as if she were frowning a little. I wonder if she is not quite pleased? asked Beate when she held her in her arms.

Oh, yes, answered her aunt, but she doesn't know you yet. It is a habit she has of always lifting her eyebrow a little when she looks closely at anyone. She only wants to find out if you are a good little girl.

Yes, yes, and now she knows, for now that eyebrow is just like the other one, said Beate.

Oh, how Beate grew to love that doll, almost more than she loved Marie and Louise, and they were her best friends.

One day Beate was walking in the yard with her doll in her arms. The doll had a name now, and they had become fast friends. She had called her Beate, her own name, and the name of her old aunt who had given her the doll.

It was in the early spring. There was a beautiful green spot, with fine, soft grass in one corner of the yard around the old well. There stood a big willow tree with a low trunk, and it was covered with the little yellow blossoms that children call goslings.

They look like goslings too, for each little tassel has soft, soft yellow down, and they can swim in the water, but walk? - no, that they cannot do.

Now Big Beate - she wasn't more than five years old, but she was ever so much bigger than the other one - and Little Beate, soon agreed that they would pick goslings from the tree and throw them into the well, so that they might have just as good a time as the big geese and goslings that were swimming about in the pond. It was really Big Beate who thought of this first, but Little Beate agreed immediately; you can't imagine how good she always was.

Now Big Beate climbed up into the willow and picked many pretty yellow goslings into her white apron, and when she counted them and had counted to twenty, twice, she said that now they had enough, and Little Beate thought so too.

So she began to climb down, but that was not easy for she had to hold her apron together with one hand and climb with the other. She thought Little Beate called up to her to throw the goslings down first, but she didn't dare to do that; she was afraid they might fall and hurt themselves.

Now both of them ran over to the well, and Big Beate helped her little friend to get her legs firmly fixed between the logs that were around the well, so that she might sit in comfort and watch the little goslings swim about on the water. Then gosling after gosling was dropped down, and as soon as each one reached the water it seemed to become alive and it moved about. Oh, what fun! Big Beate clapped her hands to the pretty little downy birds, and when she helped Little Beate a bit, she too could clap her hands.

But after a while the little goslings would not swim any longer but lay quite still. That was no fun at all, so Big Beate asked her namesake if she didn't think she might lean a little over the edge of the well and blow on them, for then she thought they might come to life again. Little Beate didn't answer, but she raised her left eyebrow a good deal and moved her right arm in the air as if she were saying, Please don't do that, dear Big Beate! Don't you remember Mother has told us how dark it is down there in the well? Think, if you should fall in!

Oh, nonsense; just see how easy it is, said Big Beate, for she thought the goslings were stupid when they didn't want to swim about. She leaned out over the well and blew on the nearest ones - Yes, it helped - the goslings began to swim again. But those that were farthest away didn't move at all.

What stupid little things! said Beate, and she leaned far, far out over the edge of the well. Then her little hands slipped on the smooth log and - splash! in she fell deep down into the water. It was so cold, so icy cold, and it closed over her head and took the straw hat, which she had got on her birthday, off her hair. She hadn't time to hear if Little Beate screamed, but I'm sure she did.

When Beate's head came over the water again she grasped the round log with both her hands but the hands were too small and the log too wide and slippery, she couldn't hold on. Then she saw her dear friend, Little Beate, standing stiff and dumb with fright, staring at her and with her right arm stretched out to her. Big Beate hurriedly caught hold of her and Little Beate made herself as stiff as she could, and stiffer still, and stood there between the logs holding her dear friend out of the water.

Now Beate screamed so loudly that her father and mother heard her and came running as fast as they could, pale and frightened, and pulled her out. She was dripping wet and so scared and cold that her teeth chattered.

The father ran to the house with her, but she begged him for heaven's sake not to leave Little Beate, for she might fall into the well, And it's she who has saved me.

Now they put Beate to bed and Little Beate had to sleep with her. When she had said her prayers she hugged her little friend and said, Never, never can I thank you enough, because you saved me from that horrible deep well, dear Little Beate. Of course, I know that our Lord helped you to stand firm between the logs, and to make yourself so strong and stiff, but it was you, and no one else who stretched your hand out to me, so that I was not drowned. And therefore you shall be my very best friend, always, and when I grow up you shall be the godmother to my first daughter, and I shall call her Little Beate for you. Then she kissed the little one and slept.

Part Two - Viggo

Now Big Beate had a brother who was bigger still than she. He was eight years old, and he was a wild, mischievous boy. His name was really only Viggo, but he had read an old story about a terrible, bearded viking by the same name, who sailed from land to land killing and robbing and bringing with him on his ship all the gold and silver which he found and all the pretty girls. So Viggo got a hatchet, just such a one as he had read that the old Viking had, and he told his sister that after this she must call him Viggo the Viking, for a Viking he would be when he grew up. In the yard he ran after the chickens and the ducks; he wanted to try his strength and the axe on their heads. They cackled and screamed and flew away from him and this only made the little viking the braver. But when he came to the geese, with uplifted axe, shouting his wild war cry, the old gander got angry, bent his long neck and pinched Viggo the Viking's leg so that he threw his axe down and ran screaming and howling away. The old