fairytale friday with the nis and the mare

Nis by Lennart Helje

Nis by Wayne Anderson

There was a man who lived in the town of Tirup, who had a very handsome white mare.  This mare had for many years gone, like an heirloom, from father to son, because there was a Nis attached to her, which brought luck to the place.
This Nis was so fond of the mare, that he could hardly endure to let them put her to any kind of work, and he used to come, himself, every night and feed her of the best; and as for this purpose he usually brought a superfluity of corn, both threshed and in the straw, from the neighbours' barns, all the rest of the cattle enjoyed the advantage of it, and they were all kept in exceeding good case.

It happened at last that the farm-house passed into the hands of a new owner, who refused to put any faith in what they told him about the mare, so the luck speedily left the place, and went after the mare to his poor neighbour who had bought her; and within five days after his purchase, the poor farmer who had bought the mare began to find his circumstances gradually improving, while the income of the other, day after day, fell away and diminished at such a rate, that he was hard set to make both ends meet.

Nis by Lennart Helje

If now the man who had gotten the mare had only known how to be quiet, and enjoy the good times that were come upon him, he and his children, and his children's children after him, would have been in flourishing circumstances till this very day.  But when he saw the quantity of corn that came every night to his barn, he could not resist his desire to get a sight of the Nis.  So he concealed himself one evening, at nightfall, in the stable' and as soon as it was midnight, he saw how the Nis came from his neighbour's barn and brought a sackful of corn with him.  It was now unavoidable that the Nis should get a sight of the man who was watching; so he, with evident marks of grief, gave the mare her food for the last time, cleaned, and dressed her to the best of his abilities, and when he had done, turned round to where the man was lying and bid him farewell.
From that day forward the circumstances of both the neighbours were on an equality, for each now kept his own.

Nis by John Bauer

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

fairytale friday with the troll turned cat

Troll turning into a mountain

vintage animal photography found at Getty Images

The Troll turned Cat
About a quarter of a mile from Soroe lies Pedersborg, and a little farther on is the town of Lyng.  Just between these towns is a hill called Brondhoi (Spring-hill), said to be inhabited by the Troll people.
There goes a story that there was once among these Troll people of Brondhoi an old crossgrained curmudgeon of a Troll, whom the rest nicknamed Knurremurre (Rumble-grumble), because he was evermore the cause of noise and uproar within the hill.  This Knurremurre having discovered what he thought to be too great a degree of intimacy between his young wife and a young Troll of the society, took this in such ill part, that he vowed vengeance, swearing he would have the life of the young one.  The latter, accordingly, thought it would be his best course to be off out of the hill till better times; so, turning himself into a noble tortoise shell tomcat, he one fine morning quitted his old residence, and journeyed down to the neighbouring town of Lyng, where he established himself in the house of an honest poorman named Plat.
Here he lived for a long time comfortable and easy, with nothing to annoy him, and was as happy as any tomcat or Troll crossed in love well could be.  He got every day plenty of milk and good groute to eat, and lay the whole day long at his ease in a warm armchair behind the stove.
Plat happened one evening to come home rather late, and as he entered the room the cat was sitting in his usual place, scraping meal-groute out of a pot, and licking the pot itself carefully.  "Harkye, dame," said Plat, as he came in at the door, "till I tell you what happened to me on the road.  Just as I was coming past Brondhoi, there came out a Troll, and he called out to me, and said,
"Harkye Plat,
Tell your cat,
That Knurremurre is dead."
The moment the cat heard these words, he tumbled the pot down on the floor, sprang out of the chair, and stood up on his hind-legs.  Then, as he hurried out of the door, he cried out with exultation, "What! is Knurremurre dead?  Then I may go home as fast as I please."  And so saying he scampered off to the hill, to the amazement of honest Plat; and it is likely lost no time in making his advances to the young widow.

black cat at the feet of a woman

scene from The Empty Boy illustrated by John Bauer

fairytale friday and scandanavia

King Olof and The Little People by W. J. Wiegand

Scandinavian
The Norwegians call the Elves Huldrafolk.
The little underground Elves, who are believed to dwell 
under the houses of mankind, are described as sportive 
and mischievous, and as imitating all the actions of men. 
They are said to love cleanliness about the house and place, 
and to reward such servants as are neat and. cleanly.  

The Elves are extremely fond of dancing in the meadows, 
where they form those circles of a livelier green which from 
them are called Elf-dance (Elfdans).  When the country 
people see the morning stripes along the dewy grass in the 
woods and meadows, they say the Elves have been 
dancing there.  If any one should at midnight get within 
their circle, they become visible to him, and they may then 
elude him.  It is not every one that can see the Elves; 
and one person may see them dancing while another 
perceives nothing.  Sunday children, as they are called,  
i.e. those born on Sunday, are remarkable for possessing this 
property of seeing Elves and similar beings.  The Elves, however, 
have the power to bestow this gift on whomsoever they please. 
People also used to speak of Elf-books which they gave to those 
whom they loved, and which enabled them to foretell future events.
The Elves often sit in little stones that are of a circular form, 
and are called Elf-mills (Elf-quärnor); the sound of their voice 
is said to be sweet and soft like the air.

Sir Olof he rode out at early day,
And so came he unto an Elve-dance gay.
The dance it goes well,
So well in the grove.

The Elve-father reached out his white hand free,
"Come, come, Sir Olof, tread the dance with me."
The dance it goes well,
So well in the grove.

"O nought I will, and nought I may,
To-morrow will be my wedding-day.'
The dance it goes well,
So well in the grove.

And the Elve-mother reached out her white hand free,
"Come, come, Sir Olof, tread the dance with me."
The dance it goes well,
So well in the grove.

"O nought I will, and nought I may,
To-morrow will be my wedding-day."
The dance.it goes well,
So well in the grove.

And the Elve-sister reached out her white hand free,
"Come, come, Sir Olof, tread the dance with me."
The dance it goes well,
So well in the grove.

"O nought I will, and nought I may,
To-morrow will be my wedding-day."
The dance it goes well,
So well in the grove.

And the bride she spake with her bride-maids so,
"What may it mean that the bells thus go?"
The dance it goes well,
So well in the grove.

"Tis the custom of this our isle," they replied;
"Each young swain ringeth home his bride."
The dance it goes well,
So well in the grove.

"And the truth from you to conceal I fear,
Sir Olof is dead, and lies on his bier."
The dance it goes well,
So well in the grove.

And on the morrow, ere light was the day,
In Sir Olof's house three corpses lay.
The dance it goes well,
So well in the grove.

 It was Sir Olof, his bonny bride,
 And eke his mother, of sorrow she died.
 The dance it goes well,
 So well in the grove.

Svenska Visor, iii. 158, as sung iii Upland and East Gothland