Part 6

Shortly after King Charles XI. had confiscated most of the property of the nobility to the use of the crown, he came, one day, while upon one of his journeys to Höjentorp, where his aunt on his father’s side, Maria Eufrosyna, lived.

On the stairs, as he was about to enter her dwelling, he was met by her and at once saluted with a sound box on the ear. Astounded, the king burst out:

“It is fortunate that it is I whom you have struck! but why are you in such a combative mood, my aunt?”

“Why?” said the countess. “Because you have taken all my possessions from me.”

Conducting the king to the dining hall, the countess sat before him to eat a herring’s tail and an oat cake.

“Have you no better fare for me than this?” asked the king.

“No,” replied the lady; “as you have spread the cloth so must you dine.”

“Aunt,” said the king, “if you will give me your gold and silver, I will provide for you richly to your death.”

“Shame on you!” interrupted the countess. “Will you not allow me to keep so little as my gold and silver, either?” and, advancing upon him, she gave him a second box on the ear, which so alarmed the king that he beat a hasty retreat and commanded that the countess be left in peaceful possession of her property to the end of her days.

THE GIANT OF SKALUNDA.

On Skalunda Hill, near Skalunda Church, there lived, in olden times, a giant, who, much annoyed by the ringing of the church bells, was finally compelled to move away, and took up his residence on an island, far away in the North Sea. One time a ship was wrecked upon this island, and among those of her crew rescued were several men from Skalunda.

“Where are you from?” inquired the giant, who was now old and blind, and was stretched out warming himself before a fire of logs.

“We are from Skalunda, if you wish to know,” said one of the men.

“Give me your hand, for I wish to know if still there is warm blood in Sweden,” said the giant.

The man, afraid of the grasp of the giant, drew a glowing iron rod from the fire, which he extended to the giant, who, grasping it with great force, squeezed it until the iron ran between his fingers.

“Ah, yes, there is still warm blood in Sweden,” exclaimed he, “but does Skalunda Hill still exist?”

“No, the birds have scratched it down,” answered the man.

“It could not stand,” remarked the giant, “for my wife and daughter built it one Sunday morning. But how is it with Halle and Hunneberg? They remain, surely, for I myself built them.”

Upon receiving a reply in the affirmative, he asked if Karin, a giantess, still lived, and when to this he was answered yes, he gave them a belt and bade them take it to Karin and say to her that she must wear it in his memory.

The men took the belt, and upon their return home gave it to Karin, but, before she would put it upon herself, she wrapped it around an oak which was growing near by. Hardly was this done when the oak was torn from the ground, and sailed off northward as if in a gale. In the ground where the oak stood, there was left a deep pit, and here to-day is pointed out the best spring in Stommen.

THE TROLLS IN RESSLARED.

In a mountain called Räfvakullen, Fox Hill, near the Church of Resslared, Trolls, it is said, have lived since long before the building of the church.

When the church was completed and the bell hung in the tower, the priest, as was the custom, proceeded to read prayers over it to protect it from the power of the Trolls. But his prayers lacked the expected efficacy, for he had not yet finished when the Trolls took the bell and sunk it in the “Troll Hole” near the church.

A new bell was cast and hung, and this time the provost, who was more learned, was selected to consecrate it. The provost also failed to hit upon the right prayers, for the following Sunday, when the bell was about to be used for the first time, it flew through the apertures in the tower and was broken on the roof of the church.

Again a bell was cast, and this time, as priest and provost seemed to be powerless against the Trolls, the Bishop of Skara was sent for. His prayers were effectual, and the bell was not again disturbed.

The Trolls thereafter dwelt in harmony with their neighbors, and especially with the parishioners of Resslared. From the latter the Trolls were wont to borrow food and drink, which they always returned two-fold.

In time the first residents died off, and new people took their places. The newcomers were well provided with this world’s goods, even to being wealthy, but they were niggardly and uncharitable.

One day the “mother” of the Trolls went, as was her custom of old, to a cottage, and asked the housewife if she could lend her a measure of meal.

“No, that is out of the question! I have none in the house!” said the woman.

“Very well! It is as you say, of course,” replied the Troll, “but maybe you can lend me a can or two of ale. My husband is away, and he will be very thirsty when he returns.”

“No, I can’t do that. My ale cans are all empty,” answered the housewife.

“Very good! Maybe you can lend me a little milk for my little child that is sick in the mountain.”

“Milk! Where should I get milk? My cows are all farrow,” said the woman.

“Very well,” said the Troll woman, and went her way.

The housewife laughed in her sleeve, and thought that she had escaped the Trolls cheaply; but when she inspected her larder it was found that she had really told the truth to the Troll woman. The meal boxes were swept clean, the ale barrels were empty, and the new milch cows, to the last one, farrow. Ever after that the plenty that had heretofore been was wanting, until finally the people were compelled to sell out and move away.

BISHOP SVEDBERG AND THE DEVIL.

Bishop Svedberg, of Skara, was a very pious man and a mighty preacher, therefore, intolerable to the devil.

One night the Bishop set out from Skara to his bishopric in Brunsbo. When he was on the way some distance, the wagon began to run from side to side of the road, and finally one of the hind wheels fell off and rolled away into the ditch.

The driver called the attention of the Bishop to this, and remarked that they could go no farther.

“Don’t trouble yourself about that,” said the Bishop. “Throw the wheel into the rear of the wagon and we will go along.”

The servant thought this a strange command, but did as directed, and the journey was continued to Brunsbo without further adventure.

Arriving at the inn, the Bishop directed the servant to go to the kitchen and bring a light.

“Look, now,” said the Bishop to the servant upon his return, “and you shall see who has been the fourth wheel,” at the same time springing from the wagon.

The servant turned the light in the direction indicated, where he saw none other than the devil himself, standing in the place of the wheel, with the axle in his hands.

The devil soon found an opportunity for revenge. One night a great fire spread over Brunsbo, and before morning the whole place was burned to the ground.

The Bishop was at no loss to know who had played him this foul trick, and called the devil to account for the devastation.

“Verily, you shall know,” said the devil. “Your maid was down in the pantry, and there snuffed the candle. Passing by, I took the snuffing and with it set fire to the place.”

The Bishop was obliged to be content with this answer, but in order that the devil should do him no further harm he sent him, with all his imps, to hell.

THE TREASURE IN SÄBY CREEK.

On the estate of Säby, in the parish of Hassle, lived, in former days, a gentleman so rich that he could have purchased half of the territory of Vestergötland, but so miserly that he could not find it in his heart to spend money for necessary food.

When he became aged, and knew that his life was drawing to a close, he began to ponder what he should do with his wealth to prevent its falling into the hands of people not akin to him, and finally he arrived at what he thought a wise determination.

One Sunday, when the people of the house were all in church, he loaded his gold and silver upon a golden wagon and drew it down to Säby Creek, where he sank it in the deepest hole he could find. Reaching home again, he felt more than usually content, and laid himself down upon his bed, where he was found upon the return of the people from church.

When a treasure has been concealed seven years, the Red Spirit is said to take possession of it, and it is then called “Dragon’s property.” Over the spot where the treasure lies a blue flame is seen to flutter at night time, and it is said the dragons are then polishing their treasure.

When the seven years had passed the dragon light was seen over Säby Creek, now for the first time revealing where the miser had deposited his wealth. Many efforts were made to recover the costly wagon and its load, but neither horses nor oxen were found with strength enough to lift it from the hole.

About this time it happened that a farmer, returning from the market of Skagersholm, where he had been with a load of produce, found quarters for the night with an old man at Tveden. The evening conversation turned upon the hidden treasure, and the many unsuccessful attempts to recover it that had been made, when the old man instructed his guest to procure a pair of bull calves, upon which there should not be a single black hair, and to feed them for three years on skimmed milk, whereby they would acquire the necessary strength to drag the wagon out of the creek.

After great trouble the farmer was fortunate enough to find the desired white calves, and he at once set about rearing them as instructed. But one time the girl who had care of the calves accidentally spilled some of the milk set apart for one of them, and, in order to have the pail full, she replaced the milk with water and gave it to the calf as if nothing had happened. Meantime the calves grew up on their excellent food to large and powerful oxen.

When they were three years old the farmer drove them to the creek and hitched them to the golden wagon. It was heavy, but the calves put their shoulders to it, and had raised it half way from the hole, when one of them fell upon his knees, and the wagon sank back to its old resting-place. The farmer yoked them to it again, but just as the wagon was about to be landed safely, the same bull fell to its knees a second time, so it went time after time, until, finally, the owner saw that one of the bulls was weaker than the other.

When the wagon sank back the last time a bubbling and murmuring came up from the depths and a smothered voice was heard to mutter:

“Your skimmed milk calves can’t draw my wagon out.” Whereupon the farmer understood that to trouble himself further would be useless, since when no attempts have been made to secure the treasure.

THE TOMTS. [19]

In descriptions of Tomts we are told that they look like little men well along in years, and in size about that of a child three or fours years old, as a rule clad in coarse gray clothes and wearing red caps upon their heads. They usually make the pantry or barn their abiding-place, where they busy themselves night and day, and keep watch over the household arrangements. When the servants are to go to threshing, or other work requiring early rising, they are awakened by the Tomts. If there is building going on, it is a good sign if the Tomts are heard chopping and pounding during the hours of rest for the workmen. In the forge where the Tomts have established themselves, the smith may take his rest in confidence that they will awaken him by a blow on the sole of the foot when it is time for him to turn the iron. Formerly no iron was worked on “Tomt night,” which they reserved for purposes of their own. On this night, were one to peek through the cracks of the door, the little people would be discovered working silver bars, or turning their own legs under the hammer.

It is believed that in the house or community where there is order and prosperity the Tomts are resident, but in the house where proper respect is lacking, or where there is a want of order and cleanliness, they will not remain, and it will follow that the cup-board and corn-crib will be empty, the cattle will not thrive, and the peasant will be reduced to extreme poverty and want.

It happened thus to a farmer that he had never finished his threshing before spring, although he could not find that he had harvested more grain than others of his neighbors. To discover, if might be, the source of such plenty, he one day hid himself in the barn, whence he saw a multitude of Tomts come, each bearing a stalk of rye, among them one not larger than a man’s thumb, bearing a straw upon his shoulders.

“Why do you puff so hard?” said the farmer from his hiding-place, “your burden is not so great.”

“His burden is according to his strength, for he is but one night old,” answered one of the Tomts, “but hereafter you shall have less.”

From that day all luck disappeared from the farmer’s house, and finally he was reduced to beggary.

In many districts it has been the custom to set out a bowl of mush for the fairies on Christmas eve.

In the parish of Nyhil there are two estates lying near each other, and both called Tobo. On one was a Tomt, who, on Christmas eve, was usually entertained with wheaten mush and honey. One time the mush was so warm when it was set out that the honey melted. When the Tomt came to the place and failed to find his honey as heretofore, he became so angry that he went to the stable and choked one of the cows to death. After having done this he returned and ate the mush, and, upon emptying the dish, found the honey in the bottom. Repenting his deed of a few minutes before, he carried the dead cow to a neighboring farm and led therefrom a similar cow with which to replace the one he had killed. During his absence the women had been to the barn and returned to the house, where the loss was reported to the men, but when the latter arrived at the cow-shed the missing cow had apparently returned. The next day they heard of the dead cow on the adjoining farm, and understood that the Tomts had been at work.

In one place, in the municipality of Ydre, a housewife remarked that however much she took of meal from the bins there seemed to be no diminution of the store, but rather an augmentation. One day when she went to the larder she espied, through the chinks of the door, a little man sifting meal with all his might.

Noticing that his clothes were very much worn, she thought to reward him for his labor and the good he had brought her, and made him a new suit, which she hung upon the meal bin, hiding herself to see what he would think of his new clothes. When the Tomt came again he noticed the new garments, and at once exchanged his tattered ones for the better, but when he began to sift and found that the meal made his fine clothes dusty he threw the sieve into the corner and said:

“Junker Grand is dusting himself. He shall sift no more.”

THE CAT OF NORRHULT. [20]

On the estate of Norrhult, in the parish of Rumskulla, the people in olden times were very much troubled by Trolls and ghosts. The disturbances finally became so unbearable that they were compelled to desert house and home, and seek an asylum with their neighbors. One old man was left behind, and he, because he was so feeble that he could not move with the rest.

Some time thereafter, there came one evening a man having with him a bear, and asked for lodgings for himself and companion. The old man consented, but expressed doubts about his guest being able to endure the disturbances that were likely to occur during the night.

The stranger replied that he was not afraid of noises, and laid himself down, with his bear, near the old man’s bed.

Only a few hours had passed, when a multitude of Trolls came into the hut and began their usual clatter. Some of them built the fire in the fireplace, others set the kettle upon the fire, and others again put into the kettle a mess of filth, such as lizards, frogs, worms, etc.

When the mess was cooked, the table was laid and the Trolls sat down to the repast. One of them threw a worm to the bear, and said:

“Will you have a fish, Kitty?”

Another went to the bear keeper and asked him if he would not have some of their food. At this the latter let loose the bear, which struck about him so lustily that soon the whole swarm was flying through the door.

Some time after, the door was again opened, and a Troll with mouth so large that it filled the whole opening peeked in. “Sic him!” said the bear keeper, and the bear soon hunted him away also.

In the morning the stranger gathered the people of the village around him and directed them to raise a cross upon the estate, and to engrave a prayer on Cross Mountain, where the Trolls dwelt, and they would be freed from their troublesome visitors.

Seven years later a resident of Norrhult went to Norrköping. On his way home he met a man who asked him where he came from, and, upon being informed, claimed to be a neighbor, and invited the peasant to ride with him on his black horse. Away they went at a lively trot along the road, the peasant supposed, but in fact high up in the air. When it became quite dark the horse stumbled so that the peasant came near falling off.

“It is well you were able to hold on,” said the horseman. “That was the point of the steeple of Linköping’s cathedral that the horse stumbled against. Listen!” continued he. “Seven years ago I visited Norrhult. You then had a vicious cat there; is it still alive?”

“Yes, truly, and many more,” said the peasant.

After a time the rider checked his horse and bade the peasant dismount. When the latter looked around him he found himself at Cross Mountain, near his home.

Some time later another Troll came to the peasant’s cottage and asked if that great savage cat still lived.

“Look out!” said the peasant, “she is lying there on the oven, and has seven young ones, all worse than she.”

“Oh!” cried the Troll, and rushed for the door. From that time no Trolls have ever visited Norrhult.

LADY BARBRO OF BROKIND. [21]

On the estate of Brokind, in the parish of Vardsnäs, dwelt, in days gone by, a rich and distinguished lady named Barbro, who was so hard-hearted and severe with her dependents that for the least transgression they were bound, their hands behind their backs, and cast into prison, where, to add to their misery, she caused a table, upon which a bountiful supply of food and drink was placed, to be spread before them, which, of course, bound as they were, they could not reach. Upon complaint being made to her that the prisoners were perishing from hunger and thirst, she would reply, laughingly: “They have both food and drink; if they will not partake of it the fault is theirs, not mine.”

Thus the prison at Brokind was known far and wide, and the spot where it stood is to this day called Kisthagen, in memory of it.

When Lady Barbro finally died she was buried in the grave with her forefathers, in the cathedral of Linköping, but this was followed by such ghostly disturbances that it became necessary to take her body up, when it was interred in the churchyard of Vardsnäs.

Neither was she at rest here, whereupon, at the suggestion of one of the wiser men of the community, her body was again taken up, and, drawn by a yoke of twin oxen, was conveyed to a swamp, where it was deposited and a pole thrust through both coffin and corpse. Ever after, at nightfall, an unearthly noise was heard in the swamp, and the cry of “Barbro, pole! Barbro, pole!”

The spirit was, for the time being, quieted, but, as with ghosts in all old places, it returned after a time, and often a light is seen in the large, uninhabited building at Brokind.

THE URKO OF NORTH WIJ. [22]

From the point where the river Bulsjö empties into Lake Sommen, extending in a northerly direction for about eight miles, bordering the parishes of North Wij and Asby, nearly up to a point called Hornäs, stretches the principal fjord, one of several branching off from the large lake.

Near Vishult, in the first named of these parishes, descending to the lake from the elevation that follows its west shores, is a wall-like precipice, Urberg, which, from the lake, presents an especially magnificent view, as well in its height and length, and in its wood-crowned top, as in the wild confusion of rocks at its base, where, among the jumble of piled-up slabs of stones, gape large openings, into which only the imagination dares to intrude.

From this point the mountain range extends southward toward Tulleram, and northward, along the shore of Lake Sjöhult, under the name of Tjorgaberg, until it ends in an agglomeration of rocks called Knut’s Den.

In this mountain dwells the Urko, a monster cow of traditionary massiveness, which, in former times, when she was yet loose, plowed the earth, making what is now Lake Sommen and its many fjords. At last she was captured and fettered by a Troll man from Tulleram, who squeezed a horseshoe around the furious animal’s neck and confined her in Urberg. For food she has before her a large cow-hide from which she may eat a hair each Christmas eve, but when all the hairs are consumed, she will be liberated and the destruction of Ydre and all the world is to follow.

But even before this she will be liberated from her prison if Ydre is crossed by a king whom she follows and kills if she can catch him before he has crossed to the confines of the territory.