Part 7

It happened one time that a king named Frode, or Fluga, passed through Ydre, and, conscious of the danger, hurried to reach the boundaries, but, believing he had already passed them, he halted on the confines at Fruhammer, or, as the place was formerly called, Flude, or Flugehammer, where he was overtaken and gored to death by the monster. In confirmation of this incident, his grave, marked by four stones, is to this day pointed out.

Another narrative, which, however, is known only in the southeastern part of the territory, relates that another king, unconscious of the danger accompanying travel in the neighborhood, passed unharmed over the border, and had reached the estate of Kalleberg, when he heard behind him the dreadful bellowing of the monster in full chase after him. The king hastened away as speedily as possible. The cow monster, unable to check its mad gallop at the border, rushed over some distance to the place where the king first paused, where, in the gravel-mixed field, she pawed up a round hole of several hundred feet in breadth, which became a bog, whose border, especially upon the north side, is surrounded by a broad wall of the upheaved earth.

Still, at times, especially preceding a storm, the Urko is heard rattling its fetters in the mountain, and both upon the mountain and down near the shore of the lake by times.

Extraordinary things are said to happen. One and another of the residents thereabouts assert even that they have seen the Urko in her magnificent rooms and halls, which the neighbors do not for a moment doubt.

THE TROLL SHOES.

Near Kölefors, in the jurisdiction of Kinda, lived, a long time ago, an old woman, who, as the saying goes, was accustomed, during Easter week, to go to Blåkulla.

Late one Passion Wednesday evening, as was usual with witches, she lashed her pack in readiness for the night, to follow her comrades in their wanderings. In order that the start should be accompanied by as few hindrances as possible, she had greased her shoes and stood them by the fireplace to dry.

In the dusk of the evening there came to her hut another old woman, tired and wet through from the rain, and asked permission to remain over night. To this the witch would not consent, but agreed to allow the woman to remain until she had dried her soggy shoes before the fire, while she, unwilling to be under the same roof with her guest, remained outside.

After a time the fire died out, and it became so dark in the hut that when the stranger undertook to find her shoes, in order to continue her journey, she got and put on the witch’s shoes instead. Hardly had she passed out through the door when the shoes jerked her legs up into the air and stood her head downward, without, however, lifting her into the air and carrying her away as would have been if the witch’s broom had been in her hand.

In this condition the old woman and the shoes struggled through the night. Now the shoes stood her on her head and dragged her along the ground, now the woman succeeded in grasping a bush or root, and was able to regain her feet again for a time.

In the end, near morning, a man walking past, noticed her and hastened to her relief. Answering her earnest pleading the man poked off one of the shoes with a stick, whereupon, instantly, shoe and stick flew into the air and vanished in the twinkling of an eye. After the adventures of the night the old Troll woman was so weakened that she fell into a hole, which is pointed out to this day, and is called “The Troll Woman’s Pit.”

THE WOOD AND THE SEA NYMPHS. [23]

Both wood nymphs and sea nymphs belong to the giant family, and thus are related.

They often hold communication with each other, although the wood nymphs always hold themselves a little above their cousins, which frequently occasions differences between them.

A peasant, lying in the woods on the shores of Lake Ömmeln, heard early one morning voices at the lake side engaged in vehement conversation. Conjecturing that it was the wood nymphs and sea nymphs quarreling, he crept through the underbrush to a spot near where they sat, and listened to the following dialogue:

Sea Nymph—“You shall not say that you are better than I, for I have five golden halls and fifty silver cans in each hall.”

Wood Nymph—“I have a mountain which is three miles long and six thousand feet high, and under that mountain is another, ten times higher and formed entirely of bones of the people I have killed.”

When the peasant heard this he became so alarmed that he ran a league away, without stopping. Thus he did not learn which was victorious, but it was the wood nymphs without doubt, as they have always been a little superior to the others.

THE MOUNTAIN KITCHEN. [24]

In the parish of Bolsta there lived, many years ago, a man named Slottbon. One summer evening he rode his horse to pasture up toward Dalo Mountain. Just as he let the horse go, and was turning to go home, a black man confronted him and asked him if he did not wish to see the mountain kitchen.

Slottbon acquiesced and followed his conductor into the mountain, where it seemed to him certain that he must lose his senses among the glitter of gold and silver utensils of the kitchen, with which he was surrounded.

The mountain man inquired of his guest if he should order something to eat for him, to which Slottbon assented, and, while his host was absent preparing the repast, improved the opportunity to gather up all the gold and silver his leather apron would hold, and with it hasten away with all possible speed, not slacking his pace until he came to a gravel pit, where it occurred to him to look at his treasure. Seating himself upon a stone, he began to throw the vessels, one after the other, upon the ground, where, as fast as they were thrown down, they were turned into serpents.

Thoroughly frightened at the sight, he dropped his whole burden and took to his heels, followed closely by the wriggling mass of enormous reptiles. Finally, when he had about given himself up for lost, he came to and sprang upon the trunk of a fallen tree and cried out, “God save me, poor sinner!” and in the twinkling of an eye the serpents vanished.

BURIED ALIVE. [25]

Many years ago an epidemic swept over Dalland, to which thousands of persons fell victims. Many people fled to the forests, or to other regions; the churches were deserted, and those remaining were not enough to bury the dead. At this stage an old Finlander came along, who informed the few survivors that they need not hope for cessation of the scourge until they had buried some living thing.

The advice was followed. First a cock was buried alive, but the plague continued as violent as ever; next, a goat, but this also proved ineffectual. At last a poor boy, who frequented the neighborhood, begging, was lured to a wood-covered hill at the point where the river Daleborg empties into Lake Venem. Here a deep hole was dug, the boy meantime sitting near, enjoying a piece of bread and butter that had been given him. When the grave was deep enough the boy was dropped into it and the diggers began hurriedly to shovel the dirt upon him. The lad begged and prayed them not to throw dirt upon his bread and butter, but the spades flew faster, and in a few minutes, still alive, he was entirely covered and left to his fate.

Whether this stayed the plague is not known, but many who after night pass the hill, hear, it is said, a voice as if from a dying child, crying, “Buried alive! buried alive!”

JONAS SPITS. [26]

At Helgy, in the parish of Sunne, lived a warrior, by name Jonas Spits, who, in wars against the Russians and others, had gained for himself the reputation of a brave man.

It so happened that there was a revolt in the land, and the king sent a message to Spits, commanding his services in battle. One Sunday morning, after the troops had assembled in the field, Spits was engaged in grinding his sword.

“This is right!” said the king. “There will be fighting to-morrow; let me see that you make good use of your weapon then.”

“I shall not fail you,” answered Spits, and continued his grinding.

The next day brought a bloody conflict, in which Spits’ sword was not idle until the evening and the conclusion of the battle, when the king asked for him.

“Here I am,” answered Spits, bowing before him.

“Let me see your sword,” said the king, “and know what services you have done this day.”

“Here it is,” said Spits, at the same time reaching for the weapon covered with blood.

“Good!” said the king. “I’ll gild this sword for you.” Whereupon he knighted him and commanded that he should be called “The Spits of Gyllenspits.”

LADY RANGELA OF EDSHOLM.

A few miles west of Karlstad, on a little island near Slottsbrosund, was located, in former days, an old fortress called Asa, or Edsholm Castle, otherwise notorious as the residence of the cruel stewards of Vestersysslet.

A niggardly and cruel woman, Lady Rangela, for a time owned Edsholm and all the land thereabout. She soon made herself bitterly hated by the peasantry because of the oppressions she heaped upon them, and especially because of the unreasonable toll she demanded every time they crossed the castle bridge.

According to agreement, two peasants went one day, the one to the top of Edsholm Mountain and the second to a mountain on the other side of the sound near the castle, whereupon the following conversation was carried on between them, in a loud voice:

“My dear neighbor, lend me your large kettle.”

“What do you want with it?”

“I want to cook Lady Rangela of Edsholm Castle, because she demands too high toll from passers over the bridge.”

“You shall have it gladly.”

This was heard at the castle, and Lady Rangela, believing it to be the Trolls planning her destruction, hurriedly packed her treasures and deserted Edsholm. She had, however, gone no further than to Rangelsund, or Ransund, which is named after her, when a severe storm overtook her and sunk the boat, with people, treasure and all.

When the peasantry learned what had happened, they poured into the castle and razed it to the ground, since when there has been nothing to indicate its existence more than a few heaps of gravel.

SAXE OF SAXEHOLM.

At the mouth of the Bay of Olme, upon a little island, which on its west side is connected with the island of Kumel, is situated the castle of Saxeholm.

Here dwelt, in former days, a powerful chief, by name Saxe, the greater part of whose time was spent in bloody warfare, in which occupation he seemed to find great success and pleasure. At home he was gloomy and reserved, and very cruel to his wife.

Finally, becoming wearied by her husband’s continued harshness, she determined to elope with another who better understood how to reward her love.

One time when Saxe was at Christmas matins in the church at Varnum, his wife set fire to the castle, shut the gates and threw the key over the wall into the garden outside. Preceding this she had commanded that her horses be shod with shoes reversed, thus hoping to bewilder her pursuers, then, with her lover and a few trusty servants, the castle was deserted, and her way taken over the ice-covered bay.

When Saxe came home, he found his castle wrapped in flames, and the following lines written on the outer gate:

“Within is burning Saxe’s knout, And Saxe the cruel must lie without.”

What the chief’s thoughts were at such a greeting is not related. Meantime his wife, before she left the castle, had deposited, in one of the vaults, a chest filled with valuables, and had declared that no human power should move it therefrom.

Many attempts have since been made to unearth this treasure, and it is said that more than once the searchers have so far succeeded as to get a glimpse of the iron-bound chest, but always at this point they have been frightened away by an awful voice calling out from the depths of the vault, “Don’t come here!”

THE POLITE COAL BURNER. [27]

At Vejefors forge, up near the northern frontier, there was, many years ago, a charcoal burner who, however vigilant he might be, always had to rebuild and burn his stacks. Now, the wood was not burned enough, again, poorly burned, and a thousand annoyances pursued him in his work.

One evening, as he sat in his hut mending his tools, a beautiful maiden entered, and, complaining that she was almost frozen, asked permission to warm herself at the fire.

The coal burner, who had been long in the woods, understood at once that his visitor was a wood nymph, beautiful and enchanting when seen face to face, but, when seen behind, is adorned with a bushy fox tail.

When she had warmed herself in front awhile, she turned her back to the fire, and the coal burner was given an opportunity to see the tail, whereupon, with unexpected courtesy, he addressed his guest;

“Miss, look out for your train, please!”

That nice name for her troublesome appendage won the Troll woman’s affections, and from that day everything went admirably with the coal burner.

THE HARVESTERS.

In the parish of Ekshärad lies a mountain, Säljeberg, which was formerly the dwelling place of Trolls and giants, now exterminated.

Near the mountain dwelt a farmer, on one of the best farms in the parish. One summer evening he went over his fields admiring the seas of golden grain and exulting at the abundant harvest promised him.

“God be praised for this crop,” said he. “If I now could have all these fields harvested by early morning I would give my best cow.”

Hereupon he returned to his home and went to bed. Through the whole night the noise of reaping was heard in the fields and the Trolls calling:

“Make bands and bind; let the farmer dry it himself.”

As soon as sunrise the farmer was upon his feet and out into the fields, where, to his indescribable amazement, he saw them reaped and the grain lying in bundles upon the ground. Guessing that the Trolls had had a hand in the work, he sprang to the stable, there to find a stall empty and his best cow gone.

THE ULFGRYT STONES.

In the peak of Mount Garphytte, one of the many mountain tops that raise themselves over Kilseberger, dwelt, in former days, a giant named Rise.

One morning, as he went from his grotto out into the day, a strange sound, which caused him to pause, greeted his ear. He listened for some time, then returned into the mountain and called his wife.

“Put the smallest of those stones that lie upon the peak into your garter and sling it at that gray cow that goes tinkling along down there by Hjelmaren!” said he, meaning the new church just completed at Orebro, whose bells were that morning ringing for the first time in the service of the Lord.

The giantess, as she was commanded, took a stone as large as a house and threw it at the church, some eight or ten miles distant.

“That was a poor throw,” said the giant, when the stone fell down on the plain of Rumbo. “Bring here the band; you shall see a throw that will do its work,” whereupon he adjusted a monstrous stone in his wife’s garter, and, swinging it a few times through the air, let it go with all his power toward the new church.

“Great in command, but little in power,” said the giant woman, when the stone fell upon the one she had thrown, and was broken into a thousand pieces.

At the same time the bell rung out with wonderful clearness. Furious with rage, he tore up two large stones, took one under each arm, and set out for Orebro. Intelligence having reached the residents of Orebro that the giant was coming, consternation was general and good advice dear.

Finally, an old man undertook to save the church. In great haste he gathered up all the worn-out shoes he could find, put them in a sack, and set out to meet the giant. At Ulfgryt, in Toby, he met the giant, who was anything but gentle in appearance.

“How far is it to Orebro?” asked Rise.

“I can’t say exactly,” answered the old man, in an innocent manner, “but it is long a way, you will find, for it is seven years since I left there, and I have worn out all these shoes on the way.”

“Then let him who will, go there, but I will not,” said the giant, and threw the stones from him to the ground with such force that they rang as they struck it.

The stones lie there by the roadside even to-day, but the most remarkable circumstance is that they turn over whenever the church bells in Orebro are rung.

RUGGA BRIDGE. [28]

In the last years of the fourteenth century there lived in Strengnäs, the well-known bishop, Konrad Rugga, or Bishop Cort, as he was called by the people. Holding his office at a time when the glory of Papacy was at its height, it is natural that his power was great and influence unusual. Yet tradition has not been content with this, but has magnified his endowments to the almost supernatural.

In order to maintain discipline and order in his bishopric he was wont to travel from place to place in his diocese, always visiting in these journeys the convent of Riseberga.

During one of these official tours he purchased in Tangerosa, three small farms, and made of them a large domain, which he improved and called Trystorp—three farms—but from Riseberga to Trystorp it is a long distance, and as the Bishop was not unskilled in constructing underground ways—he having already completed one such under the Mälar from Strengnäs to his residence, Tynnelsö—he tunneled a passage from the monastery to Trystorp under Logsjö. For the public he built a road above ground, which is the same that now leads to Trystorp around the north shore of Logsjö.

Over a stream, or at that time a little river, which, just below Riseberga, runs from the south in a northerly course, he built a substantial bridge of sandstone. The bridge is even to-day called Rugga’s bridge or more commonly Ruggebro.

Not long after the death of Bishop Cort the Papal power was forced to yield in Sweden to the doctrines of Luther and Riseberga to share the fate of other convents in the land.

It was now determined to move one of the bells of the convent to Edsberg, where it was to call the people together to hear the new message of truth. But the Bishop’s powerful spirit seemed even now to be present on earth, for when they who bore the bell reached the middle of Ruggebro, the burden was overthrown by an unseen hand into the creek, where it disappeared.

Many have since seen the bell, and one and another have even succeeded in raising it half way out of the water, but it has always escaped and sunk back into the creek bed, scoffing at the weakness of the covetous laborers.

KATE OF YSÄTTER.

The inhabitants of Närike have many stories to relate about an apparition, called Kate of Ysätter, that in olden times dwelt in Öster Närike’s forests, but chiefly in the swamps of Ysätter, in the parish of Asker.

According to the belief of the old people, she existed through many generations, although she usually made her appearance as a young girl beautifully clad, and possessing a head of hair of extraordinary length. She was often seen by hunters sitting upon a stump, combing her hair which reached to the ground. Those who went to the swamps to wash their clothes sometimes saw her at a little distance also washing garments which were of an unusual whiteness. To ugly old women she was always a terror, and it seemed to be a pleasure to her to mimic them by keeping time with their motions, but whenever she showed herself it was for a few seconds only, and should one turn his eyes from her, however little, she was gone.

In Öster Närike, the routes she took were shown, and many complaints were heard that she trampled the grain down in her constant journeys back and forth. Often, especially in the night time, her awful laugh was heard from her perch on a tree or top of a rock, when she succeeded in alluring some one from his path, caused him to fall with his load, or break his harness. Her laugh was like a magpie’s, and caused the blood of one helpless against her pranks to stand still.

Others who endeavored to stand well with her she assisted in many instances. “She has gone, the lightning has killed her as the others,” say the old people, not yet won over to the skepticism of the present time.

Among those who enjoyed her special favor was a hunter, Bottorpa Lasse. He was such a skillful shot that if only he stepped out upon the porch and called a bird, or drew the picture of an animal upon the wall of the barn, the game he wished was brought within range of his gun.

One time Lasse invited his neighbors to accompany him on a hunt, and, expecting to bag an abundance of game, they were not slow to accept the invitation. They betook themselves in the evening to the woods, where they found shelter in a coal burner’s hut, and prepared to begin the hunt early in the morning.

Along in the night Kate entered the hut, and requested the hunters to show her their guns. She first examined those of the hunter’s neighbors, but soon returned them, exclaiming, “Fie!” She then took Lasse’s gun, blew down the barrel, examined the priming and handed it back exclaiming, “Good, good, my boy!” What this signified was soon manifested, when Lasse secured a fine lot of game and the others did not so much as get a shot.

It is further related of Kate of Ysätter, that at the burning of the clock tower of Asker, in the year 1750, when even the church was in flames and in great danger of destruction, Kate was seen standing on the roof, opposing their progress.

The last time she made her presence known was at a harvest gathering in the fields of Ysätter. The harvesters had ceased labor to eat their luncheon, and when they had eaten themselves into a good humor, engaging in conversation, which turned upon Kate, a young man declared he would like nothing better than to catch her and give her a good whipping for the vexations she had produced in the world. Instantly a terrific crash was heard in an enclosure near by, and the youth received a blow in the face that caused the blood to gush from mouth and nose over the food of the others, changing their butter to blood. It was after this thought wise to say as little and to have as little as possible to do with Kate of Ysätter.

THE ELVES’ DANCE.