"They traveled through the air on broomsticks" - traditions of paschal witches' sabbaths

Easter's protective magic was especially aimed at sorcerers who were particularly active on Maundy Thursday and Easter Eve, when Jesus Christ had not yet resurrected. Central to the belief in witches were the Sabbaths, as they “traveled through the air on broomsticks, ladles and goats to specific places of gathering – be it at the Blocksberg (Brocken) in Germany, Blockula in Sweden, Lyderhorn in Norway, where the Devil held his Earthly court.

Blockula, (assumed to be a Swedish equalent to the German Blocksberg), was according to Swedish popular belief Satans domicile, where the witches were believed to be going on Maundy Thursday to feast with Lucifer, from which they returned Easter Sunday morning. The journey would be conducted on a broomstick, a green-branch, sometimes also on a farm animal, a horse or a human being. The rider often sat backwards, and the means of transport was lubricated with a kind of magic butter, which the sorceress kept in a horn. 

The witch's equipment often also included a needle, which, when stuck into a wall, for the moment created such an opening large enough to, "go through by horse and carriage." Thus it became easy for the witches to abduct children – a misdeed, which they often conducted to acquire new disciples. The witches gathered in church towers, where they scraped flakes of metal of the church bells. As they continued the ride, they threw the ore shavings into the air, shouting, "May my soul never come to the kingdom of God, until this metal makes it back to the bells!"

When arriving at Blockula they greeted Satan, whom the witches referred to as "gofar" (“good-father”) or "antifar" (“anti-father”), and presented to him the children. He signed a contract with the young ones by handshake, after which he bit them in the forehead or scratched them in the little finger, shedding the children’s blood. At last they were inscribed in a large book. After a great feast, there was music and dance, in which Satan joined in, "amused by the works of darkness." People seem to have witnessed a religious act during the travels to Blockula, whose compliance presupposed the renunciation of Christianity. 

This French engraving shows a witch's sabbath at Bloksberg. By Mikael Herr (1650)

Obviously, the fear of such a wicked act to take place was most present. Consequently, people took as much precaution as they could muster. Pieces of steel inserted over doors, beds, and barns were safety advice that kept the witches at bay. So did crosses, open fire and brooms (!). Indeed, you read correctly. Norwegian sociologist Eilert Sundt (1817-1875) has pointed out that it was common to lay a broomstick outside the front door so that people could dry their shoes on it before entering the house. "True, spruce bushes could also be used; but according to the customs, it should preferably be a broom; for over such a device, neither sorcerers nor other hostilities could cross", Sundt wrote. Such women could be recognized by throwing the broom aside with their feet before entering!

If the sorceress couldn't find a broom to ride, she took a horse, cow or goat instead, which was much worse. This was the reason why, Sundt believed, so many people put a number of broomsticks outside the kitchen or barn door on Christmas Eve and Maundy Thursday. If there was a broom outside, the witches would not make use of other entities.

Sources:

• ”Blåkulla”, in Nordisk Familjebok. Konversationslexikon och realencyklopedi. Tredje bandet. Bergsvalan – Branstad. Stockholm 1905
• Ørnulf Hodne (1999). Norsk folketro. Cappelen forlag.

Staffan the Stable Boy

It's Christmas night. The dark winter sky is hovering above a snow-covered landscape. Nature is lifeless and quiet; only the stars seem to breathe. It is Christmas peace, and a bright star is reminiscent of the one who shone above the manger of Christ. On this holy night, one would think that humans too would find peace. Suddenly however, the sound of feet drifts across the courtyard. A torch moves across to the stables, and after a while riders in wild gallop is seen leaving the farms, following the road to the nearest neighbor. Shouting and and screaming interrupt the silence of the night.

Such nightly rides bore some resemblance to the dreaded åsgårdsreien (Eng. the wild hunt)- only worse. With their shrieks and bawls, the riders made as much havoc as they could, knocking down the doors, banging on the timber walls. At each door they got a sip of the mighty Christmas beer, and as the night unfolded, the more intense the riding became. Not seldom did a rider fall off his horse, making the animal run home unaccompanied. 

Yet these rides were not solidly an excuse to kicking down the neighbour's door for a taste of the Christmas beer. There were also had a earnest idea involved; for it was said that one should go out to the crack of dawn with the horses and let them drink of the wells. There were some springs in particular which had a reputation for their clean water, and it was important to be there first; it was "holy water," and whoever drank first, drank wine; the horses would thrive of such water. As a result, there was a violent race race to come first, people rode like crazy. Coming in second was simply not an option, stories tell even of lives being lost. This nocturnal race called for the "'Staffan's race," and songs about him have been sung in Scandinavia since the Middle Ages. Staffan was a stableboy, watering his horses… These lines of text are among our oldest musical treasures. But who was he really - this Steffan?

The biblical Staffan - Stephen – we already encounter in the Acts of the Apostles; shortly after Jesus' death, the number of disciples is increasing continuously. The original twelve apostles need help in the practical work of a fast-growing congregation and appoint seven men to help. One of them is Stephen - the stable boy of King Herrod. Stephen does not content himself with serving food without preaching; Stephen start doing wonders on his own which, eventually, resulting in him being being stoned to death by an angry crowd, as the first Christian martyr. Consequently, Stephen quickly became a revered saint and the deacons appointed Stefanus as their patron saint. His increasing popularity led to the legends surrounding his life story, legends that were both colorful and imaginative – and completely devoid of reality.

The rooster miracle depicted on an altar front from the 1100s. Originating from Broddetorp's church in Västergötland, the altar piece is exhibited at the Historical Museum in Stockholm.

One of the legends tells about how Stephen on the night of Christmas Eve sees the Star of Bethlehem. He understands that it is a sign that the King of Judah, the Savior, has been born. Stephen tells of his discovery of Herod. The king refuses to believe his words, unless the fried rooster lying on his breakfast table rises, flaps his wings and crows. Of course, this is exactly what happens. The king is horrified at how powerful this newborn king must be who can already do such wonders. He decides to kill the child who threatens his kingdom. Stefanus himself is captured and stoned to death outside the city walls. “The rooster miracle”, as the event was called, became the prelude to the Massacre of the Innocents; by Herod’s orders, all boys two years of age and younger in Bethlehem and its vicinity, should be killed. In the Middle Ages there was a widely held belief that the child murders in Bethlehem were the first and perhaps most cruel of the martyrs.

In medieval Scandinavia, the legend of Stefanus, or Staffan as he is called here, takes on a quite different approach in which the horses play an important role. It's Christmas night and Staffan has ridden out to a well to water Herod's horses. But a horse refuses to drink from the water. It has seen the reflection of the star in the water and rears frightened into the night sky. 

Staffan stable boy and the star depicted on the ceiling of Dädesjö church in Småland.

Images of Staffan with his horses or in conjunction with the rooster miracle became popular in the early medieval Scandinavian art. The motif is often found on baptismal fonts as part of the story of Jesus' birth. The fact that it became so popular may have to do with the long and protracted Christianization process that characterized especially the ancient Sweden. Around the year 1100, the majority of the Swedish population was still pagan. It took nearly 300 years for Christianity to gain a foothold. The long missionary period caused Bible stories to emerge at the same time as a later developed cult of saints. The legend of Stephen and Herod must have been quite remodeled when it came to the Nordic countries, for then to be transformed by local traditions. In the Old Norse cult, the horse was put in the center and Christmas was a time when you should take special care of your horses. Making pagan customs Christian became a way for the new religion to establish itself. The legend of Stefan and Herod is a typical example of this initiation.

With Gustaf Vasa and the Reformation, the Catholic saint traditions connected to Stephen was abolished. Staffan the stable boy however, did not lose his popularity. During the 18th century, it was common to go horseback racing, in relation with the Staffan cult, and long into the 20th century he remained a part of the Christmas plays and carols, performed on his memorial day, the 26th of December.

Nowadays, the songs about Steffan stable boy has been as become a cherished part of the Lucia-celebration, as a companion of the female saint. "Staffansvisan", "Sankt Staffan" or "Staffan was a stable boy" is a well known and traditionally bound Swedish Lucia song, which is usually performed by the star boys in a so called Lucia proseccion.

Sources:

• Charlotte Hedenstierna-Jonson. 'Staffan var en stalledräng.' URL: https://historiska.se/upptack-historien/artikel/staffan-var-en-stalledrang/ 
• Kristofer Visted (2016). Jul i gamle dager. Norsk Folkeminnelag/ Scandinavian Academic Press/Spartacus. 

The Seven Wishes

Many of Alfred Smedberg's (1850-1925) fairy talesfrequently tell about gnomes and trolls, witches and elves - stories the Swede was told as a child. His writings are often characterized by a profound love for his home town, humor and a warm religiosity, where also sobriety, justice and honesty are emphasized values.

The Seven Wishes might emerge as a strange tale; Olle is quite the anti-hero, and is described in a rather harsh and unflattering manner. He is ugly, lazy and dumb, fighting shy of his chores, ticking of his neighbours. So one day, when a little fairy grants him seven wishes, what do you think happens? At one point, I must admit, I found myself giving up on Olle, sympathizing with the villagers and others. In the end however, Master Smedberg, shows a heartwarming concern for Olle, giving the poor boy a helping hand. The ending is beautiful, and ultimately makes sense.

If you have seen Olle Niklasson standing at his knapsack in the woods, tearing himself in his fiery red bristly hair, then you would probably have laughed your socks off.

For fact of the matter was, that Olle Niklasson was not like other boys. His hair looked like a sundried juniper bush, almost like a potato masher, his cheeks like a pair of swollen fly amanitas.

It might have been okay if Olle was nothing but ugly. But at the same time, the boy was so lazy that he barely bothered to get up when he fell, and so stupid that he couldn't separate a crow from a squirrel. When he scrambled about in the forest, the mouth gaping, his arms hanging straight down, one might mistake for an ape rather than a human. Poor Olle was so ugly and so dumb, that even the magpies laughed at him.

Now he stood there with his knapsack in the forest, scratching his head. The sack was no bigger than a seven-year-old boy might be able to run with it, yet Olle, who was thirteen and strong as a bear, stood there for an hour, wondering if he would be able to lift it up.

As he was now standing there rather distressed, he saw a viper lying prostrate on the ground quite close to him. The serpent kept a steady watch on a small object, laying a bit ahead of him. When Olle looked closer, he saw that it was a small frog, slowly creeping straight toward the open mouth of the viper. Had Olle not been as stupid as he was, he would have understood that the snake with its sharp gaze insnared the frog; she could not tear herself out of the spell but kept crawling forward, until the snake caught her in his gap.

- Oh dear! Olle exclaimed, staring at the two animals. But he was too lazy to find a stick and kill the snake. The frog crept closer and closer to the toxic gap. And even as stupid as Olle was, it finally dawned on him that the frog was running scared. She trembled all over her body and sometimes let out a low moaning cry. Olle widened his eyes and took a step closer.

- Listen, you little idiot! he said grinning. You're pretty stupid, not running away. Don't you see that that the serpent wants to eat you?

It was the longest speech Olle had kept throughout his life, and it also made him struggle to the point that he had to take off his cap, and wipe the sweat off his forehead. Meanwhile, the frog kept crawling forward, and finally she was only a step away from the snake, whom kept his eyes steadily directed at her, and the poor frog shook with horror and fear.

Then Olle got angry and picked up a stick from the ground. - You halfwit! he said. Do I really have to help you?

And then he poked the frog with the stick, so that she tumbled to the side. The frog quickly jumped away and up at Olle's knapsack. There she sat down to watch Olle with such wide, beautiful eyes, as if she wanted to thank her rescuer.

– Do I have to carry you too! said Olle displeased. Don't you think the knapsack is heavy enough as it is.

But the frog remained on top of the sack, gazing at Olle. Her eyes were so gentle and warm, that Olle felt almost enchanted. There he was, lazy and dumb and could not bring himself to push her away. Meanwhile the snake straightened out and slithered away through the grass.

Suddenly, the frog let out a silvery laugh and jumped down from the knapsack. And at that moment she was transformed into a beautiful little fairy with rosy cheeks, sky-blue eyes and golden, wavy hair. Olle was so surprised that he couldn't say more than: - Oh-oh!

Illustration by John Bauer, 
for Alfred Smedberg's The seven wishes in Julbocken, 1907

- Thank you, my friend, for saving my life! said the elf with a voice so sonorous and soft as a harp.

- Oh-oh-oh! said Olle over again.

- You do not know what a great deed you have done, 'said the elf. I'm not a frog you see. I am a river queen. My little crystal castle is located in the brook, which flows through over the forest meadow.

- Oh-oh-oh! said Olle, just gaping at the beautiful little creature.

- You are probably wondering, 'continued the fairy, why I just was a frog. Yesterday at noon I committed a great sin. I made fun of a little frog, whom was crawling towards the gap of a serpent. I did not understand that the frog was bewitched by the snake, so that she could not get away from him, and so I laughed at her, because she did not run away. But that was wrong of me, and so I was punished to myself be a frog for twenty-four hours. There were still ten minutes left of the sentence, when the snake came and enchanted me with his gaze. Had you not come in between and saved me, then I had been swallowed and killed. Do you now understand what great deed you have done?

- Ah-ah-ah! said Olle, gaping even more.

- And now I want to reward you for your goodness, said the elf. You will have seven wishes, and whatever you want you shall receive. But beware only to wish for anything foolish, because you will regret it afterwards. Farewell!

And when the fairy said this, she soared away on the path that led down to the brook.

- Ho-ho-ho! said Olle, rubbing his elbow. That was refreshing. But what should I want now? Well, now I know. I wish the knapsack to run home by itself and me riding on it.

Immediately after Olle uttered these words, he tumbled over the knapsack on his belly. It promptly set off through the woods, so sticks and moss and pebbles whirled in the air. Petrified, Olle clang his hands to the sack. Between hills and groves it plunged, uphill and straight down, galloping over logs and rocks. Olle was thrown like a mitten back and forth, dropped his cap and his clogs, whipped in the face of shrubs and branches he started bulging like a bull.

Within a few minutes, the knapsack was back home at the little cottage where Olle lived. With fierce speed it flew through the gate into the yard. There she stopped so briskly, by the threshold, that Olle was thrown through the air, heading for the main staircase, hitting himself so hard he got a good bump in his forehead.

- Oh, oh, oh! said Olle and crawled up on his knees.

The mother, who thought that is was the pig whom had barged into the cabin, came rushing out of the kitchen with the broom. Olle couldn't say anything but oh-oh! and ha-ha! He had gotten such a knock in his head that he forgot the whole story of the frog and the snake. The mother felt pity for the boy and therefore ran and bought him a handful of caramel-covered almonds. But when Olle was given something tasty, he could never have enough of it. He sat down on the cabin threshold and devoured them in a snap.

- That was yummy, yummy, he said, licking his mouth. I wish I had a whole bowl full of these, so I could eat till I could eat no more. At the moment a bowl came in his lap, full tasty caramels.

- Oh! said Olle delightedly, and planted his huge fist in of the bowl. He ate so much, that it would have made your jaw drop if you saw it, gaping and chewing and swallowing. Within a quarter the bowl was empty, and Olle was as fat and full as a sausage.

Now you may know that almonds contain a form of poison, and that you get sick if you eat too much.

Olle also experienced this. After a while he lay on the couch and curled up like a caterpillar, held his hands to his stomach, yelling loader than a pig stuck in a fence. The kind mother sent for the doctor. He urged Olle to drink a whole bottle of bitter water, which in one hour cleared the poison out of the body and made Olle as slender as a hunting dog. When Olle finally came to himself, starting telling of what he had done, the good doctor prescribed a proper round of strokes of a stick.

A few weeks later, the mother sent Olle out to clean carrots in the small garden-patch. Olle trudged out and lay down by carrots to rest for a while before he started. Now, the garden there happened to be a splendid cherry tree, filled with the largest and reddish cherries. But these hung so high that you could not get hold of them without climbing the tree.

A quick and wise boy would immediately find a ladder, and make his to up to the juicy berries. But Olle was both too stupid and too lazy to think of such a thing. Lying there, he became annoyed that the crows and magpies swarmed between the branches, eating one berry after another.

- Ha-ha! Olle said, smacking his lips. I wish I was sitting up there at the top. Just as a whirlwind had pulled him from the ground, he flew up at the top in a second, where he was hanging on one of the top branches. - Oh, Oh! cried Olle delighted and started picking and munching.

Had he just not been too lazy to close the gate when he went into the garden, then maybe everything had gone well. But now that the gate was open, the pig came into the garden and began to rub himself against the cherry tree. How this will end, you have probably figured out by now. Olle was thrown back and forth like a magpie in a birch-tree during a severe thunderstorm. At last, he lost his grip and fell down, braking off twigs and branches, somersaulting over the pig’s back. It is difficult to say which wretch who yelled the worst, the poor pig or Olle. Fact remain however, that the pig never dared to rub against a cherry tree when a boy was sitting at the top, and during the next eight days, Olle suffered a broken hand, a swollen nose and red scratches on his cheeks.

Now one would think that Olle never dared to wish for anything stupid ever again. But was no different than any other loutish boy. He did not remember an accident longer than his scratches. It therefore took no more than a couple of weeks before Olle encountered a new adventure.

One day he had gone all the way down to the village. It was rare for Olle to go that far, but now he was there anyway, his eyes fixed on a cyclist on the road ahead.

- Ha-ha! said Olle. I wish I could to sit on one of those and travel all over the parish. At that very moment, Olle found himself on a two-wheeler, propelling away at full speed. From where it had come and how he ended up on it, he could not really understand. But now he was sitting on the two-wheeler in any case, trampling away as his life depended on it. Olle had never cycled before, and started shouting his throat sore, scaring both people and cattle alike. If the two-wheeler had only been rational enough to stay on ordinary roads, then would have ended well. But that rascal needed to run around the whole parish as Olle had wished for, and therefore could not travel within the safer paths.

The horrified cyclist tried to keep his feet still, but it was impossible. He had to pedal, whether he wanted to or not. Over bumps and meadows, down heavy slopes, across corn fields, potato fields, fences, ditches and stone walls. Everywhere people ran out of their houses, staring at the frenetic cyclist, and Olle screamed and trampled, trampled and screamed.

- Oh-hope! Oh oh oh! 0-ho-ho! he moaned. Help me, grab me!

The townspeople watched with annoyance that Olle destroyed crops and cattle, cabbages and flower beds, running over piglets and frightening horses. The sheep jumped over the fences, and the hens flew cackling up on the barn roof. Now came the villagers with sticks and rods to confront Olle. Farmers and laborers rushed forward in a long line with all the parish magistrates in the lead. But Ole's two-wheeler rushed against them like an angry bull, beating the hat of the warden, scratching the legs of the sexton, and punching the richest farmer his stomach that he tumbled to the ground.

Olle was so frightened that he almost fainted. He could not really understand what marvel he was riding. - I wish that this wretch to be broken into a hundred pieces, he said.

Immediately, the two-wheeler smashed against a stone wall, breaking into pieces. Olle made a somersault over the wall into a pile of nettles. The people immediately rushed to give Olle in for the damage he had done. Not only had he badly devastated fields and gardens, he had run over and killed three pigs and four hens. But when the peasants saw how frightened and tired Olle was, they lowered their rods and let him go in peace.

- I feel sorry for the poor thing, they said. He's so stupid, so he doesn't know what he's doing. And it's no wonder when he didn't bother to learn to read.

Olle limped off back home, aching all over his body. But he started thinking about what the people had said. - Am I stupid because I can't read? he thought. That was weird. Maybe that's why I always get into trouble. I wish I could read. Olle should have said that first time he wished for something. He would have acted wisely and spared many aggravations.

The thing was, with the gift the little elf had given Olle was, that if he wished for something idiotic, he got it right away, but if he wished for something sensible, then he received it gradually. Therefore, he did not learn the whole art of reading at one time. But he had such a burning desire to learn, so he worked at it continuously, morning and evening.

It wasn't long before Olle could read in every book he came across. And the more he read, the better he understood how dumb he had been, not wanting to work for anything, knowing that half his live had been lounged away. Therefore, he also began to become diligent and help his mother with all kinds of work.

When one day he was walking through the woods, he met the little river queen. He immediately recognized her and now also came in mind the tale of the frog and the serpent, for since he learned to read and work, he had also gained better memory.

- Good day, dear Olle, said the elf mildly. You have now wished for something six times, but only your last wish was wise. Now you have to wish for something again, but think well, for this is the last time, and then I have no power to help you anymore.

Olle stood for a long time, thinking. He had now gained better understanding through reading and work, and therefore he was afraid to want something stupid. Finally, he said:

- I wish I became a useful and good person.

"It was the best you could wish for," said the little elf. And therefore, you should also get what you requested, but only through your own work, for what you get in other ways is not very worthwhile. Farewell!

The little elf kept his word. Through reading and hard work, Olle eventually became both sensible, helpful and good, so that all people liked him. And when he became good, he also became beautiful, because only the slothful and spiteful are ugly.

"Out with the anchors, out with the boats!" The fate and story of Bluebird of Hull

A poem should be feasible, but truly true it never agrees on being - Evert Taube

Born in Gothenburg on the West Coast of Sweden, Evert Taube (1890-1976) remains as one of the country’s most celebrated writers and singers.

Taube spent his childhood in Vinga, a small island in Kattegat, where fishing, sailing and stories about foreign countries and ports were a natural part of the upbringing. This might explain the tremendous wanderlust which hit quite early in his life; already at 17 he went to sea, eventually ending up in Argentina in 1910. Five eventful years followed after the arrival; Taube worked as an assistant in the construction of the irrigation canals, as a train conductor in Cordoba, as a cartoonists and journalist, as well as acting as an adjutant for the president of Argentina (!). He became an Argentine citizen, learned to speak Spanish and Italian, to sing tango melodies, and last, but not least – he learned how to play the guitar.

Not until 1915 – due to the outbreak of World War I – Evert Taube returned home to Sweden, and in 1921, he published his first record. The years that followed, Taube truly became what we can call a household name, and a voice of the Swedish national soul. The ballad of the brig Blue Bird of Hull, remains as one of the many highlights in his career. First published in 1929 in «Fritiofsberg Andersson visbok», the song tells the story of a fictional shipwreck on Christmas Eve 1872.

As the subtitle of the song, Evert Taube wrote: "True event, narrated by Fritiofsberg Andersson, whose father joined the rescue boat, when the Bluebird’s crew where rescued”. In so doing, Taube gave the impression that the incident actually took place. In reality, the ballad is more likely inspired by several different accounts of shipwrecks. Although there was a ship by the name of «Bluebird», which wrecked in a storm in August 1871, the real “Bluebird” was rescued and brought safely to shore. In 1872 there were severe storms in November, affecting many vessels, yet there are no reports of sunken ship on Christmas Eve 1872.

Arvid Ahlberg, Örlogsskepp vid Vinga (eng. 'Warship near Vinga), 1887

Nevertheless – Taubes’ ballad remains by far as one of the most heartbreaking songs I have ever encountered.  

The brig "Blue Bird" of Hull sets sails towards Hallo lighthouse near Smögen, on the west coast of Sweden. A raging snowstorm prevails, the rig is icy, and the storm threatens to drive the ship against the rocks. The wind is so fierce, that it is not even possible for the helmsman to remain at the helm. Then the captain shouts "Tie up the Swede to the helm, he can wield a rudder!"

The Swede, a young man named Karl Stranne, is considered to be one hell of a steersman. If there is anyone capable of saving the ship from the impending catastrophe, it is Karl Stranne. He is tied to the helm, and half blind through the sleet and spray, the Swede skillfully steers away from the looming cliffs. "Out with the anchors, out with the boats!" commands the captain, but the heavy sea smashes the lifeboat into pieces. However, the steward of Smögen, Håkan Stranne, Karl's father, sets out with his boat in the storm, and manages to maneuver the boat in the lee of the anchored brig. In a matter of minutes, the crew is rescued.

Safely accommodated in the Stranne family’s house, Håkan asks for the name of the brig. When the captain answers "Blue Bird of Hull," Håkan cries desperately "God in heaven, Captain, then where is my son?"

And the captain got up, he was gray, he was grim
The storm howled, one could barely hear his words
when he said, with a trembling voice, to his host
"Karl was tied to the helm, and forgotten on board.

The following version is exquisitely performed by Swedish singer/songwriter Sofia Karlsson, first published on her album "Visor från vinden" in 2007.

Sources:

• Evert Taube biography (in Swedish): http://www.everttaube.info/index.php?lang=sv&id=2 
• Martin Schibbye og Anna Froster. ”Myten om Blue Birds förlisning”. http://martinschibbye.se/SWE_article_010.pdf

The Boy Who Was Never Afraid

One of my favorite things in the world is discovering new tales and artists, providing new perceptions of reality. Written in 1912 by Swedish writer Alfred Smedberg, the story about Nisse, the little boy who was never afraid, reminds us that although most creatures can be overcome with kindness, it doesn’t hurt to 
1) be realistic, and 2) ask for help along the way.

Originating from Västergötland in Sweden, Smedberg (1850-1925) was a well-known and renowned writer in his days. In the beginning of the 1890s, he published a number of legends and poems in annuals and books. Highly influenced by the love of his native Sweden, many of Smedbergs’ tales are inspired by the stories of elves, goblins, witches and forest nymphs, all of which he had grown up with. They are often characterized by warm sense of humor, as well as emphasizing temperance, justice and honesty.

The Boy Who Was Never Afraid, in the highest degree, depicts a world within these frames. First published in Bland tomtar och troll (Eng. ‘Among Gnomes and Trolls’), a popular Swedish folklore and fairy tales anthology issued since 1907, Smedbergs story was illustrated by the renowned Swedish artist John Bauer.

This fairytale bears many similarities to the ones about Butterball, and 'the Ashlad', who both – like Nisse – relate to the world with a sense of naivety and blind trust, always believing in the kindness of strangers. This congeniality however, ultimately proves to backfire, and new measures have to be put into action, in order to restore justice. And as is often proven, the really menacing forces of the world cannot be succumbed without a little help from dear friends.

There was once a poor tenant farmer, who had eight lively children but only one cow. One can understand that the children were not used to any abundance; that being said, it was a great blessing for the family that Lily was the best cow ever. She milked just as much as the richest manor house cows, which was certainly necessary for the sake of the many children she had to feed. Big and beautiful she was, and so wise, it seemed she understood everything the children chatted on with her about.

Just how well the children took care of their beloved cow, cannot be described in words. Lily thrived like a fly in a jam jar, despite that she belonged to a tenant family. In the summer, she was allowed to feed on the large mansion pasture, and never did it happen that she did not voluntarily return home when the sun went down, wise as she was.

One day however, the unthinkable came about; Lily did not come home that evening, as she always did. The father went half the night looking for her, but came back alone and exhausted. As soon the morning dawned the next day, the father and the mother went together with the oldest children, to search for Lily in the pasture, roaming through it from one end to the other, without finding their cow. Finally, in the innermost corner however, they suddenly got view of Lily’s tracks in the loose soil. But next to these were other tracks, obviously made by someone with big, clumsy feet.

The father was horrified, for he realized just who left these tracks; it was non other than the large troll in the Hulta forest, who lived in the caves in the mountains. The trolls were well aware that Lily was the best dairy cow in the area. Now it was not difficult to figure out where Lily had gone.

One can easily understand the grief and consternation that suddenly struck the crofters’ little cottage. The children cried, and the father and mother could not say a word, anxious of what would become of them. It was unimaginable to try to get the cow back, for never before had anyone ventured into the terrible mountain caverns where the trolls lived, and lived to tell the tale.

For it was not only the trolls they had to fear in the deep and desolate forest. There were also three other creatures, which were almost as dangerous. One was a wood nymph, or the green-haired witch as people called her. The other was bälghunden, the mad watch dog of Hulta, and the third, Nalle bear, the shaggy King of the forest.

Among the children however, there happened to be a small, rosy-cheeked boy named Nisse. And Nisse was not just any other boy; for he could never feel afraid of anything in the world, no matter how dangerous it was. This was because he was so good-hearted and kind to all living creatures, that not even the most dangerous animals were able to do him any harm. Therefore he harbored not the slightest fear of neither wolves, bears, witches or goblins in the dangerous Hulta forest.

When Nisse heard that Lily the cow had gone missing, kidnapped by the trolls, he made his mind up right away to go the troll dens and bring her back. His father and mother let him do as he pleased, for they knew that Nisse had nothing to fear, because he was kind to everyone.

And with a walking stick in one hand, and a couple of sandwiches in his pocket, the boy was on his way.

Very soon, he entered the forest. It was not easy to work his way over gorges and boulders, fallen trees, streams and swamps, but Nisse was small and slender and agile, and slithered his way through like a fish.

After a while he saw a witch, who sat on a rock combing her green hair. It was a wood nymph of the Hulta forest, and her hair was so long that it reached all the way down to her hips.

“What are you doing here in my forest?” she cried out when Nisse came along. 

"What are you doing here in my forest?" Illustration by John Bauer

“Please, ma'am, I'm looking for our cow, for the trolls have abducted her,” said Nisse and went on his way.

“No, wait a minute, you!” screamed the witch, and jumped down from the cliff to catch him. But in that very moment, her long hair got stuck in the branches of a bushy spruce that grew beside. Soon, the forest nymph found herself hanging in the tree, so that her toes barely touched the ground; she could not budge no matter how hard she tried. The witch started squirming and yelling at the top of her lungs. Anyone else would have laughed and thought: “serves her right!” Nisse of course, did not.

“Do not despair, little mother,” 'he said kindly. “I'll try to help you.” And he climbed up into the tree, and released the nymph from her captor.

“You are indeed a strange one, helping out an enemy,” said nymph astonished. “I was going to eat you up, but now I wish to help you instead.”

“That’s very nice of you, little mother!” said Nisse.

“You can never get along with the dangerous animals of the forest, if you do not understand their language“, continued the nymph. “Here is a piece of magic herbs for you. Pop it in your ear, and you will be able to understand everything that the animals saying, as long as you are in the woods.”

“Here is a piece of magic herbs for you." Illustration by John Bauer

And so the boy he did as forest nymph had said, thanked her and moved on.

When he had walked for a while, he met the great bälghund, who came hobbling on three legs and grinned terribly bad.

“Poor little doggy!” Nisse said confidingly. “You seem to be hurt. Can I help you in any way?”
The dog, which was just about to throw himself over the boy, was so astonished over Nisses’ kindness, he abruptly sat down on his hind legs, just like a real dog.

“You do not seem to be like other people”, he said.

“That may well be”, replied the boy. “May I see your feet, father dear!”

When the dog stretched out his front paw, Nisse noticed a big thorn which had penetrated deep into it. He pulled out the thorn, put a little wet moss on the wound, and wrapped around some long leaves of grass.

“Ah, that felt good!” the dog exclaimed, happy to be on all four again. “I was going to bite off your ears, but I do not want to now. Where do you intend to go?”

“I am going to the troll dungeons, to fetch our kidnapped cow,” said Nisse.

“Ouch!” the dog cried out with a pitiful grimace. “That sounds like a tricky task, for those trolls are not to be trifled with. But since you healed my foot so nicely, I'll come with you and show you the way. Maybe I can help you.”

And so it was. The bälghund went ahead, the boy ran after, far, far into the forest.

When they had travelled for a couple of hours, they saw Nalle bear, who went snooping for cranberries.

“That one you need to avoid,” said the dog, “for he spares neither people nor animals!”

“Oh, I think he looks pretty nice, though he is big and shaggy,” the boy said, and went on his way.

Immediately, the bear caught sight of them, got up on his hind legs, and made a terrible roar.

“That’s a very rough voice you have there,” the boy said, and stretched out his little hand to greet the bear. “You should become the lead singer of a choral society.”

“Uff!” said the bear and stepped closer.

“Yes, a great voice you have,” continued the boy. “And how awfully kind of you to come and greet me with both paws!”

The bear was just about to gobble up the boy, when the green-haired forest nymph suddenly came running out of the woods. She had followed Nisse at a distance, to see how he would manage in the trolls’ dungeon.

“That boy you do not touch,” she screamed, “for he is not like other people!”

“This doesn’t concern you,” the bear roared and yelled even worse.

Then the witch grabbed a pine stump, and threw it straight into the bear's wide-open mouth, where it got stuck between his jaws. Suddenly, Nalle could neither scream nor bite.

“Shame on you!” the boy said. “That was a naughty thing to do the old bear, which came towards me so friendly, greeting me with both paws. But wait, let’s see if we can put him right again!”

He fetched a good sized pine stick, and started poking into the mouth of Nalle, who sat on his hind legs and groaned. By turning and poking and twisting the stick, he finally managed to loosen the piece of wood from the bears’ mouth.

“That was cleverly done,” said the bear with a satisfied grunt. “You got guts, I see. I had thought to eat you up a mouthful, but now you are free from Nalle bear as long as you live. What are you doing out here in the woods?”

“I'm looking for our cow, which the trolls have abducted,” said Nisse.

“Well, you’re courageous, who dare on such adventures,” mumbled bear. “If you can talk your way out of trouble with the trolls, then there is more spunk in you than most I’ve met. I’ll have to follow and make sure; perhaps I can be of any help.”

And so they all went on their way. First came the dog, then the boy, and last following was Nalle bear. But the green-haired witch of Hulta sneaked ahead, to see how the whole thing would eventually pan out.

It was starting to get dark when they finally reached the mountains where the trolls had their den. The entrance was closed off by large boulders, but there was a small opening, wide enough for a little boy to get through.

“That’s your way in,” said the bear to Nisse. “And remember; if to troll try to harm you in any way, just shout: ‘Nalle, come and help me!’ Then we’ll have a tussle with the trolls, I promise.”

“I do not think that will be necessary,” the boy said. “But thank you anyway.”

And so Nisse crawled in through the narrow opening, entering the den. And there, by the fireplace, sat the mountain troll, and nibbled on a bone. He was hideous to look at with his long nose, his hairy arms and greenish yellow cat eyes. And behold, in one corner stood Lily the cow, chewing sharp thistles that the trolls had fetched for her out in the woods.

“Well, what do we have here!” cried the troll. With one hand he seized Nisse round his waist, and lifted him up on the table. “Where are you from?”

“Please, good sir!” Nisse said politely. “I just wanted to fetch our cow, which has gone astray.”

“That’s what you think,” troll chuckled. “I think I’ll have to say no to that, little one! I need some milk, you see, and so does my old lady. But you'll make a fine steak for supper. As soon as my wife returns, she'll put you in the frying pan.”

“Oh, dear, I believe you are joking,” said Nisse. “You surely do not want to harm a little boy who has never done any mischief to anyone.”

“Are you kidding me?” roared the troll. “I assure you, you will fry. Are not you afraid?”

“No, I am not,” Nisse said jauntily. “For I know you are not as wicked as you pretend.”

“What on earth,” the troll growled astonished. “Wife, come over here and light up the fireplace!”

“What on earth,” the troll growled astonished.Illustration by John Bauer

The old troll wife immediately came rushing in, and began to make a fire with flint and steel.

“That’s very nice of you, making something hot to eat for you husband,” Nisse said cheerfully. “But now it is time for me to be on my way with our cow.”

Not before he had finished this sentence, the troll grabbed him with one hand, to throw him into the pot.

Now, it is quite true that most creatures can be overcome with kindness, compassion and generosity, but against the trolls, only brute force will have to do. At this moment in time, even Nisse came to understand that, and so he shouted: “Nalle, come in, Nalle, come in!”

One should have been around to witness this! The huge bear threw the boulders to the right and left, so that the sparks flew through the air. Then he rushed into the cave, followed by the witch and the dog. Nalle bear grabbed the troll by the neck, and threw him flat on the floor. The boy was freed, and skipped into a corner. The dog stabbed the troll hag so hard, so she tumbled down in the water tub by the fireplace. Oh, you should have heard how funny it sounded, when the water splashed up on the ceiling: smack! But the wood nymph ran forth, and freed Lily from the rope she was tied with.

Nisse did not hesitate to cling onto Lilys’ neck, grabbing her by her long horns.

“Thank you for your help!” he shouted. “Do be kind with the poor trolls!” Then he urged Lily: “Up and away, my little cow! Up and away!”

With the boy on her neck, and her tail in the air, Lily the cow was finally off, galloping through the woods. Needless to say, their family where overjoyed when the boy got back safe and sound with their cow.

But the trolls were so horrified by the fact that Nisse, thanks to the goodness of his heart, gained such good helpers out there in the woods, and they never dared to show their faces on the mansion pasture again.

Sources:

• Pojken som aldrig var rädd. Av Alfred Smedberg. URL: https://sv.wikisource.org/wiki/Pojken_som_aldrig_var_r%C3%A4dd
• Alfred Smedberg. URL: https://sv.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alfred_Smedberg