HACON GRIZZLEBEARD

HACON GRIZZLEBEARD

Once on a time there was a princess who was so proud and pert that no suitor

was good enough for her. She made game of them all, and sent them about their

business, one after the other; but though she was so proud, still new suitors

kept on coming to the palace, for she was a beauty, the wicked hussey!

So one day there came a prince to woo her, and his name was Hacon Grizzlebeard;

but the first night he was there, the Princess bade the king’s fool cut

off the ears of one of the prince’s horses, and slit the jaws of the

other up to the ears. When the prince went out to drive next day, the Princess

stood in the porch and looked at him.

“Well!” she cried, “I never saw the like of this in all my

life; the keen north wind that blows here has taken the ears off one of your

horses, and the other has stood by and gaped at what was going on till his jaws

have split right up to his ears.”

And with that she burst out into a roar of laughter, ran in, slammed to the

door, and let him drive off.

So he drove home; but as he went, he thought to himself that he would pay her

off one day. After a bit, he put on a great beard of moss, threw a great fur

cloak over his clothes, and dressed himself up just like any beggar. He went to

a goldsmith and bought a golden spinning wheel, and sat down with it under the

Princess’ window, and began to file away at his spinning wheel, and to

turn it this way and that, for it wasn’t quite in order, and, besides, it

wanted a stand.

So when the Princess rose up in the morning, she came to the window and threw

it up, and called out to the beggar if he would sell his golden spinning-wheel?

“No; it isn’t for sale”, said Hacon Grizzlebeard; “but

if I may have leave to sleep outside your bedroom door to-night, I’ll

give it you.”

Well, the Princess thought it a good bargain; there could be no danger in

letting him sleep outside her door.

So she got the wheel, and at night Hacon Grizzlebeard lay down outside her

bedroom. But as the night wore on he began to freeze.

“Hutetutetutetu! it is so cold; do let me in”, he cried.

“You’ve lost your wits outright, I think”, said the Princess.

“Oh, hutetutetutetu! it is so bitter cold, pray do let me in”, said

Hacon Grizzlebeard again.

“Hush! hush! hold your tongue!” said the Princess; “if my

father were to know that there was a man in the house, I should be in a fine

scrape.”

“Oh, hutetutetutetu! I’m almost frozen to death; only let me come

inside and lie on the floor”, said Hacon Grizzlebeard.

Yes! there was no help for it. She had to let him in, and when he was, he lay

on the ground and slept like a top.

Some time after, Hacon came again with the stand to the spinning-wheel, and

sat down under the Princess’ window, and began to file at it, for it was

not quite fit for use. When she heard him filing, she threw up the window and

began to talk to him, and to ask what he had there.

“Oh! only the stand to that spinning-wheel which your royal highness

bought; for I thought, as you had the wheel, you might like to have the stand

too.”

“What do you want for it?” asked the Princess; but it was not for

sale any more than the wheel, but she might have them if she would give him

leave to sleep on the floor of her bedroom next night.

Well! she gave him leave, only he was to be sure to lie still, and not to

shiver and call out “hutetu”, or any such stuff. Hacon Grizzlebeard

promised fair enough, but as the night wore on he began to shiver and shake,

and to ask whether he might not come nearer, and lie on the floor alongside the

Princess’ bed.

There was no help for it; she had to give him leave, lest the king should hear

the noise he made. So Hacon Grizzlebeard lay alongside the Princess’ bed,

and slept like a top.

It was a long while before Hacon Grizzlebeard came again; but when he came he

had with him a golden wool-winder, and he sat down and began to file away at it

under the Princess’ window. Then came the old story over again. When the

Princess heard what was going on, she came to the window, and asked him how he

did, and whether he would sell the golden wool-winder?

“It is not to be had for money; but if you’ll give me leave to

sleep to-night in your bedroom, with my head on your bedstead, you shall have

it for nothing”, said Hacon Grizzlebeard.

Well! she would give him leave, if he only gave his word to be quiet, and make

no noise. So he said he would do his best to be still; but as the night wore

on, he began to shiver and shake so, that his teeth chattered again.

“Hutetutetutetu! it is so bitter cold! Oh, do let me get into bed and

warm myself a little”, said Hacon Grizzlebeard.

“Get into bed!” said the Princess; “why, you must have lost

your wits.”

“Hutetutetutetu!” said Hacon; “do let me get into bed.

Hutetutetutetu.”

“Hush! hush! be still for God’s sake”, said the Princess;

“if father knows there is a man in here, I shall be in a sad plight.

I’m sure he’ll kill me on the spot.”

“Hutetutetutetu! let me get into bed”, said Hacon Grizzlebeard, who

kept on shivering so that the whole room shook.

Well! there was no help for it; she had to let him get into bed, where he slept

both sound and soft; but a little while after the Princess had a child, at

which the king grew so wild with rage, that he was near making an end of both

mother and babe. Just after this happened, came Hacon Grizzlebeard tramping

that way once more, as if by chance, and took his seat down in the kitchen,

like any other beggar.

So when the Princess came out and saw him, she cried, “Ah, God have mercy

on me, for the ill-luck you have brought on me; father is ready to burst with

rage; do let me follow you to your home.”

“Oh! I’ll be bound you’re too well bred to follow me”,

said Hacon, “for I have nothing but a log but to live in; and how I shall

ever get food for you I can’t tell, for it’s just as much as I can

do to get food for myself.”

“Oh yes! it’s all the same to me how you get it, or whether you get

it at all”, she said; “only let me be with you, for if I stay here

any longer, my father will be sure to take my life.”

So she got leave to be with the beggar, as she called him, and they walked a

long, long way, though she was but a poor hand at tramping. When she passed out

of her father’s land into another, she asked whose it was?

“Oh! this is Hacon Grizzlebeard’s, if you must know”, said

he.

“Indeed!” said the Princess; “I might have married him if I

chose, and then I should not have had to walk about like a beggar’s

wife.”

So, whenever they came to grand castles, and woods, and parks, and she asked

whose they were? the beggar’s answer was still the same: “Oh: they

are Hacon Grizzlebeard’s.” And the Princess was in a sad way that

she had not chosen the man who had such broad lands. Last of all, they came to

a palace, where he said he was known, and where he thought he could get her

work, so that they might have something to live on; so he built up a cabin by

the woodside for them to dwell in; and every day he went to the king’s

palace, as he said, to hew wood and draw water for the cook, and when he came

back he brought a few scraps of meat; but they did not go very far. One day,

when he came home from the palace, he said: “To-morrow I will stay at

home and look after the baby, but you must get ready to go to the palace, do

you hear! for the Prince said you were to come and try your hand at

baking.”

“I bake!” said the Princess; “I can’t bake, for I never

did such a thing in my life.”

“Well, you must go”, said Hacon, “since the Prince has said

it. If you can’t bake, you can learn; you have only got to look how the

rest bake; and mind, when you leave, you must steal me some bread.”

“I can’t steal”, said the Princess.

“You can learn that too”, said Hacon; “you know we live on

short commons. But take care that the Prince doesn’t see you, for he has

eyes at the back of his head.”

So when she was well on her way, Hacon ran by a short cut and reached the

palace long before her, and threw off his rags and beard, and put on his

princely robes.

The Princess took her turn in the bakehouse, and did as Hacon bade her, for she

stole bread till her pockets were crammed full. So when she was about to go

home at even, the Prince said:

“We don’t know much of this old wife of Hacon Grizzlebeard’s,

I think we’d best see if she has taken anything away with her.”

So he thrust his hand into all her pockets, and felt her all over, and when he

found the bread, he was in a great rage, and led them all a sad life. She began

to weep and bewail, and said:

“The beggar made me do it, and I couldn’t help it.”

“Well”, said the Prince at last, “it ought to have gone hard

with you; but all the same, for the sake of the beggar you shall be forgiven

this once.”

When she was well on her way, he threw off his robes, put on his skin cloak,

and his false beard, and reached the cabin before her. When she came home, he

was busy nursing the baby.

“Well, you have made me do what it went against my heart to do. This is

the first time I ever stole, and this shall be the last”; and with that

she told him how it had gone with her, and what the Prince had said.

A few days after Hacon Grizzlebeard came home at even and said:

“To-morrow I must stay at home and mind the babe, for they are going to

kill a pig at the palace, and you must help to make the sausages.”

“I make sausages!” said the Princess; “I can’t do any

such thing. I have eaten sausages often enough; but as to making them, I never

made one in my life.”

Well, there was no help for it; the Prince had said it, and go she must. As for

not knowing how, she was only to do what the others did, and at the same time

Hacon bade her steal some sausages for him.

“Nay, but I can’t steal them”, she said; “you know how

it went last time.”

“Well, you can learn to steal; who knows but you may have better luck

next time”, said Hacon Grizzlebeard.

When she was well on her way, Hacon ran by a short cut, reached the palace long

before her, threw off his skin cloak and false beard, and stood in the kitchen

with his royal robes before she came in. So the Princess stood by when the pig

was killed, and made sausages with the rest, and did as Hacon bade her, and

stuffed her pockets full of sausages. But when she was about to go home at

even, the Prince said:

“This beggar’s wife was long-fingered last time; we may as well

just see if she hasn’t carried anything off.”

So he began to thrust his hands into her pockets, and when he found the

sausages he was in a great rage again, and made a great to do, threatening to

send for the constable and put her into the cage.

“Oh, God bless your royal highness; do let me off! The beggar made me do

it”, she said, and wept bitterly.

“Well”, said Hacon, “you ought to smart for it; but for the

beggar’s sake you shall be forgiven.”

When she was gone, he changed his clothes again, ran by the short cut, and when

she reached the cabin, there he was before her. Then she told him the whole

story, and swore, through thick and thin, it should be the last time he got her

to do such a thing.

Now, it fell out a little time after, when the man came back from the palace,

he said:

“Our Prince is going to be married, but the bride is sick, so the tailor

can’t measure her for her wedding gown. And the Prince’s will is,

that you should go up to the palace and be measured instead of the bride; for

he says you are just the same height and shape. But after you have been

measured, mind you don’t go away; you can stand about, you know, and when

the tailor cuts out the gown, you can snap up the largest pieces, and bring

them home for a waistcoat for me.”

“Nay, but I can’t steal”, she said; “besides, you know

how it went last time.”

“You can learn then”, said Hacon, “and you may have better

luck, perhaps.”

She thought it bad, but still she went and did as she was told. She stood by

while the tailor was cutting out the gown, and she swept down all the biggest

scraps, and stuffed them into her pockets; and when she was going away, the

Prince said:

“We may as well see if this old girl has not been long-fingered this time

too.”

So he began to feel and search her pockets, and when he found the pieces he was

in a rage, and began to stamp and scold at a great rate, while she wept and

said:

“Ah, pray forgive me; the beggar bade me do it, and I couldn’t help

it.”

“Well, you ought to smart for it”, said Hacon; “but for the

beggar’s sake it shall be forgiven you.”

So it went now just as it had gone before, and when she got back to the cabin,

the beggar was there before her.

“Oh, Heaven help me”, she said; “you will be the death of me

at last, by making me nothing but what is wicked. The Prince was in such a

towering rage that he threatened me both with the constable and cage.”

Sometime after, Hacon came home to the cabin at even and said:

“Now, the Prince’s will is, that you should go up to the palace and

stand for the bride, old lass! for the bride is still sick, and keeps her bed;

but he won’t put off the wedding; and he says, you are so like her, that

no one could tell one from the other; so to-morrow you must get ready to go to

the palace.”

“I think you’ve lost your wits, both the Prince and you”,

said she. “Do you think I look fit to stand in the bride’s place?

look at me! Can any beggar’s trull look worse than I?”

“Well, the Prince said you were to go, and so go you must”, said

Hacon Grizzlebeard.

There was no help for it, go she must; and when she reached the palace, they

dressed her out so finely that no princess ever looked so smart.

The bridal train went to church, where she stood for the bride, and when they

came back, there was dancing and merriment in the palace. But just as she was

in the midst of dancing with the Prince, she saw a gleam of light through the

window, and lo! the cabin by the wood-side was all one bright flame.

“Oh! the beggar, and the babe, and the cabin”, she screamed out,

and was just going to swoon away.

“Here is the beggar, and there is the babe, and so let the cabin burn

away”, said Hacon Grizzlebeard.

Then she knew him again, and after that the mirth and merriment began in right

earnest; but since that I have never heard tell anything more about them.

BOOTS, WHO MADE THE PRINCESS SAY, “THAT’S

A STORY” Once on a time there was a king who had a daughter, and she was such a dreadful

story-teller that the like of her was not to be found far or near. So the king

gave out, that if any one could tell such a string of lies, as would get her to

say, “That’s a story”, he should have her to wife, and half

the kingdom besides. Well, many came, as you may fancy, to try their luck, for

every one would have been very glad to have the Princess, to say nothing of the

kingdom; but they all cut a sorry figure, for the Princess was so given to

story-telling, that all their lies went in at one ear and out of the other.

Among the rest came three brothers to try their luck, and the two elder went

first, but they fared no better than those who had gone before them. Last of

all the third, Boots, set off and found the Princess in the farm-yard. “Good-morning”, he said, “and thank you for nothing.” “Good-morning”, said she, “and the same to you.” Then she went on: “You haven’t such a fine farm-yard as ours, I’ll be bound;

for when two shepherds stand, one at each end of it, and blow their ram’s

horns, the one can’t hear the other.” “Haven’t we though!” answered Boots; “ours is far

bigger; for when a cow begins to go with calf at one end of it, she

doesn’t get to the other end before the time to drop her calf is

come.” “I dare say!” said the Princess. “Well, but you haven’t

such a big ox, after all, as ours yonder; for when two men sit one on each

horn, they can’t touch each other with a twenty-foot rule.” “Stuff!” said Boots; “is that all? why, we have an ox who is

so big, that when two men sit, one on each horn, and each blows his great

mountain-trumpet, they can’t hear one another.” “I dare say!” said the Princess; “but you haven’t so

much milk as we, I’ll be bound; for we milk our kine into great pails,

and carry them in-doors, and empty them into great tubs, and so we make great,

great cheeses.” “Oh! you do, do you?” said Boots. “Well, we milk ours into

great tubs, and then we put them in carts and drive them in-doors, and then we

turn them out into great brewing vats, and so we make cheeses as big as a great

house. We had, too a dun mare to tread the cheese well together when it was

making; but once she tumbled down into the cheese, and we lost her; and after

we had eaten at this cheese seven years, we came upon a great dun mare, alive

and kicking. Well, once after that I was going to drive this mare to the mill,

and her back-bone snapped in two; but I wasn’t put out, not I, for I

took a spruce sapling, and put it into her for a back-bone, and she had no

other back-bone all the while we had her. But the sapling grew up into such a

tall tree, that I climbed right up to heaven by it, and when I got there, I saw

the Virgin Mary sitting and spinning the foam of the sea into

pig’s-bristle ropes; but just then the spruce-fir broke short off, and I

couldn’t get down again; so the Virgin Mary let me down by one of the

ropes, and down I slipped straight into a fox’s hole, and who should sit

there but my mother and your father cobbling shoes; and just as I stepped in,

my mother gave your father such a box on the ear, that it made his whiskers

curl.” “That’s a story!” said the Princess; “my father never

did any such thing in all his born days!” So Boots got the Princess to wife, and half the kingdom besides.