THE MASTER-SMITH

THE MASTER-SMITH

Once on a time, in the days when our Lord and St Peter used to wander on earth,

they came to a smith’s house. He had made a bargain with the Devil, that

the fiend should have him after seven years, but during that time he was to be

the master of all masters in his trade, and to this bargain both he and the

Devil had signed their names. So he had stuck up in great letters over the door

of his forge: “Here dwells the Master over all Masters.”

Now when our Lord passed by and saw that, he went in.

“Who are you?” he said to the Smith.

“Read what’s written over the door”, said the Smith;

“but maybe you can’t read writing. If so, you must wait till some

one comes to help you.”

Before our Lord had time to answer him, a man came with his horse, which he

begged the Smith to shoe.

“Might I have leave to shoe it?” asked our Lord.

“You may try, if you like”, said the Smith; “you can’t

do it so badly that I shall not be able to make it right again.”

So our Lord went out and took one leg off the horse, and laid it in the

furnace, and made the shoe red-hot; after that, he turned up the ends of the

shoe, and filed down the heads of the nails, and clenched the points; and then

he put back the leg safe and sound on the horse again. And when he was done

with that leg, he took the other fore-leg and did the same with it; and when he

was done with that, he took the hind-legs—first, the off, and then the

near leg, and laid them in the furnace, making the shoes red-hot, turning up

the ends; filing the heads of the nails, and clenching the points; and after

all was done, putting the legs on the horse again. All the while, the Smith

stood by and looked on.

“You’re not so bad a smith after all”, said he.

“Oh, you think so, do you?” said our Lord.

A little while after came the Smith’s mother to the forge, and called him

to come home and eat his dinner; she was an old, old woman with an ugly crook

on her back, and wrinkles in her face, and it was as much as she could do to

crawl along.

“Mark now, what you see”, said our Lord.

Then he took the woman and laid her in the furnace, and smithied a lovely young

maiden out of her.

“Well”, said the Smith, “I say now, as I said before, you are

not such a bad smith after all. There it stands over my door. Here dwells

the Master over all Masters ; but for all that, I say right out, one learns

as long as one lives”; and with that he walked off to his house and ate

his dinner.

So after dinner, just after he had got back to his forge, a man came riding up

to have his horse shod.

“It shall be done in the twinkling of an eye”, said the Smith,

“for I have just learnt a new way to shoe; and a very good way it is when

the days are short.”

So he began to cut and hack till he had got all the horse’s legs off, for

he said, I don’t know why one should go pottering backwards and

forwards—first, with one leg, and then with another.

Then he laid the legs in the furnace, just as he had seen our Lord lay them,

and threw on a great heap of coal, and made his mates work the bellows bravely;

but it went as one might suppose it would go. The legs were burnt to ashes, and

the Smith had to pay for the horse.

Well, he didn’t care much about that, but just then an old beggar-woman

came along the road, and he thought to himself, “better luck next

time”; so he took the old dame and laid her in the furnace, and though

she begged and prayed hard for her life, it was no good.

“You’re so old, you don’t know what is good for you”,

said the Smith; “now you shall be a lovely young maiden in half no time,

and for all that, I’ll not charge you a penny for the job.”

But it went no better with the poor old woman than with the horse’s legs.

“That was ill done, and I say it”, said our Lord.

“Oh! for that matter”, said the Smith, “there’s not

many who’ll ask after her, I’ll be bound; but it’s a shame of

the Devil, if this is the way he holds to what is written up over the

door.”

“If you might have three wishes from me”, said our Lord,

“what would you wish for?”

“Only try me”, said the Smith, “and you’ll soon

know.”

So our Lord gave him three wishes.

“Well”, said the Smith, “first and foremost, I wish that any

one whom I ask to climb up into the pear-tree that stands outside by the wall

of my forge, may stay sitting there till I ask him to come down again. The

second wish I wish is, that any one whom I ask to sit down in my easy chair

which stands inside the workshop yonder, may stay sitting there till I ask him

to get up. Last of all, I wish that any one whom I ask to creep into the steel

purse which I have in my pocket, may stay in it till I give him leave to creep

out again.”

“You have wished as a wicked man”, said St Peter; “first and

foremost, you should have wished for God’s grace and goodwill.”

“I durstn’t look so high as that”, said the Smith; and after

that our Lord and St Peter bade him “good-bye”, and went on their

way.

Well, the years went on and on, and when the time was up, the Devil came to

fetch the Smith, as it was written in their bargain.

“Are you ready?” he said, as he stuck his nose in at the door of

the forge.

“Oh”, said the Smith, “I must just hammer the head of this

tenpenny nail first; meantime, you can just climb up into the pear-tree, and

pluck yourself a pear to gnaw at; you must be, both hungry and thirsty after

your journey.”

So the Devil thanked him for his kind offer, and climbed up into the pear-tree.

“Very good”, said the Smith; “but now, on thinking the matter

over, I find I shall never be able to have done hammering the head of this nail

till four years are out at least, this iron is so plaguey hard; down you

can’t come in all that time, but may sit up there and rest your

bones.”

When the Devil heard this, he begged and prayed till his voice was as thin as a

silver penny that he might have leave to come down; but there was no help for

it. There he was, and there he must stay. At last he had to give his word of

honour not to come again till the four years were out, which the Smith had

spoken of, and then the Smith said, “Very well, now you may come

down.”

So when the time was up, the Devil came again to fetch the Smith.

“You’re ready now, of course”, said he; “you’ve

had time enough to hammer the head of that nail, I should think.”

“Yes, the head is right enough now”, said the Smith; “but

still you have come a little tiny bit too soon, for I haven’t quite done

sharpening the point; such plaguey hard iron I never hammered in all my born

days. So while I work at the point, you may just as well sit down in my easy

chair and rest yourself; I’ll be bound you’re weary after coming so

far.”

“Thank you kindly”, said the Devil, and down he plumped into the

easy chair; but just as he had made himself comfortable, the Smith said, on

second thoughts, he found he couldn’t get the point sharp till four years

were out. First of all, the Devil begged so prettily to be let out of the

chair, and afterwards, waxing wroth, he began to threaten and scold; but the

Smith kept on, all the while excusing himself, and saying it was all the

iron’s fault, it was so plaguy hard, and telling the Devil he was not so

badly off to have to sit quietly in an easy chair, and that he would let him

out to the minute when the four years were over. Well, at last there was no

help for it, and the Devil had to give his word of honour not to fetch the

Smith till the four years were out; and then the Smith said:

“Well now, you may get up and be off about your business”, and away

went the Devil as fast as he could lay legs to the ground.

When the four years were over, the Devil came again to fetch the Smith, and he

called out, as he stuck his nose in at the door of the forge:

“Now, I know you must be ready.”

“Ready, aye, ready”, answered the Smith; “we can go now as

soon as you please; but hark ye, there is one thing I have stood here and

thought, and thought, I would ask you to tell me. Is it true what people say,

that the Devil can make himself as small as he pleases?”

“God knows, it is the very truth”, said the Devil.

“Oh!” said the Smith; “it is true, is it? then I wish

you would just be so good as to creep into this steel purse of mine, and see

whether it is sound at the bottom, for to tell you the truth, I’m afraid

my travelling money will drop out.”

“With all my heart”, said the Devil, who made himself small in a

trice, and crept into the purse; but he was scarce in when the Smith snapped to

the clasp.

“Yes”, called out the Devil inside the purse; “it’s

right and tight everywhere.”

“Very good”, said the Smith; “I’m glad to hear you say

so, but ‘more haste the worse speed’, says the old saw, and ‘forewarned is

forearmed’, says another; so I’ll just weld these links a little

together, just for safety’s sake”; and with that he laid the purse

in the furnace, and made it red-hot.

“AU! AU!” screamed the Devil, “are you mad? don’t you

know I’m inside the purse?”

“Yes, I do!” said the Smith; “but I can’t help you, for

another old saw says, ‘one must strike while the iron is hot’”; and as he

said this, he took up his sledge-hammer, laid the purse on the anvil, and let

fly at it as hard as he could.

“AU! AU! AU!” bellowed the Devil, inside the purse. “Dear

friend, do let me out, and I’ll never come near you again.”

“Very well!” said the Smith; “now, I think, the links are

pretty well welded, and you may come out”; so he unclasped the purse, and

away went the Devil in such a hurry that he didn’t once look behind him.

Now, some time after, it came across the Smith’s mind that he had done a

silly thing in making the Devil his enemy, for, he said to himself:

“If, as is like enough, they won’t have me in the kingdom of

Heaven, I shall be in danger of being houseless, since I’ve fallen out

with him who rules over Hell.”

So he made up his mind it would be best to try to get either into Hell or

Heaven, and to try at once, rather than to put it off any longer, so that he

might know how things really stood. Then he threw his sledge-hammer over his

shoulder and set off; and when he had gone a good bit of the way, he came to a

place where two roads met, and where the path to the kingdom of Heaven parts

from the path that leads to Hell, and here he overtook a tailor, who was

pelting along with his goose in his hand.

“Good day”, said the Smith; “whither are you off to?”

“To the kingdom of Heaven”, said the Tailor, “if I can only

get into it”—“but whither are you going yourself?”

“Oh, our ways don’t run together”, said the Smith; “for

I have made up my mind to try first in Hell, as the Devil and I know something

of one another, from old times.”

So they bade one another “Good-bye”, and each went his way; but the

Smith was a stout, strong man, and got over the ground far faster than the

tailor, and so it wasn’t long before he stood at the gates of Hell. Then

he called the watch, and bade him go and tell the Devil there was some one

outside who wished to speak a word with him.

“Go out”, said the Devil to the watch, “and ask him who he

is?” So that when the watch came and told him that, the Smith answered:

“Go and greet the Devil in my name, and say it is the Smith who owns the

purse he wots of; and beg him prettily to let me in at once, for I worked at my

forge till noon, and I have had a long walk since.”

But when the Devil heard who it was, he charged the watch to go back and lock

up all the nine locks on the gates of Hell.

“And, besides”, he said, “you may as well put on a padlock,

for if he only once gets in, he’ll turn Hell topsy-turvy!”

“Well!” said the Smith to himself, when he saw them busy bolting up

the gates, “there’s no lodging to be got here, that’s plain;

so I may as well try my luck in the kingdom of Heaven”; and with that he

turned round and went back till he reached the cross-roads, and then he went

along the path the tailor had taken. And now, as he was cross at having gone

backwards and forwards so far for no good, he strode along with all his might,

and reached the gate of Heaven just as St Peter was opening it a very little,

just enough to let the half-starved tailor slip in. The Smith was still six or

seven strides off the gate, so he thought to himself, “Now there’s

no time to be lost”; and, grasping his sledge-hammer, he hurled it into

the opening of the door just as the tailor slunk in; and if the Smith

didn’t get in then, when the door was ajar, why I don’t know what

has become of him.

THE TWO STEP-SISTERS Once on a time there was a couple, and each of them had a daughter by a former

marriage. The woman’s daughter was dull and lazy, and could never turn

her hand to anything, and the man’s daughter was brisk and ready; but

somehow or other she could never do anything to her stepmother’s liking,

and both the woman and her daughter would have been glad to be rid of her. So it fell one day the two girls were to go out and spin by the side of the

well, and the woman’s daughter had flax to spin, but the man’s

daughter got nothing to spin but bristles. “I don’t know how it is”, said the woman’s daughter,

“you’re always so quick and sharp, but still I’m not afraid

to spin a match with you.” Well, they agreed that she whose thread first snapped, should go down the well.

So they span away; but just as they were hard at it, the man’s

daughter’s thread broke, and she had to go down the well. But when she

got to the bottom she saw far and wide around her a fair green mead, and she

hadn’t hurt herself at all. So she walked on a bit, till she came to a hedge which she had to cross. “Ah! don’t tread hard on me, pray don’t, and I’ll help

you another time, that I will”, said the Hedge. Then the lassie made herself as light as she could, and trode so carefully she

scarce touched a twig. So she went on a bit further, till she came to a brindled cow, which walked

there with a milking-pail on her horns. ’Twas a large pretty cow, and her

udder was so full and round. “Ah! be so good as to milk me, pray”, said the Cow;

“I’m so full of milk. Drink as much as you please, and throw the

rest over my hoofs, and see if I don’t help you some day.” So the man’s daughter did as the cow begged. As soon as she touched the

teats, the milk spouted out into the pail. Then she drank till her thirst was

slaked; and the rest she threw over the cow’s hoofs, and the milking-pail

she hung on her horns again. So when she had gone a bit further, a big wether met her, which had such thick

long wool, it hung down and draggled after him on the ground, and on one of his

horns hung a great pair of shears. “Ah, please clip off my wool”, said the Sheep, “for here I go

about with all this wool, and catch up everything I meet, and besides,

it’s so warm, I’m almost choked. Take as much of the fleece as you

please, and twist the rest round my neck, and see if I don’t help you

some day.” Yes! she was willing enough, and the sheep lay down of himself on her lap, and

kept quite still, and she clipped him so neatly, there wasn’t a scratch

on his skin. Then she took as much of the wool as she chose, and the rest she

twisted round the neck of the sheep. A little further on, she came to an apple tree, which was loaded with apples;

all its branches were bowed to the ground, and leaning against the stem was a

slender pole. “Ah! do be so good as to pluck my apples off me”, said the Tree,

“so that my branches may straighten themselves again, for it’s bad

work to stand so crooked; but when you beat them down, don’t strike me

too hard. Then eat as many as you please, lay the rest round my root, and see

if I don’t help you some day or other.” Yes, she plucked all she could reach with her hands, and then she took the pole

and knocked down the rest, and afterwards she ate her fill, and the rest she

laid neatly round the root. So she walked on a long, long way, and then she came to a great farm-house,

where an old hag of the Trolls lived with her daughter. There she turned in to

ask if she could get a place. “Oh!” said the old hag; “it’s no use your trying.

We’ve had ever so many maids, but none of them was worth her salt.” But she begged so prettily that they would just take her on trial, that at last

they let her stay. So the old hag gave her a sieve, and bade her go and fetch

water in it. She thought it strange to fetch water in a sieve, but still she

went, and when she came to the well, the little birds began to sing, Daub in clay, Stuff in straw! Daub in clay, Stuff in straw. Yes, she did so, and found she could carry water in a sieve well enough; but

when she got home with the water, and the old witch saw the sieve, she cried

out: “THIS YOU HAVEN’T SUCKED OUT OF YOUR OWN BREAST.” So the old witch said, now she might go into the byre to pitch out dung and

milk kine; but when she got there, she found a pitchfork so long and heavy, she

couldn’t stir it, much less work with it. She didn’t know at all

what to do, or what to make of it; but the little birds sang again that she

should take the broom-stick and toss out a little with that, and all the rest

of the dung would fly after it. So she did that, and as soon as ever she began

with the broom-stick, the byre was as clean as if it had been swept and washed. Now she had to milk the kine, but they were so restless that they kicked and

frisked; there was no getting near them to milk them. But the little birds sang outside: A little drop, a tiny sup, For the little birds to drink it up. Yes, she did that; she just milked a tiny drop, ’twas as much as she

could, for the little birds outside; and then all the cows stood still and let

her milk them. They neither kicked nor frisked; they didn’t even lift a

leg. So when the old witch saw her coming in with the milk, she cried out: “THIS YOU HAVEN’T SUCKED OUT OF YOUR OWN BREAST. BUT NOW JUST

TAKE THIS BLACK WOOL AND WASH IT WHITE.” This the lassie was at her wits’ end to know how to do, for she had never

seen or heard of any one who could wash black wool white. Still she said

nothing, but took the wool and went down with it to the well. There the little

birds sang again and told her to take the wool and dip it into the great butt

that stood there; and she did so, and out it came as white as snow. “Well! I never!” said the old witch, when she came in with the

wool, “it’s no good keeping you. You can do everything, and at last

you’ll be the plague of my life. We’d best part, so take your wages

and be off.” Then the old hag drew out three caskets, one red, one green, and one blue, and

of these the lassie was to choose one as wages for her service. Now she

didn’t know at all which to choose, but the little birds sang: Don’t take the red, don’t take the green, But take the blue, where may be seen Three little crosses all in a row; We saw the marks, and so we know. So she took the blue casket, as the birds sang. “Bad luck to you, then”, said the old witch; “see if I

don’t make you pay for this!” So when the man’s daughter was just setting off, the old witch shot a

red-hot bar of iron after her, but she sprang behind the door and hid herself,

so that it missed her, for her friends, the little birds, had told her

beforehand how to behave. Then she walked on and on as fast as ever she could;

but when she got to the apple tree, she heard an awful clatter behind her on

the road, and that was the old witch and her daughter coming after her. So the lassie was so frightened and scared, she didn’t know what to do. “Come hither to me, lassie, do you hear”, said the Apple tree,

“I’ll help you; get under my branches and hide, for if they catch

you, they’ll tear you to death, and take the casket from you.” Yes! she did so, and she had hardly hidden herself before up came the old witch

and her daughter. “Have you seen any lassie pass this way, you apple tree”, said the

old hag. “Yes, yes”, said the Apple tree; “one ran by here an hour

ago; but now she’s got so far ahead, you’ll never catch her

up.” So the old witch turned back and went home again. Then the lassie walked on a

bit, but when she came just about where the sheep was, she heard an awful

clatter beginning on the road behind her, and she didn’t know what to do,

she was so scared and frightened; for she knew well enough it was the old

witch, who had thought better of it. “Come hither to me, lassie”, said the Wether, “and I’ll

help you. Hide yourself under my fleece, and then they’ll not see you;

else they’ll take away the casket, and tear you to death.” Just then up came the old witch, tearing along. “Have you seen any lassie pass here, you sheep?” she cried to the

wether. “Oh yes”, said the Wether, “I saw one an hour ago, but she

ran so fast, you’ll never catch her.” So the old witch turned round and went home. But when the lassie had come to where she met the cow, she heard another awful

clatter behind her. “Come hither to me, lassie”, said the Cow, “and I’ll

help you to hide yourself under my udder, else the old hag will come and take

away your casket, and tear you to death.” True enough, it wasn’t long before she came up. “Have you seen any lassie pass here, you cow?” said the old hag. “Yes, I saw one an hour ago”, said the Cow, “but she’s

far away now, for she ran so fast I don’t think you’ll ever catch

her up!” So the old hag turned round, and went back home again. When the lassie had walked a long, long way farther on, and was not far from

the hedge, she heard again that awful clatter on the road behind her, and she

got scared and frightened, for she knew well enough it was the old hag and her

daughter, who had changed their minds. “Come hither to me, lassie”, said the Hedge, “and I’ll

help you. Creep under my twigs, so that they can’t see you; else

they’ll take the casket from you, and tear you to death.” Yes! she made all the haste she could to get under the twigs of the hedge. “Have you seen any lassie pass this way, you hedge?” said the old

hag to the hedge. “No, I haven’t seen any lassie”, answered the Hedge, and was

as smooth-tongued as if he had got melted butter in his mouth; but all the

while he spread himself out, and made himself so big and tall, one had to think

twice before crossing him. And so the old witch had no help for it but to turn

round and go home again. So when the man’s daughter got home, her step-mother and her step-sister

were more spiteful against her than ever; for now she was much neater, and so

smart, it was a joy to look at her. Still she couldn’t get leave to live

with them, but they drove her out into a pigsty. That was to be her house. So

she scrubbed it out so neat and clean, and then she opened her casket, just to

see what she had got for her wages. But as soon as ever she unlocked it, she

saw inside so much gold and silver, and lovely things, which came streaming out

till all the walls were hung with them, and at last the pigsty was far grander

than the grandest king’s palace. And when the step-mother and her

daughter came to see this, they almost jumped out of their skin, and began to

ask what kind of a place she had down there? “Oh”, said the lassie, “can’t you see, when I have got

such good wages. ’Twas such a family, and such a mistress to serve, you

couldn’t find their like anywhere.” Yes! the woman’s daughter made up her mind to go out to serve too, that

she might get just such another gold casket. So they sat down to spin again,

and now the woman’s daughter was to spin bristles, and the man’s

daughter flax, and she whose thread first snapped, was to go down the well. It

wasn’t long, as you may fancy, before the woman’s daughter’s

thread snapped, and so they threw her down the well. So the same thing happened. She fell to the bottom, but met with no harm, and

found herself on a lovely green meadow. When she had walked a bit she came to

the hedge. “Don’t tread hard on me, pray, lassie, and I’ll

help you again”, said the Hedge. “Oh!” said she, “what should I care for a bundle of

twigs?” and tramped and stamped over the hedge till it cracked and

groaned again. A little farther on she came to the cow, which walked about ready to burst for

want of milking. “Be so good as to milk me, lassie”, said the Cow, “and

I’ll help you again. Drink as much as you please, but throw the rest over

my hoofs.” Yes! she did that; she milked the cow, and drank till she could drink no more;

but when she left off, there was none left to throw over the cow’s hoofs,

and as for the pail, she tossed it down the hill and walked on. When she had gone a bit further, she came to the sheep which walked along with

his wool dragging after him. “Oh, be so good as to clip me, lassie”, said the Sheep, “and

I’ll serve you again. Take as much of the wool as you will, but twist the

rest round my neck.” Well! she did that; but she went so carelessly to work, that she cut great

pieces out of the poor sheep, and as for the wool, she carried it all away with

her. A little while after she came to the apple tree, which stood there quite

crooked with fruit again. “Be so good as to pluck the apples off me, that my limbs may grow

straight, for it’s weary work to stand all awry”, said the Apple

tree. “But please take care not to beat me too hard. Eat as many as you

will, but lay the rest neatly round my root, and I’ll help you

again.” Well, she plucked those nearest to her, and thrashed down those she

couldn’t reach with the pole, but she didn’t care how she did it,

and broke off and tore down great boughs, and ate till she was as full as full

could be, and then she threw down the rest under the tree. So when she had gone a good bit further, she came to the farm where the old

witch lived. There she asked for a place, but the old hag said she

wouldn’t have any more maids, for they were either worth nothing, or were

too clever, and cheated her out of her goods. But the woman’s daughter

was not to be put off, she would have a place, so the old witch said

she’d give her a trial, if she was fit for anything. The first thing she had to do was to fetch water in a sieve. Well, off she went

to the well, and drew water in a sieve, but as fast as she got it in it ran out

again. So the little birds sung: Daub in clay, Put in straw! Daub in clay, Put in straw! But she didn’t care to listen to the birds’ song, and pelted them

with clay, till they flew off far away. And so she had to go home with the

empty sieve, and got well scolded by the old witch. Then she was to go into the byre to clean it, and milk the kine. But she was

too good for such dirty work, she thought. Still, she went out into the byre,

but when she got there, she couldn’t get on at all with the pitchfork, it

was so big. The birds said the same to her as they had said to her step-sister,

and told her to take the broomstick, and toss out a little dung, and then all

the rest would fly after it; but all she did with the broomstick was to throw

it at the birds. When she came to milk, the kine were so unruly, they kicked

and pushed, and every time she got a little milk in the pail, over they kicked

it. Then the birds sang again: A little drop and a tiny sup For the little birds to drink it up. But she beat and banged the cows about, and threw and pelted at the birds

everything she could lay hold of, and made such a to do, ’twas awful to

see. So she didn’t make much either of her pitching, or milking, and when

she came indoors she got blows as well as hard words from the old witch, who

sent her off to wash the black wool white; but that, too, she did no better. Then the old witch thought this really too bad, so she set out the three

caskets, one red, one green, and one blue, and said she’d no longer any

need of her services, for she wasn’t worth keeping, but for wages she

should have leave to choose whichever casket she pleased. Then sung the little birds: Don’t take the red, don’t take the green, But choose the blue, where may be seen Three little crosses all in a row;v

We saw the marks, and so we know. She didn’t care a pin for what the birds sang, but took the red, which

caught her eye most. And so she set out on her road home, and she went along

quietly and easily enough; there was no one who came after her . So when she got home, her mother was ready to jump with joy, and the two went

at once into the ingle, and put the casket up there, for they made up their

minds there could be nothing in it but pure silver and gold, and they thought

to have all the walls and roof gilded like the pigsty. But lo! when they opened

the casket there came tumbling out nothing but toads, and frogs, and snakes;

and worse than that, whenever the woman’s daughter opened her mouth, out

popped a toad or a snake, and all the vermin one ever thought of, so that at

last there was no living in the house with her. That was all the wages she got for going out to service with the old

witch.