Well, the weather was great this evening!
A snowstorm is raging outside. The wind whistles and sways the bare branches of maples and old lindens. There is not a star in the sky. Perhaps nowhere is the sky as gloomy as in Norway on a dead December evening.
The owner of the house and I are sitting in his room, dimly lit by a candle. I sat in one corner of the sofa with a book, in the other corner - the owner himself. In front of him is a whole stack of newspapers. From issue to issue, a work is published there under the intricate title: “The Experience of Expressing Loyal Feelings for the Benefit of the Motherland.” The author chose to hide his name and modestly signed: “Anonymous.”
The study of this profound work led the owner to equally profound reflections. And since he, it seems, did not agree with the author on anything and was also a big arguer by nature, he gradually became so excited that he jumped up from the sofa and, waving his arms, ran around the room. The fur cap flew off his head, and the tails of his long frock coat flew up like wings. This made the candle flame flicker all the time, and it became almost impossible to read. And the angry speeches that the owner unleashed on the invisible author rang in my ears, like a swarm of May beetles, and no longer allowed me to read at all.
I knew by heart all the poisonous remarks, destroying comparisons, striking arguments that the owner of the house brought down on the unfortunate Anonymous. I heard all this at least for the hundredth time. But I had nowhere to escape: the floor in my room had just been washed, and it was cold and damp.
Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore and started running into the kitchen. From there, bursts of cheerful laughter were heard every now and then. It was probably the blacksmith Christian telling tales.
And behind me came the furious cries of the owner:
- Children's toys!.. Lies!.. This is a disgrace for scientists!.. Dear Sir, I am like a true patriot...
I couldn’t make out anything else and closed the door more tightly behind me.
The spacious, clean kitchen was bright and cheerful. A bright fire burned in the hearth, illuminating every nook and cranny. The hostess was sitting here, and near her sat children, maids with needlework, and neighbors with a spindle.
The children gnawed nuts.
The workers were having dinner at a long table; the cook gave them a bowl of milk and a pot of thick porridge.
The blacksmith was also here. He stood with his back against the stove and smoked a pipe. From his face, although it was smeared with soot, it was easy to guess that he was now telling something very interesting and was reaping the fruits of a well-deserved success.
“Good evening, blacksmith,” I said. “Are you entertaining the whole company here?”
- Well, yes, he is! - the owner’s sons shouted. “Christian was telling a fairy tale about how the blacksmith tricked the devil!”
“Yes,” said Christian, “the devil is afraid of our brother the blacksmith.” Of course, it happens that a blacksmith also has to tinker with the devil. I heard one such story...
- Tell me, tell me, Christian...
The blacksmith did not have to ask for long.
“Here’s how it happened,” he began, sucking on his pipe. “One day a boy was walking along the road and gnawing nuts, that’s how you gnaw them!” - he said, turning to the boys. - And he came across a wormy nut. The guy wanted to leave him, but suddenly he saw the devil coming towards him. A real devil - horns stick out on his head, his tail dangles behind him. Everything is as it should be.
The guy thinks: “Let me trick this devil!”
And he says to him as if by chance:
“Tell me, please, is it true that a real devil, if he wants, can become very small, crawl through any crack, or even pass through the eye of a needle?” “Of course, it’s true,” the devil answers.
- But through this hole that the worm ate, can you get into the nut? - asks the guy.
The devil just shrugs his shoulders:
“Of course,” he says, “I can.” There's plenty of room for the devil everywhere.
But the guy doesn’t let up:
“No,” he says, “I will never believe that you will fit in this nut!”
- You won’t believe it? Well, look! - says the devil.
And before the guy had time to blink an eye, the devil disappeared, and a voice was heard from the nut:
- What, do you believe it now?
“Now I believe,” says the guy. And he himself took a lump of earth and covered the hole in the nut shell.
He put the nut in his pocket and went straight to the forge.
“Listen, uncle,” he asks, “crack this nut for me.”
The blacksmith grins:
- Well, this is a trivial matter!
The blacksmith put the nut on the anvil, took the smallest hammer and hit it lightly. He looks - the nut is still lying there.
The blacksmith took a larger hammer, swung it harder, and hit the nut harder. He won't take it again! Then the blacksmith took a one-pound hammer and hit it so hard that sparks rained down all around. But I tried in vain - nothing is done for the nut.
At this point the blacksmith became seriously angry.
- Wait, now I’ll deal with you!
He took a three-pound hammer, swung it as hard as he could, and hit a nut with all his might. The nut was shattered, and the forge almost collapsed. Everything around cracked, the walls shook, and the roof seemed to be torn off by a whirlwind.
The blacksmith just scratches his head in surprise.
- What is this? - he says. “The devil was sitting in this nut, or what?”
And the guy told him:
- Well, yes, uncle, a real devil!
Christian fell silent, very pleased with the impression he made on his listeners.
“It’s a pity, people have become too learned now, they don’t believe in anything,” someone said. “That’s why you won’t see the devil or other unclean spirits.”
“Yes, that’s true,” said the blacksmith.
I also hastened to agree with him in the hope that this way I would be able to lure some other legend or fairy tale out of him. I had no desire to indulge in a useless argument and prove that evil spirits are just a fiction.
“Yes, few people now believe in devils and spirits,” I said. “Or maybe they pretend that they don’t believe.” Only it seems to me that evil spirits are still fooling people, just as in the old days.
My calculation was justified.
“Well,” said the blacksmith and puffed on his pipe again. “Have you heard about Per Sannum?” How did the spirits keep his horse on Asmirer Hill?
“No, I haven’t heard,” I said.
- Well, I’ll tell you now. Per Sannum was a famous man, he could talk about any disease you wanted no worse than our Bertha. Isn't that right, Bertha? - said the blacksmith, turning to old Bertha Tuppenhauk. She sat with other women near the fireplace and carded wool.
“Of course, he knew something about our business,” Bertha said evasively.
“Well,” the blacksmith continued. “One day Per Sannum went to the city - he was suing someone. But I must tell you that he was a decent bully and arguer, just like our owner... - Here the blacksmith seemed to be choking on smoke and cleared his throat for a long time, looking at the hostess. But she didn’t seem to have heard his last words. “Yes, he went to the city, that means.” And the trial was supposed to take place exactly at ten o'clock in the morning. So Per Sannum decided to leave home in the evening, so as not to inadvertently be late. But as soon as he climbed the Asmirer Hill, his horse suddenly became as if rooted to the spot. No matter how Per beat it, no matter how he whipped it, the horse did not move backwards or forwards, as if someone had grabbed it by the bridle and was holding it. Asmirer Hill is an unclean place, everyone knows that. Whoever was fooled by spirits on Asmirer Hill. A person wakes up and doesn’t know how he ended up there. And he doesn’t remember what happened to him. Isn't it true, Bertha? - the blacksmith turned to Bertha Tuppenhauk again.
“It’s true,” answered the old woman. “If the spirits drag someone to Asmirer Hill, that person will remember absolutely nothing...”
“That’s what I’m talking about,” said the blacksmith. “Per Sannum fought with his horse all night, but could not do anything.” It did - and it’s worth it. At least cry! Finally, he dismounted and went to Ingebret - he had built a house for himself right on Asmirer Hill. “Be a friend,” Per asks, “take a burning brand and throw it at the horse.”
And he jumped on her back again.
Ingebret was glad to try - he swung harder and threw a firebrand at the horse. She rushed like mad. Per could barely stay in the saddle... And she galloped into the city - fell and immediately died. This is what spirits can do... Ingebret himself told me this,” the blacksmith finished.
“I remember, I remember, and I heard about it,” said Bertha Tuppenhauk. “But to tell the truth, I didn’t believe it.” Was Per Sannum really so stupid that he didn’t figure out how to get rid of spirits!
- Perhaps Per should have looked through the reins? Yes, Grandma Bertha? - asked one of the boys, winking slyly at his brother.
“Of course,” answered old Bertha. “Then he would have seen who was holding his horse.” And spirits don’t like to show themselves to people—they would immediately run away.
“But I heard,” one of the workers intervened, “that Per Sannum Grosto drove his horse.” And he didn’t feed her. So she died.
But no one liked such a simple and understandable explanation, so it is not surprising that no one paid attention to it.
“They say that spirits like to live in mills,” said another worker. “There was only one miller in our area, so his mill burned every year - and always on the same day.” And so it happened that one day, just before this very day, a tailor was working for the miller, sewing a new dress for him and his wife.
“Is it possible that the spirits will burn down my mill this year too,” the miller laments.
And the tailor says to him:
“Give me the key and let me spend the night at the mill.” I will disperse these spirits in an instant.
The miller is glad. He gave the tailor the key, and he went to the mill—it had just been rebuilt.
The tailor drew a circle on the floor and sat down in the middle. Now even the devil himself comes - he has nothing to fear! No evil spirit will cross the circle.
So what do you think? At midnight, the door suddenly swung open and a whole cloud of black cats burst into the mill. They placed a large cauldron on the hearth and lit a fire under it. Soon something started bubbling and boiling in the cauldron, and the mill smelled of hot tar.
“Oh, that’s it! - thought the tailor. “That’s what they’re up to!” And rightly so. He sees that one cat has already stretched out its paw to knock over the cauldron of boiling resin.
Then take the tailor and say:
- Be careful, cat, you will get burned!
— The tailor says: “Be careful, cat, you will get burned!” - the cat shouted to the other cats, and they all rushed to jump around the tailor. And no one dares to jump through the circle. They jumped and jumped, and again that first cat began to get close to the cauldron, again trying to knock it over.
- Be careful, cat, you will get burned! - said the tailor.
“The tailor says: “Be careful, cat, you’ll get burned!” the cat shouted to the other cats. And again they all began to dance, and jump, and scream. They flashed in front of the tailor, spinning faster and faster, so that everything swam before the tailor’s eyes. And he sees, as if in a fog, that one cat is trying to grab him with its claws, and sticks its paw through the outlined circle. Well, the tailor didn’t wait any longer. He pulled out his tailor's scissors from his pocket and cut off the cat's paw. She squealed in a wild voice, and the other cats squealed, howled, and screamed. Then they rushed through the door and - as if they had never happened. And the tailor calmly lay down in his circle and slept until noon. I slept well and returned to the miller's house.
He doesn't know how to thank him.
“Thank you,” he says, “so thank you!” You saved my mill today!
And the miller’s wife is silent, lying on the bench, her face as white as chalk, covered with a blanket up to her chin, as if she was shaking with a chill.
The tailor began to say goodbye to them. The miller hugs him, almost kisses him, and the miller’s wife extended her left hand to him, and hid her right hand even deeper under the blanket... This is how things happen...
“So the miller’s wife was a witch herself?” - asked one of the boys.
- It turns out that...
At this time, the door that led from the kitchen to the hallway opened, and the cowgirl Stina entered with a bucket of milk.
“I don’t know, mistress, what I should do,” she said. “The cows need hay, but the grooms won’t even let me take an armful from the hayloft.”
“Don’t you really know what needs to be done,” said the eldest boy in a loud, cheerful voice. “Brew jelly from sour milk and put it in the stall on Thursday evening, under the manger.” The brownie will come, eat your jelly and help you carry away the hay so that not a single groom will see. Right, Grandma Bertha?
Old Bertha nodded her head with the most serious look, and the cowgirl, also not realizing that they were laughing at her, said:
- Yes, it would be nice if we had a brownie in our house! Only here I have never seen him. Not like in Ness, when I served with the captain.
“Oh, tell me, tell me how it was,” the children began to ask her.
- Well, listen. It was a Sunday evening. Our coachman was in a hurry to see his bride and asked me to feed the horses. I agreed. She first gave oats to two workhorses, and then went up to Gnedko - that was the name of the horse our captain rode. That's when he fell into my arms.
- Who? Gnedko? - They laughed all around.
- Not Gnedko! Brownie! That's who! I then told the coachman that Gnedko was left unfed, and the coachman said: “Well, don’t worry about Gnedko. The brownie himself follows him and feeds him and gives him water.” Brownies, if you expose them to food and treat them kindly, are very helpful. This is already known.
- What was he like, this brownie? - asked the hostess.
But the cowgirl just shrugged her shoulders.
- Well, where can I see it? It's dark in the stable. And the evening was like today. All I noticed was that his two eyes were burning like coals and he was covered in fur.
- So it was a cat! - the boys shouted in unison.
- No matter how it is! Cat! - the cowgirl said contemptuously.
“But in my opinion, people talk a lot of nonsense,” said the blacksmith importantly. “They haven’t seen anything, but they say... Is it really possible to believe everything?”
The blacksmith himself believed everything, no matter what they said. But now he was offended to the core by the fact that he, the best storyteller in the entire area, was constantly interrupted and not allowed to open his mouth.
“By the way, in Elshtat,” the blacksmith began, “everyone there saw a mermaid with their own eyes.” Not like our Stina...
“Christian, tell me what happened in Elshtat,” both children and adults began to ask.
The blacksmith was just waiting for this.
- That's what was there. We once celebrated a wedding there. And they baked and fried for the wedding feast in a neighboring village, because in Elshtat no one has a stove big enough to cook for all the guests.
In the evening, the owners send their servant for drinks and food. He went. He loaded a full sleigh with all sorts of food and suddenly he heard someone say right next to his ear:
- Tell Delda in Elstat that Dild burned down.
Servant, let's whip the horse. The sleigh rushes so that the wind whistles, and someone’s voice says again, and insistently:
- Tell Delda that Dild has burned down!
And again:
- Tell Delda that Dild has burned down!
The servant returned home neither alive nor dead from fear.
The owner tells him:
- You arrived very soon. The devil took you, or what? Or maybe you haven't gone yet?
“No, I’ve already gone,” says the servant. “But, to tell the truth, I almost drove the horse.” All the way, someone kept repeating in my ear: “Tell Delda in Elstat that Dild burned down.”
Before he had time to say this, a terrible cry suddenly rang out:
- Oh, this child of mine burned!
And someone invisible began to rush around the room.
Suddenly everyone looks - it’s a mermaid rushing around the house. In the confusion, the invisibility cap fell off her, but she did not notice.
They rushed to catch the mermaid, but where is it! She wagged her tail back and forth and disappeared.
And when everyone calmed down, it turned out that the best pies and fried game and the largest barrel of beer had disappeared. The mermaid took everything away...
“Or maybe not a mermaid, but a servant,” one of the listeners timidly remarked.
But at that moment the door to the kitchen opened and the owner himself appeared on the threshold.
- What, are you still talking your nonsense? - he attacked the blacksmith. - Boys, go to bed. Enough for you to listen to the nonsense and nonsense with which the head of this idle idiot is filled.
“I must note,” the blacksmith said with dignity, “that I personally had to hear nonsense and nonsense only once in my life - when you made the residents of the area happy with your speech at the city hall.”
- Slacker! Damn chatterbox! - the owner shouted and slammed the door.
There was an awkward silence in the kitchen.
“However, it’s true, it’s time to sleep,” said the hostess, folding her needlework.
- No no! At least one more fairy tale! The smallest one! Please, Christian, tell me! - the children began to ask.
“Well, so be it,” said the blacksmith. “Since they call me a chatterbox, I’ll chat some more.” Listen. Now I will tell you how the shepherd found the treasure... This shepherd was walking through the forest one day and saw a casket lying on the grass.
The shepherd picked it up, pulled the lid, but it didn’t open. I knocked on the keyhole and it didn't budge.
The shepherd turned the casket this way and that, but could not open it.
“Well,” he thinks, “there must be some treasures hidden in this casket, otherwise why would it be locked so tightly?”
He took the casket under his arm and walked on. He didn’t walk ten steps - he saw a key lying in the road dust.
“If only this key would fit this casket!” - thought the shepherd.
He picked up the key. I looked at it from all sides. Then he blew on him. Then he blew through the keyhole. I put the key to the well and it fits. I stuck it deeper and it was good. I turned the key and the lock clicked! And the casket opened.
And what do you think was there? - Calf's tail.
That's it. If the tail were longer, then the fairy tale would be longer.
Well, now - good night, boys!
But the boys did not leave until the blacksmith gave his word that tomorrow he would come again and tell fairy tales again. For this he was promised a quarter pound of tobacco.
However, the next evening the blacksmith was gloomy, taciturn, and no matter how the children bothered him, he remained silent and only chewed tobacco.
The maids quietly said that at night he was kidnapped by spirits and taken to Asmirer Hill. There the blacksmith was found in the morning in Ingebret's barn, and a bottle was lying nearby. The blacksmith talked all kinds of nonsense and absolutely could not remember how he ended up here.
It could only be that the spirits were playing a trick on him!
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru