The deceiving fox was finally killed, the skin was removed from it, and in the house of the headman we celebrated a noisy wake for the red-tailed one.
However, everyone was pretty tired during the day, so no one wanted to stay long. When eleven struck, everyone began to go home. The headman offered me a horse. It was very kind of him, but I refused. The road took a long detour, and I preferred to ski straight through the forest.
And so, with a gun and a fox skin on my back, I set off.
The ski trail was great. During the day it melted a little, in the evening it froze, and the deep snow was covered with a dense crust. The moon was shining in the sky and the stars were winking cheerfully. What more could a traveler want?
I quickly raced through wooded hills and birch groves. The tops of the trees, white with frost, intertwined their branches, and a shining silver arch sparkled above my head. It was very quiet. Only occasionally could we hear the hooting of an owl, the shrill barking of foxes who had started a fight, or the babbling of a hare - maybe he was complaining about the cold, or maybe he was frightened by the cry of an owl...
And then everything calmed down. And only the shuffling of skis broke the silence of the night.
Suddenly, somewhere very close, I heard the creaking of runners, and soon a light, low sleigh came alongside me.
I stepped aside to give way, but the stranger sitting in the sleigh held the horse and spoke to me.
By the gun and the fox skin over my shoulders and by my hunting cap, he immediately guessed that I was a hunter, and said that just now, when he was driving along the high bank of the river, he saw a pack of wolves. The wolves walked across the ice to this side. If I hurry, I'll probably have time to catch up with them.
Having thanked him, I moved on on my way.
The steep hillside leading down to the river was covered with spruce forest and dense bushes. The skis themselves carried me down, the branches whipped me in the face, everything flashed and rippled in my eyes. I flew like a whirlwind, not distinguishing the road, not seeing anything in front of me, and before I had time to think anything, I ran into a stump.
One of the skis broke, the gun flew to the side, and I myself sprawled in the snow.
I lay there for several minutes as if stunned. Then he tried to get up, but felt such severe pain in his left leg that he could not take a step.
Somehow crawling on my knees, I searched around the snow and finally found my gun. Leaning on him like a stick, I went down to the river.
Then I hid behind a hillock and, with the impatience of a hunter, began to wait for the wolves. Soon they appeared. There were five of them; they walked slowly one after another along the shore.
Having let the flock come about forty steps, I pulled the right trigger of my double-barreled shotgun. The gun misfired. He pressed the left trigger, but too hastily - the gunpowder flared up and the bullet hit the top of a spruce tree that stood on the other side.
The frightened wolves, stretching out their tails, rushed off into the depths of the forest at full speed.
Frustrated, I crawled out of my hiding place and, speaking unkindly to the passer-by, trudged along the shore, trying to figure out where I was. To my great joy, I soon noticed on the other bank a light smoke rising from the tops of the trees, and a roof flashing between the spruce trees.
Well, thank God, familiar places! This is Tuppenhauk Manor. Its owner works on the very estate where I live.
The house glowed cheerfully in the darkness with all its windows.
With difficulty, limping heavily, I crossed to the other side, dragged myself to the door, pushed it and entered the room, covered in snow from head to toe.
- Heavenly powers! Who is this? - Old Bertha Tuppenhauk screamed in fear and dropped the ham she was cutting while sitting near the stove.
“Good evening, Bertha,” I said. “Don’t be afraid!” Don't you recognize me?
Bertha clasped her hands.
- Oh, it’s you, Mr. Student!.. Well, you scared me! I look - the door opens and someone white is standing on the threshold...
And it’s a dead time, right at midnight.
I told her in a nutshell what had happened to me, and asked her to send one of her sons to the estate for a horse and sleigh.
“Well, wasn’t it true when I said that it’s better not to touch the wolves,” the old woman grumbled. “How many times did I warn you: don’t set traps for the wolves, otherwise it will be bad!”
They didn't believe me. And here Per Nordigoren broke his leg last year, and now it’s you!.. Now, I suppose, everyone will believe old Bertha.
Yes, who knows, but the wolf does not forgive anyone for insults...
And, muttering something under her breath, she headed to the corner where there was a large bed. From there, discordant family snoring could be heard throughout the house. Old Bertha leaned over the blond boy lying on the edge and began to wake him up.
- Get up, get up, little Ula! We need to go to the estate to get a horse for Mr. Student.
- A-ah-ah! - Little Ula yawned sweetly and turned on the other side. He loved to sleep well and did not see the need to deny himself this pleasure because of any trifles. An eternity passed while he sighed, yawned, muttered something inaudibly and rubbed his eyes.
Finally, he crawled out from under the colorful rags on the bed, pulled on his pants, and found his jacket. But he could not understand what was required of him, and only when he was promised a few coins for his work did his head become clearer.
While Bertha was negotiating with her son, I looked around. What was there in this hut! And a loom, and a spinning wheel, and old logs, which apparently served instead of chairs, and brooms, and tubs, and half-hewn axes, and chickens on a roost, and a musket on the wall, and drying stockings under the ceiling, and many more different things - you can’t count them all.
Having escorted the boy out the door, Bertha sat down next to me by the fireplace. She was in a festive outfit: a blue jacket trimmed with shiny silk braid, a black pleated skirt, a cap with muslin flowing behind.
Bertha's face was wide, with high cheekbones, her skin was yellowish, her slanted eyes looked so that they seemed to pierce right through her. Seeing her, everyone would say that she looks like a witch. As for the residents of the area, no one doubted it.
- Listen, Bertha, aren’t you expecting guests? — I asked. “You’ve dressed up too much!”
“No, I’m not waiting for anyone,” said Bertha. “I just returned home myself.” You know how it happens - you go to one, and on the way they call five more: this one is shaking with a fever, this one injured his leg, whose child was jinxed, whose horse fell ill. Who will help? Bertha! That's it Bertha!
- Tell me, do you also know how to treat sprains and bruises? - I asked with the most serious face.
- But of course! How many of these learned doctors played tricks on poor Nordigoren,” said Bertha with a grin, “but he finally got back on his feet when old Bertha got down to business!” If Mr. Student does not hesitate, I can treat him too. I have a slanderous vodka for just such a case.
- Do me a favor! “I have no doubt that only you will help me,” I said.
I really wanted to find out her witchcraft tricks.
Bertha went to the old, dry cabinet and took out a pot-bellied bottle and a glass on a wooden stem.
Having filled the glass to the brim, she pulled the boot off my sore foot, and then, leaning over the glass, began to whisper something. And since she was somewhat deaf, without noticing it herself, she spoke louder and louder. Therefore, word by word I heard a mysterious spell that Bertha would not have revealed to me for any money if I had asked her.
And since for the success of witchcraft this spell must be repeated three times, I remembered it perfectly.
Air,
Water,
Earth
And fire!
Broke my leg
Unbroken horse.
The veins will grow together
The blood will mix
Everything that is torn apart
Will contact you again!
Bertha stood up and sat down again, and, repeating the spell for the third time, spat on all four sides. Then she quickly poured vodka onto the bruised area and began to carefully rub my swollen leg.
Cold vodka and rubbing immediately made me feel better. You really don’t have to be a doctor to know this wisdom! But I didn’t want to upset the old lady.
- Thank you, Bertha! It seems that your spell is already helping,” I said. “Maybe you’ll give me a secret, tell me how you spell vodka?”
“No, no, don’t ask,” Bertha hastily answered. “I swore a terrible oath to the one who taught me this business not to reveal his secrets to a single person.”
- Who was that? Right, a real sorcerer? - I asked.
“A sorcerer is not a sorcerer, but he could argue with any sorcerer,” answered Bertha. “It was my uncle, my mother’s brother, Mass.” He knew how to charm any disease, stop bleeding and even find stolen property. It’s no secret that he not only treated people, but also sent them all sorts of illnesses. The whole neighborhood was afraid of him... Yes, no one will argue - he was a man of great intelligence! But still, he was not protected from damage!
- How so? Please tell me if it’s not a secret,” I pestered her.
Old Bertha was silent for a minute and began to tell.
“You may not believe me,” she said, looking sideways at me, “but I heard this story with my own ears from Uncle Massa.”
This happened a long time ago, when I was still a girl. Uncle Mass lived in Kne at that time—do you know Kne, which is in the Hyrdal Valley? He was a woodcutter and often went to the mountains to cut wood and stayed there for several days in a row.
For woodcutters, this is a common thing. They will build themselves a hut from pine branches, put a fire in front of the entrance and sleep like at home.
One day Uncle Mass was working in the forest with two comrades.
He had just knocked down a huge tree and sat down on a stump to rest, when he suddenly saw a large ball of colorful threads rolling right under his feet.
Uncle Mass was surprised. Indeed, where does a ball of colorful thread come from in a dense forest? For a long time Uncle Mass did not even dare to touch it (and it would be better for him to never touch this ball!), but whatever you say, curiosity still got the better of him. He looked to the right, to the left, raised his head up and saw: not far from the place where he had just knocked down a pine tree, a girl was sitting on a ledge of a rock. He sits and embroiders.
Never before - neither in a dream nor in reality - had he met such a beauty. He looks at her with all his eyes and cannot move.
And she grinned, raised her eyebrows and said in a voice as if a stream was murmuring:
- Why are you standing there? Give me my ball!
Uncle Mass picked up the ball, handed it to her, and he kept looking and looking at her, never taking his eyes off her.
Finally he came to his senses, grabbed an ax and got to work again. What kind of work is there! He swings an ax, but the beauty himself is not losing his mind. Finally he couldn’t stand it and looked up again. What a wonder! There is no one on the rock anymore. His beauty disappeared, as if she had flown away on wings.
He didn't feel like himself all day long. He kept looking around, looking for his beauty. And at night, his comrades both lay down and fell asleep, but he couldn’t sleep. He lies there and still waits for something. And I waited!
She entered the hut with silent steps, took him by the hand and led him along. She didn’t even ask whether he wanted to go or not. And he goes and doesn’t understand why, but still he goes... She led him to a stone mountain. There, in an underground cave, was her home. Why, what! Uncle Mass said that there are no words to describe this wealth!
Uncle Mass lived in the underground palace for three days, and celebrated his wedding with the forest beauty for three days.
And on the fourth day he woke up, opened his eyes, and lo and behold, he was lying again in his pine hut next to his comrades. And neither his beauty, nor the palace - nothing!
Uncle Mass stood up and quickly took up the axe. He doesn’t tell his comrades anything. And they don't ask him. They think it’s true, his supplies ran out, he went home to Kne for bread and cheese, that’s all.
But only from then on did they begin to notice something wrong with him. He sits as if nothing had happened by the fire, fixing something or pointing an ax, and suddenly he jumps up out of the blue and runs into the forest, as if someone called him...
And they really called him, but no one else heard it.
He returns from the forest and sits somewhere on the side, away from people. He is silent, looks at the ground, grins. And they will ask him: “What’s wrong with you, Mass? Where have you been? - he’ll just turn away and remain silent - that’s the whole answer. His forest wife completely bewitched him...
One day he was cutting fence stakes.
He had just knocked down a tree and hammered in a wedge, so skillfully that he split the entire length of the trunk, when he suddenly saw his beauty coming out of the thicket. She is holding a silver bucket in her hands. And she brings him sour cream soup in this bucket. So thick, fatty, tasty - simply delicious!..
He sat down on a stump, placed a bucket in front of him, and his wife sat opposite him on a splintered tree.
Yes, I didn’t have to try a lot of this stew. As soon as he took hold of the spoon, he looked - what is it? - the tip of his tail protrudes from the crack of the trunk on which his wife is sitting... Then Mass was struck as if by thunder.
So that's it! This means that his wife is simply a mermaid, the evil spirits of the forest!
He jumped up, knocked out a wedge from the tree with one blow and pinched the mermaid's tail. The mermaid rushed about like a fox in a trap, tore off her tail and ran.
He didn’t even have time to blink an eye, and there was no trace of her.
Uncle Mass stands rooted to the spot and just whispers:
- Get lost! Get lost! Get lost! Get lost!
How long he stood like that, he himself did not remember.
Then he woke up and looked: instead of a silver bucket, there was a birch bark basket in front of him, and instead of sour cream soup, there was swamp mud with all sorts of spiders, slugs and tadpoles.
From then on, Uncle Mass never looked into this forest. He was very afraid that the mermaid, in revenge, would turn him into an animal, into a bird, or simply into a rotten stump. They can do it.
Five years have passed. And then one day Uncle Mass went to look for the missing horse. He walked and walked and wandered into that same forest. Either he himself lost his way, or an evil spirit lured him, but he just found himself in such a thicket that he had never been in his life. Wilderness and darkness.
And in this wilderness there is a small hut. It was covered with moss from the ground to the roof. And who wants to live in such wilds!..
Uncle Mass looked through the window and saw that some woman was in charge of the hut. You can’t tell whether she’s old or young—she’s too ugly.
A woman is kneading some green dough. And in the corner sits a child of about four years old - his face looks exactly like his mother.
And suddenly the woman left work, poured beer into a mug and said to the child:
- Bring some beer to your father! He's standing there, under the window.
When Uncle Mass heard this, he started running without looking back. And only then did he catch his breath when he closed the door of his house in Kne and bolted it.
Since then, Uncle Mass never went to the mountains and even left Kne forever, just to be away from those places...
“Still,” old Bertha finished her story, “it didn’t go in vain for him.” So from that time until the end of his days he remained as if not himself. A man of great intelligence, but a fool!..
“Yes, maybe he was born like that, your uncle Mass from Kne,” I said. “And whatever you say, he didn’t know much about witchcraft!” Well, what kind of sorcerer is this if he himself cannot protect himself from damage!
Bertha, perhaps, agreed with me in her heart, but continued to assure that there had never been and never would be such a skilled healer as her uncle.
I didn’t argue with her anymore, because I wanted to hear some more wonderful story from her.
And in fact, old Bertha began to talk.
I filled my pipe, lit a cigarette from the burning splinter that Bertha handed me, and prepared to listen.
“Yes, if the mermaids and trolls decide to make a person faint,” said Bertha, “then rest assured, they will avert your eyes so much that you won’t recognize yourself.” Listen to what happened one day in the town of Melbu.
One summer, the girls drove cows and goats to mountain pastures in Halland.
At first everything was fine, but after a few days the cattle, for no apparent reason, began to go berserk. There was no trouble with him. The girls were simply exhausted, chasing wild cattle.
They didn’t know what to do: whether to drive the herd back to Melba or call someone for help. But then another girl from their village came to them in the mountain pasture. Throughout the area she was considered the first beauty and had just been betrothed.
And what do you think - as soon as this girl appeared in the mountains, the cattle immediately calmed down - cows, sheep, and goats. Herding them became so easy that the girl persuaded her friends to return home, and she and her beloved dog remained in the mountains to look after the herd.
One day she was sitting in her hut after noon and spinning wool.
Suddenly the door opens and her fiance enters.
The girl was surprised. She was not expecting him at this time. And he, as if nothing had happened, sits down on a bench next to her and says that he decided not to postpone the wedding until the fall, but to celebrate it today, here - on a mountain pasture. He has already invited guests - all his relatives and neighbors.
The girl should be happy, but for some reason it’s like a heavy stone lies on her heart.
And then the guests began to arrive. They set the wedding table, filled it with silver, and served all sorts of dishes.
The girlfriends brought a wedding dress and a crown with diamonds.
They removed the bride as it should be and, according to the ancient custom, put a crown on her head and covered her fingers with rings.
Everyone around seems to be familiar: relatives, friends, neighbors, neighbors... But for some reason the girl feels uneasy. And her faithful dog, as if sensing something bad, tucked his tail, grumbled, and backed away from the guests. And when the bride was seated at the table, he slipped out of the hut and rushed headlong down to Melba.
He came running and let’s rush from person to person. He barks, pulls everyone by the floors, and pulls them along. Well, people realized that some kind of trouble had happened in the mountains.
They immediately gathered, grabbed whatever they could get their hands on - axes, sticks, scythes - and went to the mountains. And ahead of everyone - who do you think? - the groom of that girl with a gun in his hands.
He was the first to climb the mountain, the first to sneak up to the hut and look through the crack of the door.
And what does he see? His relatives and neighbors are sitting at the set table - the same ones who run here after him with sticks and scythes. And at the head of the table, next to the bride, he himself sits in festive clothes. Drinks, eats, laughs...
“Well, you see,” I interrupted Bertha, “and you said that if mermaids and trolls want to make a person faint, he won’t recognize himself.” But the groom found out where he was and where he wasn’t...
- Well, what did you find out? But the bride didn’t know where he was and where he wasn’t. “And this is probably worse,” answered Bertha. “But listen to what happened next.”
The guy immediately realized that it was the mountain trolls who took on human form in order to steal his bride.
Without thinking twice, he raised his gun and shot straight at the ceiling.
At that same moment, the door of the hut opened with a bang and from there some shaggy balls rolled right at his feet - each larger than the other.
Without remembering himself, the groom burst into the room and saw his bride at the wedding table in full wedding dress. Only her finger was missing a wedding ring.
The entire table was covered with antique silverware. And on the dishes and in the bowls lay piles of all sorts of rubbish - poisonous mushrooms, spiders, frogs, snakes...
- What’s going on here? - the groom shouted in a voice that was not his own. - And why are you in a wedding dress?
“But you yourself persuaded me to get married today,” the bride answers.
- I? - asks the groom. - Yes, it was the same me as this toad is a wedding cake. But now I really am.
“Look, there are the guests you brought,” says the girl and points out the window.
And all the people had already gathered there.
The groom just laughs. That’s why I brought these guests, they say, to drive those guests away.
Little by little, the girl began to understand what had happened to her, and told everyone how the mountain spirits had taken her eyes away...
“There were people there who, like you, didn’t really believe in spirits,” Bertha said, chuckling. “Whether you like it or not, you will believe it when there is silverware on the table in a simple shepherd’s hut, and a diamond crown shines on the head of a village girl.”
Without hesitating for long, the groom took his bride down to Melba and, so that no troll would ever again think of stealing his bride, he married her on the same day, since she was already in her wedding dress.
The feast was a success. The bride was sitting at the table in the same dress that the trolls had brought. Only this time the treat was better than spiders and vipers...
“Yes, I heard this story somewhere,” I said. “Only they told me that it happened not in Halland, but in Valdres,” I added, to tease Bertha a little.
But old Bertha was not so easily embarrassed.
- So this is not the same at all! she said. “You’re probably thinking about a girl named Barbra.” The mountain spirits almost took their eyes off her, too, but this is a completely different story.
- Which one? - I asked.
- Here's what it is. Barbru was walking in the mountains one day and suddenly heard such a loud voice, as if the mountain itself was speaking:
- King Haken! King Haken!
- Here I am! - answers a voice from another mountain, so booming that the ground shook under her feet.
“King Haken, my son, would you like to get married?” - asks the first voice.
And the second one answers:
- Only for Barbra!
- It will be your way.
And so it happened. Before Barbro had time to take a step, suddenly one mountain opened up and girls came out with wedding attire in their hands. They surrounded Barbra and began to dress her for the crown. And Barbro seemed numb: she did what she was told.
Meanwhile, riders on black horses rode out from another mountain. King Haken himself rode ahead of everyone, all in gold and silver.
So the trolls would have taken poor Barbra to their underground caves, but luckily for her, her fiancé was hunting nearby in the mountains.
Then he told people that out of the blue he suddenly felt so hard, so restless, as if someone had whispered in his ear: “Hurry up, otherwise there will be trouble!”
He started to run. He himself does not know where he is running, but his feet are carrying him straight to where his bride is being married to King Haken.
He came running and saw: black horses standing under ancient saddles, some people were crowding around, preparing festive tables. And the girls dress up Barbra for the crown. They removed her as expected and brought her to their king.
“Everything is ready,” they say. “You just need to take her eyes off.”
Then the groom tore the gun from his shoulder, loaded it - not with a bullet, but with an old grandfather’s button - and shot straight at King Haken. He immediately fell down as if knocked down. And in the mountains there was a groan, a roar, and the whole earth shook.
The trolls picked up their king and in an instant disappeared into the cleft of the rock. And frogs jumped from the table, worms and snakes and all other evil spirits crawled in all directions. Only the wedding dress and a dish made of cast silver remained with Barbro. And then they passed on to her daughter, and from the daughter to her granddaughter. If you don’t believe me, go and see for yourself.
Bertha could have talked endlessly, but at that moment the creaking of runners and the snorting of horses was heard outside the window. They came for me from the estate.
I said goodbye to Bertha, thanked her for her stories, gave her a few coins for treatment and went home.
Cold lotions and alcohol compresses helped me a lot. A few days later I was skiing again as if nothing had happened.
Old Bertha came to see me. She was not at all surprised to learn that I was already healthy, and not without pride said in the kitchen:
“Well, it’s not difficult for someone who knows the secret spells of Uncle Massa from Kne to heal a bruised leg.” I have had to heal broken ones too...
Then the children, to whom I had already told how Bertha treated me, surrounded her and sang with laughter:
Air,
Water,
Earth
And fire!
Broke my leg
Unbroken horse.
The veins will grow together
The blood will mix
Everything that is torn apart
Will contact you again!
Old Bertha was very angry at first and did not show up at our estate for three days. But in the end we made peace with her, and she told me many more wonderful stories. However, she never again revealed to me the secrets of her witchcraft and did not pronounce in my presence - neither aloud nor in a whisper - the mysterious spells of Uncle Massa from Kne.
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru