Ingebjörg

There once lived a king and queen who ought to have been as happy as

the day is long, for they had a fine kingdom, a beautiful palace,

plenty of horses and carriages; their treasure-room was filled with

gold, silver, and precious stones, and no matter how much they took out

of it, it always remained full.

Their people were quiet and industrious, and they had no cares or

troubles; yet, notwithstanding all this, they grew daily more sad and

sorrowful, for they had no children to inherit all the riches they

owned.

One day the queen went out into the palace garden. It was a fine bright

winter’s morning. The snow lay hard and firm on the ground, and each

tree and bush sparkled and glistened in the sunshine, just as if the

jewels in the king’s treasury had been scattered over them.

The queen, feeling tired, sat down on a stone bench beneath a huge oak

tree, when suddenly a large white bird flew down from the tree. It

brushed past so close to the queen’s face, that the wing-feathers

scratched her cheek, and a few drops of bright crimson blood fell on

the snowy ground.

“Oh,” cried the queen, “would that I might have a daughter who would be

as beautiful as those crimson drops on the white glistening ground!”

“You shall have your wish,” sang the bird, as it flew away, its white

wings shining in the sun like silver.

The queen had hardly recovered from her surprise than she heard a noise

behind her, and, turning round, she beheld the old man Surtur, who

lived in a little hut near the palace, and who was well known and

dreaded as a wicked magician.

“Ay, you shall have your wish,” he muttered, in a fierce, angry voice;

“but I too intend to have a say in the matter. A daughter shall indeed

be born to you, but she shall cause you more sorrow than happiness,

unless, indeed, she returns you good for evil.” And he laughed

wickedly, and disappeared.

When the queen heard these words she was greatly troubled, for she knew

that Surtur was her enemy, and that he was powerful; but as weeks and

months passed and nothing happened, she forgot all about the old man’s

words, and when at length her little daughter was born, every one

agreed that she was the most beautiful child ever seen. She was

christened Ingebjörg, and grew up as good as she was beautiful.

At first the queen could not do enough for the child, and could hardly

bear her out of her sight; but as she grew older, and when she saw how

fond the king was of Ingebjörg, and how every one praised and admired

her, she began to grow jealous, and all her love seemed to turn to

hatred.

When the king saw this, he thought it would be better to separate

Ingebjörg from her mother, so he built her a separate house, and there

she lived with her own attendants. But this only made the queen still

more angry. At last she fell ill, and sent for her daughter, and when

the girl came to her bedside she whispered something in her ear, and

then sent her back to her own house again. But from that day a change

came over Ingebjörg. She no longer laughed and danced as was her wont,

but walked about the rooms alone, often weeping, and would never leave

her house on any pretext whatsoever.

One day, when Ingebjörg, as usual, sat in her room, her work that she

used to take such pleasure in lying idly on her lap, while the tears

rolled slowly down her cheeks, she heard some one knocking at the door,

and on opening it she saw a funny little old woman with a high peaked

hat, who asked if she might come in and rest.

Ingebjörg listlessly said “Yes;” and then the old woman began telling

her some wonderful stories, and at last Ingebjörg got so interested

that her tears stopped, and she looked quite bright and happy like her

old self.

“And now,” continued the old woman, “I want you to come out into the

wood with me. It is a lovely day, and so beautiful and fresh in the

shade of the trees.”

Though at first Ingebjörg declared she did not care to go, she at last

allowed herself to be persuaded, and soon they were wandering along on

the soft mossy-paths beneath the beautiful great tall-stemmed firs,

graceful beeches, and feathery birch, till gradually the sad look

disappeared from Ingebjörg’s face, and she began to laugh and run like

the happy girl she had once been.

“And now,” said the little old woman, when, tired of walking, they had

seated themselves on a mossy bank, “now tell me, Ingebjörg, why are you

always so sad?”

At first the girl refused to speak, but the little old woman kept on

asking, and she looked so kind and gentle that at length Ingebjörg said

her mother had told her that it had been foretold at her birth that she

was to marry a terrible giant, and that she was to burn her father’s

castle and so cause his death.

“And oh,” cried Ingebjörg, “I love him so dearly! He has always been so

good and kind to me! Oh, let us hasten home. I quite forgot; I ought

never to have left my house, and I never will go out again, and then I

cannot possibly harm him, or marry that horrible giant.” And the poor

girl hurried home, sobbing and crying all the way.

“Nay, nay,” said the little old woman, “comfort yourself, my child. I

am your godmother, and there is no harm done, and I think we can find

some way to avert these evils. It is all that wicked Surtur’s doing. He

wanted to marry your mother, and when she would have nothing to say to

him and married your father, he vowed he would never rest till the king

was dead and she was punished. So he got her maid to give her some

drops made out of the dragon’s tooth, which turned her love for you to

hatred and jealousy. But he can only work so far. It remains for you,

now that you are grown up, to undo the evil he has wrought by returning

good for evil, for love can overcome all things. The king’s palace I

cannot save, for my power only extends over living things; but neither

your father nor mother shall be hurt, and the treasure can also be

saved. Neither need you fear the giant if you will do exactly as I bid

you. Now you must first go and persuade your father to go out riding in

the forest with all his attendants.”

With a heart greatly relieved at her godmother’s cheery words,

Ingebjörg hastened to do her bidding.

“Dear father,” she said, as she entered his presence, “the day is so

fine and the woods are so beautiful, will you not go out for a ride in

the woods and take the courtiers with you?”

And the king, pleased at seeing her look so bright and happy, at once

said he would go, and with all his courtiers in attendance, started off

for a great hunting party in the forest.

As soon as they were well out of sight, Ingebjörg sent the servants

away on different errands, and when the palace was quite empty, the

little old dame helped the princess to carry out all the treasure and

whatever else was of value in the castle, and then, when they stood in

the great empty hall, she told Ingebjörg that she must now take down

the big can of oil from the mantelshelf. In so doing the girl’s foot

slipped, and the oil ran over the hearth and into the fire. In a few

minutes the whole place was in a blaze, the little old dame and

Ingebjörg having just time to escape.

“Thus,” said the old woman, “one part of old Surtur’s enchantment has

been fulfilled, without harm to any one, and the rest you must now

carry out;” so saying, she gave Ingebjörg a little silver ball. “Now go

to the forest, throw down this ball, and follow its windings till it

stops at a woodman’s hut; go in, but keep the door ajar, so that you

can see who comes in, and, whatever you do, remember that you must see

the owner of the hut before he sees you. Remain there till I summon

you; but when in your dreams you hear me calling you, do not lose an

instant, but hasten to the palace, for your mother will need you.

Remember love is the great conqueror, and can overcome all evils.”

Ingebjörg promised to do exactly as the old dame had told her. She

threw down the silver ball and followed its course as it rolled along,

till at last it stopped before a woodman’s hut, and, going in, she hid

behind the half-closed door, peeping curiously between the slit.

Presently she saw a huge giant coming towards the hut, carrying a dead

bear across his shoulders which he had killed out hunting. He pushed

open the door, and, as he threw down his burden, he beheld Ingebjörg;

however, she had seen him first, and felt very frightened.

But though he looked terribly fierce, his voice was very soft and kind

as he told her that she might remain with him, but that she would have

to make the beds, cook the food, and sweep the floor—all which

Ingebjörg promised to do. He then showed her a little inner chamber

where he said she might sleep. “And, whatever noises you hear,” he

added, “don’t come in here unless I call you.”

And thus passed three days. The giant went out early every morning, and

never returned till sunset; while Ingebjörg cooked the food, made the

beds, and kept the little hut clean and tidy. Every night she heard

frightful noises in the outer room, the walls of the hut shook, and the

earth trembled, but as the giant never called her, she lay quietly in

her bed, pulling the clothes over her ears to deaden the terrible

noises. And then, as she fell asleep, each night she dreamed that,

instead of the giant, a handsome young prince stood beside the hearth.

On the third evening, she had hardly fallen asleep when she fancied she

heard some one calling her. Quickly jumping out of bed, she hastily

threw on her clothes, cautiously opened the door, and, seeing the hut

was empty, she ran as quickly as she could to the palace. She knew that

her mother needed her.

There, in front of the chief entrance, she saw a wooden stake had been

driven into the ground, to which the queen was tied, while the servants

were piling fagots of wood round her; for the queen had been condemned

to be burnt to death for having set the palace on fire during the

king’s absence and stolen all the treasure, though she in vain pleaded

her innocence.

Pushing her way through the crowd, Ingebjörg threw herself down on her

knees before her father.

“Oh, stop, stop!” she cried eagerly. “Dear father, my mother is not to

blame. It was I who was forced to burn down the castle, in order to

save your life, which was threatened by the wicked magician, Surtur,

and the treasure also is safe.”

When the king heard this, he at once ordered the queen to be released,

who, freed from the wicked spells that Surtur had thrown over her,

embraced her daughter with many loving words.

Surtur, hearing that his evil deeds were known to the king, tried to

hide himself in the woods; but he was caught and brought back by the

giant, who had also fallen under his enchantments. But Ingebjörg

remembered her silver ball, and, throwing it towards the giant, he

caught it, and as he did so he was immediately changed into the

handsome young prince Ingebjörg had seen each night in her dreams.

But Surtur was not to escape. The king called his servants, who bound

the magician with strong cords. He was condemned to death for all his

wicked deeds, and was led forth into the desert, where he was torn to

pieces by wild horses.

All the queen’s old jealousy now died out for ever. She loved Ingebjörg

more fondly each day, and before long there was a great marriage-feast

between the prince and Ingebjörg. They lived happily together all the

days of their life, and on the death of the king and queen, Ingebjörg

and her husband reigned in their stead, beloved by all their people.