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Kovač, ki si ga niso upali spustiti v pekel
Norske Folkeeventyr · Peter Christen Asbjørnsen in Jørgen MoeO besedilu
Kovač, ki si ga niso upali spustiti v pekel
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- Norske Folkeeventyr
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- Peter Christen Asbjørnsen in Jørgen Moe
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- 021 Smeden, som de ikke turde slippe ind i Helvede
O izvirniku
Norske Folkeeventyr
Norveške ljudske pravljice o gozdu, gorah, prebrisanih junakih in nevarnih bitjih. Bralni jezik je English, izvirnik pa prihaja iz vira Norske Folkeeventyr v jeziku Norsk.
Besedilo
Kovač, ki si ga niso upali spustiti v pekel
Once, in the days when our Lord and St. Peter went wandering on earth, they came to a blacksmith. He had made a bargain with the Devil that in seven years he would belong to him, on condition that, for those seven years, he should be master of all masters in the smith’s craft; and both he and the Devil had signed their names to the contract. So he had put up a sign in great letters over the smithy door: “Here lives the Master of All Masters!” When our Lord came walking by and saw it, he went inside.
“Who are you?” he asked the smith. “Read what it says above the door!” the smith replied. “But perhaps you cannot read writing, in which case you must wait until someone comes along who can help you.” Before our Lord could answer, a man came with a horse and asked the smith to shoe it for him. “Might I be allowed to shoe it?” said our Lord. “You may try,” said the smith. “You cannot make such a mess of it that I cannot put it right again.” So our Lord went out and took one of the horse’s legs off, laid it in the forge, and heated the shoe red-hot; then he sharpened the heel and toe calkins and clinched the nails, and put the leg back on the horse, whole and sound. When he had finished, he took off the other foreleg and did the same with that; and once he had put it back on, he took the hind legs, first the right and then the left, laid them in the forge, heated the shoes red-hot, sharpened the heel and toe calkins and clinched the nails, and put the legs back on the horse. All the while the smith stood watching him. “You are not such a bad smith after all,” he said. “Do you think so?” said our Lord.
A little later the smith’s mother came over to the smithy and asked him to come home for dinner. She was very old, terribly bent in the back and wrinkled in the face, and could scarcely walk. “Now watch closely!” said our Lord. He took the woman, laid her in the forge, and hammered her into a beautiful young maiden. “I stand by what I said,” said the smith. “You are not a bad smith at all. It says above my door, ‘Here lives the Master of All Masters,’ but even so, I will say it plainly: a man learns as long as he lives!” And with that he went up to the house and ate his dinner.
No sooner had he returned to the smithy than a man came riding up who wanted his horse shod. “That will soon be done!” said the smith. “I have just learned a new way of shoeing; it comes in handy when the days are short.” And he began cutting and wrenching until he had got all the horse’s legs off. “For I cannot see the point of fiddling about with one at a time,” he said. Then he laid the legs in the forge, just as he had seen our Lord do, piled on plenty of coal, and set the smithy lads pumping the bellows briskly. But it went as might have been expected: the legs burned up, and the smith had to pay for the horse. He was none too pleased about that; but just then a poor old woman came walking past, and he thought, “If one thing will not work, perhaps another will.” He took the old woman and laid her in the forge, and though she wept and begged for her life, it did her no good. “Old as you are, you do not know what is best for you,” said the smith;
“in a moment you will be a young maiden again, and I will not charge you so much as a shilling for the forging.” The poor old woman fared no better than the horse’s legs. “That was wickedly done!” said our Lord. “Oh, there will not be many asking after her,” answered the smith;
“but it is a shameful trick of the Devil’s: he is barely keeping his word about what is written above the door.” “Now, if you could have three wishes from me,” said our Lord, “what would you wish for?” “Try me,” answered the smith, “and you may find out.” So our Lord granted him the three wishes. “First and foremost, I wish that anyone I ask to climb the pear tree standing here beside the smithy wall must stay there until I myself tell him to come down again,” said the smith;
“secondly, I wish that anyone I ask to sit in the armchair in the workshop must remain sitting there until I myself tell him to get up again; and lastly, I wish that anyone I ask to crawl into the wire-mesh purse I carry in my pocket must stay inside until I myself give him leave to crawl out again.” “You have wished like a fool!” said St. Peter. “First and foremost, you ought to have wished for God’s grace and friendship.” “I did not dare aim so high,” said the smith. Then our Lord and St. Peter said farewell and went on their way.
Time passed, and when the term was up, the Devil came, as the contract said he should, to fetch the smith. “Are you ready now?” he asked, poking his nose through the smithy door. “Oh, I really must put a head on this spike first,” answered the smith. “Meanwhile, climb up the pear tree and pick yourself a pear to munch on. You may be both thirsty and hungry after your journey.” The Devil thanked him for his kind offer and climbed the tree. “Well, now that I think it over,” said the smith, “I shall not get a head on this nail for another four years, for this iron is devilishly hard. You cannot come down before then, so you will have to sit and rest meanwhile.” The Devil begged and pleaded in the most piteous voice to be allowed down again, but it did him no good. At last he had to promise not to come back until the four years were over, as the smith had said. “Very well, then you may come down,” said the smith.
When that time had passed, the Devil came again to fetch the smith. “You must be ready now,” he said. “I should think you have had time to put a head on that nail.” “Yes, I have certainly got a head on it,” answered the smith, “but all the same, you have come just a little too early, for I have not sharpened the point yet;
and never in my life have I forged such hard iron. While I hammer a point on the nail, you might sit in my armchair and rest, for I dare say you are tired.” “Thank you kindly!” said the Devil, and sat down in the armchair. But no sooner had he settled himself than the smith said again that, now he came to think it over, he could not possibly have the point sharpened for another four years. At first the Devil asked politely to be let out of the chair; then he grew angry and began to threaten. But the smith excused himself as best he could, saying it was the iron’s fault, for it was so devilishly hard, and consoled the Devil by reminding him how comfortably he was sitting in the armchair, and promising to release him in four years, to the very minute. There was nothing else for it: the Devil had to promise not to fetch the smith until the four years were over. Then the smith said:
“Very well, you may get up now,” and the Devil was off as fast as he could go. Four years later the Devil came again to fetch the smith. “Now I know you must be ready,” said the Devil, poking his nose through the smithy door. “Ready and waiting!” answered the smith. “We can leave whenever you please. But listen,” he went on, “there is one thing I have stood here thinking I should like to ask you for a long time: is it true, what people say, that the Devil can make himself as small as he likes?” “Indeed it is!” answered the Devil. “Then perhaps you would do me the favour of crawling into this wire-mesh purse and seeing whether the bottom is sound,” said the smith. “I am so afraid of losing my travelling money.” “Gladly!” said the Devil. He made himself small and crawled into the purse. But no sooner was the Devil inside than the smith shut it. “Yes, it is sound and tight all over,” said the Devil from inside the purse. “Well, it is good of you to say so,” answered the smith, “but better safe than sorry. I may as well weld the links a little, just to make sure.” With that he laid the purse in the forge and heated it red-hot. “Ow! Ow! Are you mad? Do you not know I am inside the purse?” cried the Devil. “Yes, but I cannot help that,” said the smith. “As the old saying goes, ‘You must strike while the iron is hot.’” Then he took his sledgehammer, laid the purse on the anvil, and hammered away at it with all his might. “Ow, ow, ow!” screamed the Devil inside the purse.
“For mercy’s sake! Only let me out, and I will never come back again.” “Well, I think the links are fairly well welded now,” said the smith, “so you may come out!” With that he opened the purse, and the Devil was off so fast that he did not even dare look behind him.
But after a while it occurred to the smith that perhaps he had done wrong to make an enemy of the Devil. “For if I should fail to get into the kingdom of God,” he thought, “there may be a danger of my being left homeless, now that I have quarrelled with the ruler of Hell.” He decided it would be best to try to get into either Hell or Heaven sooner rather than later, so that he would know where he stood. So he shouldered his sledgehammer and set off. When he had walked a good way, he came to the crossroads where the road to Heaven parts from the road to Hell. There he caught up with a journeyman tailor, who was hurrying along with his pressing iron in his hand.
“Good day!” said the smith. “Where are you bound?” “For Heaven, if I can get in,” answered the tailor. “And you?” “Oh, then I doubt we shall be travelling together,” answered the smith. “I mean to try Hell first, for I have some acquaintance with the Devil already.” Then they said farewell and went their separate ways. But the smith was a strong, sturdy fellow and walked much faster than the tailor, so it was not long before he stood at the gate of Hell. He asked the gatekeeper to announce him and say that someone was outside who would like a word with the Devil. “Go out and ask who it is,” said the Devil to the gatekeeper, and so he did. “Give the Devil my greetings and tell him it is the smith who had the purse he knows about,” he answered, “and ask him kindly to let me in at once, for I worked at my forge until noon today, and since then I have walked a long way.” When the Devil received this message, he ordered the gatekeeper to fasten all nine locks on the gate of Hell. “And put a padlock on as well,” said the Devil, “for if he gets in, he will turn all Hell upside down!” “There is no shelter to be had here, then,” the smith said to himself when he heard them securing the gate still more firmly. “I shall have to try Heaven.” With that he turned round and went back until he reached the crossroads again; there he took the road the tailor had gone. Now, being angry at having walked all that way there and back for nothing, he strode along as fast as he could, and reached the gate of Heaven just as St. Peter opened it a crack, enough to let the thin journeyman tailor slip inside. The smith was still six or seven paces from the gate. “I had better hurry here,” he thought, and seized his sledgehammer and hurled it into the gap just as the tailor slipped through; but if he did not get in through that opening, I do not know what became of him.
Izvirnik
021 Smeden, som de ikke turde slippe ind i Helvede
Naslednje strani prikazujejo izvirno besedilo za primerjavo.
Engang i de Dage, da vor Herre og St. Peder gik og vandrede paa Jorden, kom de til en Smed; han havde gjort den Kontrakt med Fanden, at han skulde høre ham til om syv Aar, imod at han i den Tid skulde være Mester over alle Mestere i Smedekunst; og den Kontrakt havde baade han og Fanden skrevet Navnet sit under. Derfor havde han ogsaa sat med store Bogstaver over Smediedøren: „Her boer Mesteren over alle Mestere!“ Da vor Herre kom gaaende og fik see det, gik han ind.
„Hvem er du?“ sagde han til Smeden. „Læs over Døren!“ svarede Smeden; „men kanskee du ikke kan læse Skrift, saa faaer du vente til der kommer En, som kan hjælpe dig.“ Før vor Herre fik svaret ham, kom der en Mand med en Hest, som han bad Smeden skoe for sig. „Kunde ikke jeg faae Lov at skoe den?“ sagde vor Herre. „Du kan prøve,“ sagde Smeden; „galere kan du da ikke faae gjort det, end jeg kan faae det rigtigt igjen.“ Vor Herre gik da ud og tog det ene Been af Hesten, lagde det i Smedieavlen og gjorde Skoen gloende; derpaa hvæssede han Hager og Græv og neide Sømmene, og saa satte han Benet heelt og holdent paa Hesten igjen; da han var færdig med det, tog han det andet Forbeen af og gjorde lige eens med
det, og da han ogsaa havde sat det paa igjen, tog han Bagbenene, først det høire og saa det venstre, lagde dem i Avlen, gjorde Skoene gloende, hvæssede Hager og Græv og neide Sømmene, og satte saa Benene paa Hesten igjen. Imens stod Smeden og saa paa ham; „du er ikke saa daarlig Smed endda, du,“ sagde han. „Synes du det?“ sagde vor Herre. Lidt efter kom Smedens Moder bort til Smedien og bad ham komme hjem og spise til Middag; hun var meget gammel, fælt kroget i Ryggen og rynket i Ansigtet, og kunde med Nød og Neppe gaae. „Læg nu Mærke til, hvad du seer!“ sagde vor Herre; han tog Konen, lagde hende i Smedieavlen og smedede en ung, deilig Jomfru af hende. „Jeg siger, som jeg har sagt,
jeg,“ sagde Smeden, „du er slet ikke nogen daarlig Smed; der staaer over Døren min: „Her boer Mesteren over alle Mestere, men endda siger jeg reentud: En lærer saalænge En lever!“ og dermed gik han frem til Gaarden og spiste Middag. Da han vel var kommen tilbage i Smedien igjen, kom der en Mand ridende, som vilde have skoet Hesten sin. „Det skal snart være gjort!“ sagde Smeden, „jeg har nu netop lært en ny Maade at skoe paa; den er god at bruge, naar Dagen er kort;“ og saa begyndte han at skjære og bryde saalænge, til han fik alle Hestebenene af; „for jeg veed ikke hvad det skal være til at gaae og pusle med eet og eet,“ sagde han; Benene lagde han da i Smedieavlen, saaledes som han havde seet, vor Herre gjorde, lagde dygtig Kul paa og lod Smeddrengene drage rask
i Bælgstangen; men saa gik det, som man kunde vente: Benene brændte op og Smeden maatte betale Hesten. Det syntes han ikke synderlig om, men da i det samme en gammel Fattigkjærring kom gaaende forbi, tænkte han: lykkes ikke det Ene, saa lykkes vel det Andet; han tog Kjærringen og lagde hende i Avlen, og alt hun græd og bad for Livet, saa hjalp det ikke; „du skjønner ikke dit eget Bedste, saa gammel du er,“ sagde Smeden; „nu skal du blive til en ung Jomfru igjen i et Øieblik, og endda skal jeg ikke tage saameget som en Skilling for Smedningen.“ Det gik da ikke bedre med Kjærringen, Stakkel, end med Hestebenene. „Det var ilde gjort, det!“ sagde vor Herre. „Aa, der er vel ikke Mange, som spørge efter hende,“ svarede Smeden;
„men det er Skam af Fanden: det er ikke mere end saa at han holder, hvad der staaer skrevet over Døren.“ — „Ifald du nu kunde faae tre Ønsker af mig,“ sagde vor Herre, „hvad vilde du saa ønske dig?“ „Prøv mig,“ svarede Smeden, „saa tør du faae vide det.“ Vor Herre gav ham da de tre Ønsker. „Saa vil jeg først og fremst ønske, at den jeg beder klyve op i det Pæretræ, som staaer her ude ved Smedievæggen, maa blive siddende der, til jeg selv beder ham komme ned igjen,“ sagde Smeden; „for det Andet vil jeg ønske at den, jeg beder sætte sig i Lænestolen, som staaer derinde i Verkstedet, maa blive siddende i den, til jeg selv beder ham staae op igjen; og endelig vil jeg ønske at den, jeg beder krybe ind i Staaltraadpungen, jeg har i
Lommen min, maa blive derinde, til jeg selv giver ham Lov at krybe ud igjen.“ „Du ønskede som en daarlig Mand!“ sagde St. Peder; „først og fremst burde du have ønsket dig Guds Naade og Venskab.“ „Jeg turde ikke tage saa høit til, jeg,“ sagde Smeden. Derpaa sagde vor Herre og St. Peder Farvel og gik videre. Det led mens det skred og da Tiden var omme, kom Fanden, saaledes som det stod i Kontrakten og skulde hente Smeden; „er du færdig nu?“ sagde han og stak Næsen ind igjennem Smediedøren. „Aa, jeg skulde saa nødvendig slaaet Hoved paa den Spigeren først,“ svarede Smeden; „kryb du imidlertid op i Pæretræet og pluk dig en Pære at gnave paa, du kan være
baade tørst og sulten efter Veien.“ Fanden takkede for godt Tilbud og krøb op i Træet. „Ja, naar jeg nu betænker Alt vel,“ sagde Smeden, „saa faaer jeg slet ikke slaaet Hoved paa dette Søm i de første fire Aar, for dette er Pokker til Jern saa haardt; ned kan du ikke komme i den Tid, men du faaer sidde og hvile dig saalænge.“ Fanden tiggede og bad saa tyndt som en Toskilling at han maatte faae Lov at komme ned igjen, men det hjalp ikke. Tilsidst maatte han da love, at han ikke skulde komme igjen, før de fire Aar vare omme, som Smeden havde sagt. „Ja, saa kan du komme ned igjen,“ sagde Smeden.
Da nu den Tid var forbi, kom Fanden atter, for at hente Smeden; „nu er du vel færdig,“ sagde han, „nu synes jeg, du kan have slaaet Hoved paa Sømmet.“ „Ja Hoved har jeg sagtens faaet paa det,“ svarede Smeden, „men alligevel kom du et bitte lidet Gran for tidligt, for Odden har jeg endnu ikke hvæsset; saa haardt Jern har jeg heller aldrig smedet før. Medens jeg slaaer Od paa Sømmet, kunde du sætte dig i Lænestolen min og hvile dig, for du er vel træt kan jeg tænke.“ „Tak, som byder!“ sagde Fanden og satte sig i Lænestolen; men aldrig før var han kommen til Hvile, saa sagde Smeden igjen, at naar han betænkte Alt vel, kunde han slet ikke faae hvæsset Odden før om fire Aar. Fanden bad først vakkert om at slippe af Stolen, og siden blev han vred og begyndte at true; men
Smeden undskyldte sig det bedste, han kunde og sagde at det var Jernets Skyld, for det var saa Pokkers haardt, og trøstede Fanden med at han sad godt og mageligt i Lænestolen og at han om fire Aar skulde slippe akkurat paa Minuttet. Der var nu intet andet Raad, Fanden maatte love at han ikke skulde hente Smeden, før de fire Aar vare omme; og saa sagde Smeden: „Ja, saa kan du reise dig igjen,“ og Fanden afsted det forteste han kunde.
Om fire Aar kom Fanden atter for at hente Smeden; „nu er du sagtens færdig, veed jeg,“ sagde Fanden og stak Næsen ind gjennem Smediedøren. „Fix og færdig!“ svarede Smeden, „nu kan vi reise, naar du vil. Men du,“ sagde han videre, „der er een Ting, jeg har staaet her længe og tænkt, jeg vilde spørge dig om: er det sandt, hvad de fortælle, at Fanden kan gjøre sig saa liden han vil?“ „Jagu’ er det sandt!“ svarede Fanden. „Aa, saa kunde du gjerne gjøre mig den Tjeneste at krybe ind i denne Staaltraadpungen og see efter om den er heel i Bunden,“ sagde Smeden; „jeg er saa bange, jeg skal miste Reisepengene mine.“ „Gjerne det!“ sagde Fanden; han gjorde sig liden og krøb ind i Pungen. Men aldrig før var Fanden kommen ind i, saa lukkede Smeden Pungen igjen. „Jo, den er
heel og tæt allesteds,“ sagde Fanden i Pungen. „Ja, det er brav nok, du siger det,“ svarede Smeden, „men det er bedre at være fore vaer, end efter snar; jeg vil lige saa godt sveitse Ledene lidt, bare for Sikkerheds Skyld,“ og dermed lagde han Pungen i Avlen og gjorde den gloende. „Au! au! er du galen, veed du ikke at jeg er inde i Pungen da?“ raabte Fanden. „Ja, jeg kan ikke hjælpe dig,“ sagde Smeden, „de sige for et gammelt Ord: „En faaer smede mens Jernet er varmt,“ og saa tog han Storslæggen, lagde Pungen paa Ambolten og slog løs paa den, alt hvad han orkede. „Au, au, au!“ skreg Fanden i Pungen.
„Kjære Vene! lad mig bare slippe ud, skal jeg aldrig komme igjen mere.“ „Aa ja, nu troer jeg nok Ledene ere taalelig sveitsede,“ sagde Smeden, „saa kan du komme ud igjen da!“ Dermed lukkede han Pungen op, og Fanden afsted saa fort, at han ikke turde see sig tilbage engang. Men om nogen Tid faldt det Smeden ind, at han nok havde handlet galt, da han gjorde sig Uvenner med Fanden; „for skulde jeg ikke komme ind i Gudsrige,“ tænkte han, „turde det være Fare for at jeg kan blive huusvild, siden jeg har lagt mig ud med ham, som raader over Helvede.“ Han meente da, det var bedst at forsøge at komme ind, enten i Helvede eller i Himmerige ligesaagodt først som sidst, for at han kunde vide, hvordan han havde det, og derfor tog han Slæggen sin paa
Nakken og gav sig paa Veien. Da han nu havde gaaet et godt Stykke, kom han til Korsveien, hvor Veien til Himmerige deler sig fra den, som gaaer til Helvede; der naaede han igjen en Skræddersvend, som piltede afsted med Persejernet i Haanden. „God Dag!“ sagde Smeden, „hvor skal du hen?“ „Til Himmerige, om jeg kunde komme ind der,“ svarede Skrædderen; „end du?“ „Aa, vi faae nok ikke Følge, vi da,“ svarede Smeden, „jeg har nu tænkt at prøve i Helvede først jeg, for jeg har lidt Kjendskab til Fanden fra før.“ Derpaa sagde de Farvel og gik hver sin Vei; men Smeden var en stærk, kraftig Mand og gik langt fortere end Skrædderen, og saa varede det ikke længe før han stod for Porten i Helvede. Han lod Vagten melde
sig og sige, at der var En udenfor, som gjerne vilde tale et Ord med Fanden. „Gaa ud og spørg, hvad det er for En?“ sagde Fanden til Vagten, og det gjorde den. „Hils Fanden og sig, at det er Smeden, som havde den Pung, han veed nok,“ svarede denne, „og bed ham saa vakkert, at jeg maa slippe ind strax, for først saa har jeg smeddet idag lige til Middag, og siden har jeg gaaet lang Vei.“ Da Fanden fik den Besked, befalede han Vagten at læse til alle ni Laasene paa Porten i Helvede; „og sæt endda et Hængelaas paa til,“ sagde Fanden, „for kommer han ind, gjør han Urede i hele Helvede!“ „Der er ingen Bjergning at faae her da,“ sagde Smeden ved sig selv, da han fornam at de stængte Porten bedre til; „saa faaer jeg vel prøve i
Himmerige;“ og dermed gjorde han omkring og gik tilbage til han naaede Korsveien igjen; der tog han den Vei, Skrædderen havde gaaet. Da han nu var sindt for den lange Vei, han havde gaaet frem og tilbage til ingen Nytte, skridtede han paa, alt hvad han orkede, og naaede Himmeriges Port med det samme, St. Peder gløttede lidt paa den, saa meget at den tynde Skræddersvend kunde slippe ind. Smeden var endda en sex, syv Skridt fra Porten; her er det nok bedst at skynde sig, tænkte han, greb Slæggen og kastede i Dørgløtten, med det samme Skrædderen smat ind; men kom han ikke ind gjennom den Aabning, veed jeg ikke, hvor han er bleven af.
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