Prevod

Once upon a time there were two poor people who lived in a wretched hut, where there was nothing but grinding poverty, so they had neither food to eat nor wood to burn. But though they had next to nothing of anything else, they had been blessed with a great many children, and every year brought them one more. Now they were expecting another;

this made the husband angry, and he went about grumbling and muttering all day, saying that surely there might be an end to these gifts of God sometime. When the time came for his wife to give birth, he went into the forest for firewood, for he had no wish to see the new squalling brat; he would hear him soon enough when he cried for food, he said.

No sooner had the husband gone than his wife gave birth to a fine baby boy, and the moment he came into the world he looked about the room. “Oh, dear Mother,” he said, “give me some old clothes my brothers have outgrown, and a couple of days’ provisions, and I’ll go out into the world to seek my fortune. You have children enough as it is, I see.” “Heaven help us, my son,” said his mother, “you’re far too little yet; that will never do.” But the little boy would not give in, and begged and pleaded until his mother had to give him some old rags and a little food tied in a bundle, and off he went into the world, happy and full of courage. But no sooner had he gone than the woman gave birth to another boy. He too looked about him and said, “Oh, dear Mother, give me some old clothes my brothers have outgrown, and a couple of days’ provisions, and I’ll go out into the world to find my twin brother. You have children enough as it is.” “Heaven help us, you’re far too little, you poor thing,” said the woman. “That will never do.” But it was no use: the little boy begged and pleaded until he was given some old rags and a bundle of food, and then he marched boldly out into the world to find his twin brother.

When the younger boy had walked a little way, he caught sight of his brother some distance ahead. He called out and asked him to stop. “Wait!” he said. “You’re striding along as though you were being paid for it; but you might at least have waited to see your youngest brother before setting out into the world.” The elder stopped and looked back, and when the younger had caught up and explained how he came to be his brother, he went on, “But now let’s sit down and see what Mother has given us to eat.” And so they did.

When they had travelled a little farther, they came to a brook flowing through a green meadow, and there the younger said they ought to give each other names. “Since we were in such a hurry that we had no time to do it at home, we must do it here,” he said. “What would you like to be called, then?” asked the elder.

“I’ll be called Lillekort,” answered the other. “And you? What will you be called?” “I’ll be called King Lavring,” answered the elder. So they christened one another and went on their way. But after walking for a while, they came to a crossroads, where they agreed to part and each go his own way.

They did so, but they had gone only a little distance before they met again. They parted once more and took separate roads, but after a little while the same thing happened: before they knew it, they had met again. And so it happened a third time as well.

Then they agreed that they would go in opposite directions, one east and the other west. “But if ever you find yourself in real trouble and distress,” said the elder, “call my name three times, and I’ll come and help you. Only you must not call me until you are in the direst need!” “Then I daresay it will be some time before we meet again,” said Lillekort. With that they said farewell, and Lillekort went east and King Lavring west.

When Lillekort had walked alone for a good while, he met a very, very old, crooked-backed woman who had only one eye. Lillekort snatched it. “Ow, ow!” cried the old woman. “What’s become of my eye?” “What will you give me to get an eye back?” said Lillekort. “I’ll give you a sword that can overcome a whole army, however great it may be,” answered the woman. “Very well, hand it over,” said Lillekort.

So the old woman gave him the sword, and he gave her back her eye. Then Lillekort went on, and after walking for a while he met another very, very old, crooked-backed woman with only one eye. Lillekort stole it before she knew what had happened.

“Ow, ow! What’s become of my eye?” cried the old woman. “What will you give me to get an eye back?” said Lillekort. “I’ll give you a ship that can travel over fresh water and salt water, mountains and deep valleys,” answered the woman. “Very well, hand it over,” said Lillekort. So the woman gave him a tiny little ship, small enough to put in his pocket. Then she got her eye back, and they went their separate ways. After walking for a long while, he met, for the third time, a very, very old, crooked-backed woman with only one eye. Lillekort stole that one too, and when the woman screamed and made a dreadful fuss, asking what had become of her eye, Lillekort said, “What will you give me to get an eye back?” “I’ll give you the art of brewing a hundred lasts of malt in a single brew.” Well, in return for that art the old woman got her eye back, and they went their separate ways.

But when Lillekort had gone a little farther, he thought it might be worth trying the ship. So he took it out of his pocket and put first one foot into it, then the other. No sooner had he stepped into it with one leg than the ship grew much larger, and when he put in the other, it grew as large as the ships that sail the seas. Lillekort said, “Now travel over fresh water and salt water, mountains and deep valleys, and do not stop until you reach the king’s palace!” At once the ship sped away as swiftly as a bird through the air, until it came a little below the palace, where it stopped. The people at the palace windows had seen Lillekort come sailing along, and they were all so astonished that they ran down to see who it could be, coming in a ship through the air. But while they were hurrying down from the palace, Lillekort had stepped out of his ship and put it back in his pocket;

for the moment he stepped out, it became as small as it had been when the old woman gave it to him. So the people from the palace saw nothing but a little ragged boy standing by the shore.

The king asked him where he came from, but the boy said he did not know. Nor did he know how he had got there, but he begged so earnestly and politely to be taken into service at the palace: if there was nothing else for him to do, he could carry wood and water for the kitchen maid, he said. And that he was allowed to do. When Lillekort came up to the palace, he saw that everything was draped in black, inside and out, walls and roof alike, so he asked the kitchen maid what it meant. “Well, I’ll tell you,” she answered. “The princess was promised to three trolls a long time ago, and next Thursday evening one of them is coming to fetch her. Knight Rød has pledged himself to save her, but God knows whether he can. So you can well imagine the sorrow and mourning here.” When Thursday evening came, Knight Rød led the princess down to the shore, for that was where she was to meet the troll, and he was supposed to stay there and guard her. But I doubt he did the troll much harm, for no sooner had the princess sat down by the water than Knight Rød climbed a great tree nearby and hid himself among the branches as best he could. The princess wept and begged him with all her heart not to leave her, but Knight Rød paid no heed. “Better for one to lose their life than two,” said Knight Rød.

Meanwhile, Lillekort begged the kitchen maid very politely to let him go down to the shore for a little while. “Oh, what do you want down there?” said the kitchen maid. “You’ve no business there.” “Oh, please, do let me go!” said Lillekort. “I’d so like to go down and have a little fun with the other children.” “Very well, off you go,” said the kitchen maid, “but mind you’re back before it’s time to hang the supper pot over the fire and put the roast on the spit—and bring a good armful of wood back to the kitchen with you!” Lillekort promised, and ran down to the shore.

Just as he reached the place where the princess sat, the troll came rushing up with a roaring and a whistling all about him. He was horribly huge and bulky, and he had five heads.

“Fire!” shrieked the troll. “Fire back!” said Lillekort. “Can you fight?” shouted the troll. “If I can’t, I can learn,” said Lillekort. Then the troll struck at him with a great thick iron bar he held in his fist, so that the earth flew five ells into the air. “Pah!” said Lillekort. “That was a fine effort! Now you shall see a stroke of mine.” And he seized the sword the old crooked-backed woman had given him and struck the troll, so that all five heads went flying over the sand. When the princess saw that she was saved, she was so happy she hardly knew what to do with herself; she leapt and danced for joy. “Now sleep a little while with your head in my lap,” she said to Lillekort, and while he lay there she dressed him in a suit of gold.

It was not long before Knight Rød climbed down from the tree again, now that he could see there was no more danger. He threatened the princess until she was forced to promise to say that he had saved her, for if she did not, he would kill her. Then he took the lungs and tongues out of the troll, put them in his handkerchief, and led the princess back to the palace;

and if he had not been honoured enough before, he certainly was now. The king could not think what more to do to honour him, and he always sat at the king’s right hand at table.

Lillekort first went aboard the troll’s ship and took away a great many gold and silver hoops, then hurried back to the palace. When the kitchen maid saw all the gold and silver, she was quite alarmed and asked, “But, dear, dear Lillekort!

Wherever did you get all this?” For she was rather afraid he had not come by it honestly. “Oh,” answered Lillekort, “I went home for a little while, and these hoops had fallen off some buckets, so I brought them back for you.” Well, when the kitchen maid heard they were for her, she asked no more questions about the matter. She thanked Lillekort, and all was well again.

The second Thursday evening, things went just the same way. Everyone was filled with sorrow and grief, but Knight Rød said that if he had been able to save the princess from one troll, he could surely save her from another, and he led her down to the shore.

But he did that troll little harm either, for when the time came for the troll to appear, he said just as before, “Better for one to lose their life than two!” and climbed up into the tree again. Lillekort once more asked the cook to let him go down to the shore for a little while. “Oh, what do you want down there?” said the cook. “Oh, please, let me go,” said Lillekort. “I’d so like to go down and have a little fun with the other children.” Well, he was allowed to go this time too, but first he had to promise to be back when the roast needed turning, and to bring a large armful of wood with him.

No sooner had Lillekort reached the shore than the troll came rushing up with a roaring and a whistling all about him. He was twice as large as the first troll, and he had ten heads.

“Fire!” shrieked the troll. “Fire back!” said Lillekort. “Can you fight?” shouted the troll. “If I can’t, I can learn!” said Lillekort. Then the troll struck at him with his iron bar—which was even larger than the first troll’s—so that the earth flew ten ells into the air. “Pah!” said Lillekort. “That was a fine effort! Now you shall see a stroke of mine.” And he seized his sword and struck the troll, so that all ten heads went dancing over the sand.

Then the princess said to him again, “Sleep a little while with your head in my lap,” and while Lillekort lay there, she dressed him in a suit of silver. As soon as Knight Rød noticed that there was no more danger, he climbed down from the tree and threatened the princess until she was again forced to promise to say that he had saved her. Then he took the troll’s tongues and lungs, put them in his handkerchief, and led the princess back to the castle. There was joy and rejoicing, as you may imagine, and the king hardly knew how to show Knight Rød enough honour and respect.

Lillekort took an armful of gold and silver hoops from the troll’s ship. When he came back to the palace, the kitchen maid clasped her hands and wondered where he had got all that gold and silver. But Lillekort answered that he had been home for a little while, and that these were hoops that had fallen off some buckets; he had brought them back for the kitchen maid, he said.

When the third Thursday evening came, everything went exactly as it had the two previous times. The whole palace was hung with black, and everyone was filled with sorrow and grief. But Knight Rød said he did not think they had so much to fear;

if he had saved the princess from two trolls, he could surely save her from the third as well. So he led her down to the shore, but as the time drew near for the troll to come, he climbed up into the tree and hid again. The princess wept and begged him to stay, but it was no use. He stuck to his old refrain: “Better for one to lose their life than two,” said Knight Rød once more.

That evening Lillekort also asked permission to go down to the shore. “Oh, what do you want down there?” answered the kitchen maid. But he begged for so long that at last she let him go, though he had to promise to be back in the kitchen when the roast needed turning. No sooner had he reached the shore than the troll came up with a roaring and a whistling all about him. He was far, far larger than either of the others, and he had fifteen heads. “Fire!” shouted the troll. “Fire back!” said Lillekort. “Can you fight?” shrieked the troll. “If I can’t, I can learn,” said Lillekort. “I’ll teach you!” shrieked the troll, and struck at him with his iron bar, so that the earth flew fifteen ells into the air. “Pah!” said Lillekort. “That was a fine effort! Now you shall see a stroke of mine!” With that he seized his sword and struck the troll, so that all fifteen heads went dancing over the sand.

Now the princess was saved, and she thanked and blessed Lillekort for rescuing her. “Sleep a little while with your head in my lap!” she said, and while he lay there, she dressed him in a suit of brass. “But how are we to make it known that you are the one who saved me?” asked the princess. “I’ll tell you,” answered Lillekort.

“When Knight Rød has led you home again and passed himself off as your rescuer, you know he is to have your hand and half the kingdom. But when they ask you on your wedding day whom you would like to fill your cups, you must say, ‘I want the little boy in the kitchen who carries wood and water for the kitchen maid.’ As I pour the drink, I’ll spill a drop on his plate, but none on yours, and then he’ll grow angry and strike me. We’ll keep that up three times. But the third time you must say, ‘Shame on you for striking my true love! He saved me, and he is the one I will have!’” Then Lillekort ran back to the palace, just as before; but first he went aboard the troll’s ship once more and took a great deal of gold, silver, and other treasures. Out of these he again gave the cook a whole armful of gold and silver hoops.

No sooner did Knight Rød see that all danger was past than he climbed down from the tree and threatened the princess until she had to promise to say he had saved her. Then he led her back to the palace, and if he had not been honoured enough before, he certainly was now. The king could think of nothing but how to honour the man who had saved his daughter from the three trolls. It went without saying that he should have her hand and half the kingdom, he said.

But on the wedding day the princess asked to have the little boy from the kitchen, who carried wood and water for the kitchen maid, fill the cups at the bridal table. “Oh, what do you want that sooty little ragamuffin in here for?” said Knight Rød;

but the princess said she would have him pour the drinks and no one else, and at last she was allowed her way. Then everything happened just as Lillekort and the princess had arranged: he spilled a drop on Knight Rød’s plate, but none on hers, and each time Knight Rød grew angry and struck him;

at the first blow, the ragged clothes Lillekort wore in the kitchen fell away; at the second, the suit of brass fell away; and at the third, the suit of silver, leaving him standing in his suit of gold, so bright and splendid that he shone.

Then the princess said, “Shame on you for striking my true love! He saved me, and he is the one I will have!” Knight Rød swore and cursed, insisting that he himself had saved her. But the king said, “Whoever saved my daughter must surely have something to show for it.” So Knight Rød ran straight off to fetch his handkerchief with the lungs and tongues, and Lillekort fetched all the gold and silver and all the treasures he had taken from the trolls’ ships. Then each laid his things before the king. “The man who has such precious things of gold and silver and diamonds,” said the king, “must be the one who killed the trolls, for such things can be got from no one else.” So Knight Rød was thrown into the snake pit, and Lillekort was to have the princess and half the kingdom.

One day the king and Lillekort were out walking together, and Lillekort asked the king whether he had ever had any other children. “Yes,” said the king, “I had another daughter, but the troll took her, because there was no one who could save her.

Now you are to have one of my daughters, but if you can also rescue the one the troll has taken, you shall gladly have her and the other half of the kingdom too.” “I suppose I must try,” said Lillekort;

“but I must have an iron chain five hundred ells long, and I want five hundred men with provisions to last them fifteen weeks, for I am going far out to sea,” he said. Yes, he should have all that, but the king feared he had no ship large enough to carry it all.

“I have a ship of my own,” said Lillekort, and took the one the old woman had given him out of his pocket. The king laughed at him, thinking he was only joking, but Lillekort merely asked for the things he had requested, and then the king would see. So they brought everything, and Lillekort told them to put the chain into the ship first. But no one was strong enough to lift it, and there was no room for many men to crowd round the tiny little ship at once. Then Lillekort himself took one end of the chain and laid a few links in the ship, and as he tossed more of the chain aboard, the ship grew larger and larger, until at last it was big enough to hold the chain, the five hundred men, the provisions, and Lillekort, with room to spare.

“Now travel over fresh water and salt water, mountains and deep valleys, and do not stop until you reach the place where the king’s daughter is,” Lillekort said to the ship. At once it sped away over land and water, with a whistling and a shrieking all about it. When they had sailed far, far away, the ship stopped in the middle of the sea.

“Well, here we are,” said Lillekort, “but how we shall get away again is another matter.” Then he took the iron chain and fastened one end about his waist. “Now I must go to the bottom,” he said. “But when I tug hard on the chain and want to come up again, you must all haul as one man, or your lives will be lost as surely as mine.” With that he leapt into the water, sending yellow foam flying all around him. He sank and sank, until at last he reached the bottom. There he saw a great mountain with a door in it, and he went inside. Once inside, he found the other princess. She sat sewing, but when she saw Lillekort, she clasped her hands. “Oh, thank God!” she cried. “I have not seen a Christian soul since I came here.” “Well, I’ve come to fetch you,” said Lillekort.

“Oh, you’ll never get me away,” said the princess. “You’ll never manage it. If the troll sees you, he’ll kill you.” “It’s just as well you mentioned him,” said Lillekort. “Where is he? It might be fun to see him.” So the princess told him that the troll was out trying to find someone who could brew a hundred lasts of malt in a single brew, for the troll was going to hold a feast, and nothing less would be enough. “I can do that too,” said Lillekort. “Yes, if only the troll weren’t so quick-tempered, so I could tell him,” answered the princess. “But he has such a terrible temper that I’m afraid he’ll tear you to pieces the moment he comes in.

Still, I must try to think of something. Hide in this little room for now, and we’ll see what happens.” Lillekort did so, and no sooner had he crept into the little room and hidden himself than the troll arrived. “Ugh! I smell Christian blood!” said the troll. “Yes, a bird flew over the roof with a Christian’s bone in its beak and dropped it down the chimney,” answered the princess;

“I hurried to get rid of it, but I suppose that is what you can still smell.” “Yes, I suppose it is,” said the troll. Then the princess asked whether he had found anyone who could brew a hundred lasts of malt in a single brew. “No, there is no one who can do it,” said the troll. “A little while ago there was someone here who said he could,” said the princess. “You’re always so clever, aren’t you?” answered the troll. “Why did you let him go, then? You knew I wanted someone like that.” “Oh, I didn’t let him go,” said the princess. “But Father has such a quick temper that I hid him in the little room. So if Father hasn’t found anyone, he is still here.” “Let him come in!” said the troll. When Lillekort came in, the troll asked whether it was true that he could brew a hundred lasts of malt in a single brew. “Yes,” said Lillekort. “It’s a good thing I found you,” said the troll. “Get ready at once—but God help you if you don’t brew the ale strong enough.” “Oh, it will have flavour enough,” said Lillekort, and set to work brewing at once. “But I must have more trolls to carry the brewing water,” said Lillekort. “The ones you’ve given me are no use at all.” So he was given more, until the place swarmed with them, and the brewing went ahead. When the wort was ready, they all had to taste it, of course: first the troll himself, and then the others;

but Lillekort had brewed the wort so strong that they dropped dead like flies as they drank it. At last there was no one left but a wretched old woman lying behind the stove. “Oh, you poor thing!” said Lillekort. “You must have a taste of the wort too!” So he went over and scraped the bottom of the brewing vat with the ladle and gave it to her. Then he was rid of them all.

As he stood there looking about him, he caught sight of a large chest. Lillekort took it and filled it with gold and silver, then fastened the chain around himself, the princess, and the chest, and tugged with all his might. The crew hauled them up safe and sound.

Once Lillekort was aboard the ship, he said, “Now travel over salt water and fresh water, mountains and deep valleys, and do not stop until you reach the king’s palace.” At once the ship sped away, sending yellow spray flying all about it. When the people at the palace saw the ship, they were not slow to come out with music and song, and they welcomed Lillekort with great joy. But happiest of all was the king, who now had his other daughter back as well.

But now Lillekort was uneasy, for both princesses wanted to marry him, and he would have no one but the one he had rescued first—she was the younger one.

So he often went about wondering how he might win her, for he was loath to offend the other princess either. One day, as he was turning the matter over in his mind, it struck him that if only he had his brother, King Lavring, there at the royal palace—his brother who looked so much like him that no one could tell them apart—then Lavring could have the other princess and half the kingdom, for he himself thought one half quite enough. No sooner had the thought occurred to him than he went outside the castle and called for King Lavring; but no one came. Then he called a second time, a little louder, but still no one came. So Lillekort called a third time, at the top of his voice, and there stood his brother. “I told you not to call for me unless you were in the direst need,” he said to Lillekort, “and here there is not so much as a gnat to do you any harm.” With that he gave him such a cuff that Lillekort went rolling across the meadow. “Oh, shame on you for hitting me!” said Lillekort. “First I won the king’s daughter and half the kingdom, and then the other king’s daughter and the other half of the kingdom, and now I thought I would give you one of the princesses and share the kingdom equally with you. Do you think it fair to strike me like that?” When King Lavring heard this, he begged his brother’s pardon, and they were soon friends again, with no ill feeling between them. “Now, you know,” said Lillekort, “that we look so much alike that no one can tell one of us from the other. Change clothes with me and go up to the castle, and the princesses will think it is I who have come in;

whichever kisses you first shall be yours, and I will take the other.” For he knew that the eldest princess was the stronger, and could well guess how things would turn out.

King Lavring readily agreed. He changed clothes with his brother and went into the castle. When he entered the princesses’ room, they thought he was Lillekort, and both ran towards him at once; but the eldest, who was bigger and stronger, pushed her sister aside, threw her arms round King Lavring’s neck, and kissed him. So he got her, and Lillekort got the youngest princess. And then, you may be sure, there was a wedding, and such a wedding that it was heard of and talked about throughout seven kingdoms.