Prevod

Once upon a time there was a poor, poor widow who had only one son. She toiled to support the boy until he had been confirmed, but then she told him she could no longer feed him;

he must go out into service and earn his bread. So the boy set off into the world, and when he had walked for a day or so, he met a stranger. “Where are you going?” the man asked.

“I’m going out into the world to try to find a place in service,” said the boy. “Will you serve me?” “Oh yes, as gladly as anyone else,” the boy replied. “Well, you shall have a good life with me,” said the man. “You need only keep me company, and do nothing else.” So the boy went with him, and lived well, with plenty to eat and drink and little or nothing to do; but he never saw another soul at the man’s house.

One day the man said to him, “Now I am going away for eight days. You must stay here alone while I am gone, but you must not enter any of these four rooms! If you do, I shall take your life when I return.” No, said the boy, he certainly would not. But when the man had been away for three or four days, the boy could restrain himself no longer, and went into one of the rooms. He looked all around, but saw nothing except a shelf above the door, with a briar whip lying on it. What a thing to forbid me so strictly to look at! thought the boy. When six days had passed, the man came home again. “You haven’t been into any of the rooms, I trust?” he said. “No, indeed I haven’t,” said the boy. “Well, I shall soon see,” and with that he went into the room the boy had entered. “You have been in here after all,” he said, “and now you must lose your life.” The boy wept and begged for mercy, and so his life was spared; but he got a sound beating. Once that was over, they were just as good friends as before.

Some time later the man went away again; this time he meant to be gone for a fortnight, but first he once more forbade the boy to enter any of the rooms he had not already been in. The one he had entered, however, he was welcome to visit again.

Well, things went just as they had before, except that this time the boy kept out for eight days. In this room, too, he saw nothing but a shelf above the door, with a boulder and a water jug on it. What a thing to make such a fuss about! the boy thought again. When the man came home, he asked whether he had been into any of the rooms;

no, certainly not—the boy had never been near them. “Well, I shall soon see,” said the man, and when he saw that the boy had been in after all, he said, “Now I shall spare you no longer!

Now you must lose your life!” But the boy wept and begged for mercy again, and once more he escaped with a beating, though this time he got as much as he could bear. Yet when he was well again, he lived just as comfortably as before, and he and the man were just as good friends. Some time later the man had to go away again, and now he meant to be gone for three weeks. Once more he forbade the boy to enter the third room; if he went in there, he might as well prepare to lose his life on the spot.

After a fortnight the boy could restrain himself no longer, and stole inside; but he saw nothing there except a trapdoor in the floor. When he lifted it and looked down, there stood a great copper cauldron, bubbling and boiling below, though he could see no fire beneath it. It would be fun to find out whether it is hot, thought the boy, and dipped his finger in. When he drew it out again, it was gilded all over. The boy scraped and washed it, but the gold would not come off; so he wrapped a rag around it, and when the man came home and asked what was wrong with his finger, the boy said he had cut it badly. But the man tore off the rag, and then he could see well enough what was wrong with the finger.

At first he meant to kill him, but when the boy wept and pleaded again, he only beat him, so that he lay in bed for three days. Then he took a jar down from the wall and rubbed him with the ointment inside, and the boy was quite well again.

After a while the man went away once more, and was not to return for a month. But this time he told the boy that if he entered the fourth room, he must not dream of being allowed to live. For two or three weeks the boy held out, but then he could restrain himself no longer: into the room he must and would go, and so he slipped inside. There stood a great black horse tethered in a stall, with a trough of glowing coals at its head and a basket of hay at its tail. The boy thought this was a strange arrangement, and switched them round, putting the hay basket by its head. Then the horse said, “Since you are kind-hearted enough to give me food, I shall save you. If the troll comes home now and finds you, he will kill you. But you must go up to the room just above this one and take a suit of armour from among those hanging there. Be sure not to take any of the bright ones; take the rustiest one you can find, and choose a sword and saddle in the same way.” The boy did so, but it was hard for him to carry it all.

When he returned, the horse told him to strip naked and climb into the cauldron that stood boiling in the other room, and bathe himself thoroughly. I shall look a fright after that, thought the boy, but he did it all the same. When he had bathed, he grew handsome and well-rounded, with a complexion as red and white as milk and blood, and far stronger than before. “Do you feel any different?” asked the horse. “Yes!” said the boy. “Try lifting me,” said the horse. Oh yes, he could do that, and he swung the sword as though it weighed nothing at all. “Now put the saddle on me,” said the horse, “and put on your armour. Then bring the briar whip, the stone, the water flask, and the jar of ointment, and we shall be off.”

No sooner had the boy mounted than away they went, so fast he could not tell how they travelled. They had ridden for a while when the horse said, “I think I hear a rumbling.

Look behind you! Can you see anything?” “There are many, many coming after us—a score at least!” said the boy. “Yes, that is the troll,” said the horse. “Now he is coming with his people.”

They rode on a while longer, until their pursuers began to draw near. “Now throw the briar whip back over your shoulder,” said the horse, “but be sure to throw it well clear of me!” The boy did so, and at once a vast, dense forest of briars sprang up behind them.

Then the boy rode on a long, long way, while the troll had to go home for something to cut his way through the forest. But after a while the horse said again, “Look behind you! Can you see anything now?” “Yes, a whole crowd,” said the boy, “as many as a great congregation coming out of church.” “Yes, that is the troll; now he has brought more of his people. Throw out the boulder, but be sure to throw it well clear of me!”

The moment the boy did as the horse had told him, a great black mountain of rock rose behind him. Then the troll had to go home for something to blast his way through the mountain, and while he was doing that, the boy rode a good way farther.

But then the horse told him to look behind him again, and now he saw a host like an entire army; they were so bright that they gleamed. “Yes,” said the horse, “that is the troll; now he has all his people with him. Empty the water flask behind you, but take great care not to spill any on me!” The boy did so, but somehow or other he spilled a drop on the horse’s haunches. At once a vast, vast lake appeared, and because of the drops he had spilled, the horse found itself far out in the water;

all the same, it managed to swim ashore. When the trolls reached the lake, they lay down to drink it dry, and gulped and gulped until they burst. “Now we are rid of them,” said the horse.

When they had travelled for a long, long time, they came to a green clearing in a forest. “Now take off all your armour and put on only your ragged clothes,” said the horse. “Then take the saddle off me and let me go, and hang everything inside this great hollow lime tree. After that, make yourself a wig of lichen from the spruce trees, and go up to the king’s palace, which is close by, and ask for work. Whenever you need me, just come here and shake the bridle, and I shall come to you.” Well, the boy did as the horse had told him, and when he put on the lichen wig, he looked so wretched and pale and miserable that no one could have recognized him. He came to the palace and first asked to work in the kitchen, carrying water and firewood for the cook, but the kitchen maid asked, “Why are you wearing that ugly wig? Take it off! I won’t have anyone so ugly in here!” “I can’t,” the boy replied. “My head isn’t quite clean.” “Do you think I’ll have you near the food, then, if that’s how you are?” said the cook. “Go down to the stable master; mucking out the stables is more your sort of work.” But when the stable master told him to take off his wig, he got the same answer, and he would not have him either. “You can go to the gardener,” he said. “Digging in the earth is more your sort of work!” The gardener did allow him to stay, but none of the other servants would share a bed with him, so he had to sleep by himself beneath the steps of the summerhouse, which stood on posts and had a high flight of steps.

He was given some moss for a bed beneath them, and there he slept as best he could. When he had been at the palace for some time, it happened one morning, just as the sun was rising, that the boy had taken off his lichen wig and stood washing himself; and then he was so handsome that it was a delight to see him.

The princess saw the handsome gardener’s boy from her window, and thought she had never seen anyone so beautiful. So she asked the gardener why he slept outside beneath the steps. “Oh, none of the other servants will share a bed with him,” said the gardener. “Let him come up tonight and sleep by the door inside my chamber, and then surely they will no longer refuse to let him sleep under the same roof as themselves,” said the princess. The gardener told the boy. “Do you think I’ll do that?” said the boy. “Then they would say there was something between me and the princess.” “Yes, you certainly have reason to fear such suspicions,” replied the gardener, “handsome fellow that you are!” “Well, well, if you order me to, I suppose I must,” said the boy. When he went up the stairs that evening, he stamped and clattered so loudly that they had to ask him to walk quietly, lest the king should hear of it. He went in and lay down, and at once began snoring in his sleep. The princess immediately said to her maid, “Now creep over and take off his lichen wig!” The maid did so, but just as she was about to snatch it away, he held it fast with both hands and said she should certainly not have it. Then he settled down and began snoring again. The princess gave the maid another sign, and this time she managed to snatch off the wig;

and there lay the boy, as beautiful and rosy-white as the princess had seen him in the morning sunshine. After that, the boy slept every night in the princess’s chamber.

But before long the king heard that the gardener’s boy slept in the princess’s chamber every night, and he grew so angry that he very nearly had the boy put to death. He did not do that, however, but threw him into the prison tower, and shut his own daughter up in her chamber, never allowing her to come out, by day or by night. For all her weeping and pleading, both for herself and for the boy, it did no good; it only made the king still angrier.

Some time later, war and unrest broke out in the land, and the king had to take up arms against another king who meant to seize his kingdom. When the boy heard of this, he asked the jailer to go to the king on his behalf and beg for armour and a sword, and permission to join the war. Everyone else laughed when the jailer delivered his message, and asked the king to let the boy have some old scrap for armour, so that they might enjoy the sight of the poor wretch going to war. He was given this, along with a miserable old nag that hobbled on three legs and dragged the fourth behind it.

Then they set out against the enemy, but they had not gone far from the palace before the boy and his nag were stuck fast in a bog. There he sat, bobbing and jolting;

“Come on, get up! Come on, get up!” he said to the nag. All the others found this very amusing, and laughed and mocked the boy as they rode past. But no sooner were they gone than he ran to the lime tree, put on his armour, and shook the bridle; at once the horse appeared and said, “Do your best, and I shall do mine!” When the boy caught up with them, the battle had already begun, and the king was in desperate straits; but in next to no time the boy had put the enemy to flight. The king and his men wondered greatly who could have come to their aid, but no one got near enough to speak to him, and when the battle was over, he was gone. When they rode back, the boy was still sitting in the bog, bobbing and jolting on his three-legged nag. Then they laughed again. “Why, just look—there’s that fool sitting there still!” they said.

The second day they rode out, the boy was still sitting there; again they laughed and mocked him. But no sooner had they ridden past than the boy ran to the lime tree once more, and everything went just as it had the day before. Everyone wondered who the strange champion could be who had helped them, but no one got close enough to speak to him; and of course no one ever thought of the boy.

When they rode home that evening and saw the boy still sitting on the nag, they laughed at him again, and one of them shot an arrow at him and struck him in the leg. He began to scream and lament so terribly that the king tossed him his handkerchief to bind round the wound.

When they rode out on the third morning, the boy was once more sitting in the bog. “Come on, get up! Come on, get up!” he said to the nag. “Well, well! He’ll sit there till he starves to death,” said the king’s men as they rode past, and they laughed so hard they nearly fell off their horses. Once they were gone, he ran to the lime tree again and reached the battle just at the critical moment. That day he killed the enemy king, and with that the war was over.

When the battle had ended, the king caught sight of his handkerchief, which the strange champion had tied round his leg, and then he had no difficulty recognizing him. With great rejoicing they took him back to the palace in their midst, and the princess, who saw him from her window, was happier than anyone could imagine. “There comes my sweetheart too!” she said. Then he took the jar of ointment and rubbed some on his own leg, and afterwards on all the wounded, and every one of them was healed in an instant. So he was to marry the princess; but when he went down to the stable to see the horse on the wedding day, it stood there looking so mournful, with drooping ears, and would not eat at all;

and when the young king—for by then he had become king and been given half the kingdom—spoke to it and asked what was wrong, the horse said, “Now I have helped you on your way, and I no longer wish to live. You must take your sword and cut off my head!” “No, I certainly will not,” said the young king. “You shall have whatever you want, and never have to work again!” “Well, if you do not do as I say, I shall find a way to take your life!” said the horse. So the king had to do it, but as he raised his sword to strike, he was so sorrowful that he had to turn his face away, for he could not bear to watch the blow. Yet no sooner had he cut off the head than the most handsome prince stood where the horse had been. “Where in the world did you come from?” asked the king.

“I was the horse,” replied the prince. “Once I was king of the country ruled by the king you killed in battle yesterday. It was he who enchanted me into that shape and sold me to the troll. Now that he is dead, I shall have my kingdom back, and you and I shall be neighbouring kings; but we shall certainly never make war on one another.” And indeed they never did; they were friends as long as they lived, and often went to visit one another.