Prevod
Once upon a time there was a poor cottager who had many children and little to give them, either to eat or to wear. They were all good-looking, but the prettiest was the youngest daughter, who was so lovely there was no end to it.
Now, one Thursday evening late in the autumn, the weather outside was foul and dreadfully dark, and the rain and wind beat so hard that the walls creaked. They were all sitting round the hearth, each with something to do, when all at once there came three taps at the window. The man went out to see what was the matter, and when he stepped outside, there stood a great, great White Bear.
“Good evening to you!” said the White Bear. “Good evening!” said the man. “Will you give me your youngest daughter? If you will, I shall make you as rich as you are now poor,” said the bear. Well, the man thought it would be a fine thing to become so rich, but he felt he ought to speak to his daughter first. So he went inside and told her there was a great White Bear outside who promised to make them all rich if only he could have her. She said no, and would not hear of it, so the man went out again and agreed with the White Bear that he should come back the following Thursday evening for his answer. In the meantime they coaxed her, talking of all the wealth they would have and how well she herself would live;
at last she consented, washed and mended her rags, dressed herself as well as she could, and made ready for the journey. She had little enough to take with her. The following Thursday evening the White Bear came to fetch her;
she climbed onto his back with her little bundle, and away they went. When they had travelled a long way, the White Bear said, “Are you afraid?” No, she was not. “Then just hold tight to my shaggy coat, and there will be no danger,” he said.
She rode far, far away, until they came to a great mountain. The White Bear knocked on it, a gate swung open, and they entered a castle with many brightly lit rooms gleaming with gold and silver. There was a great hall, too, with a table laid so splendidly that you cannot imagine how splendid it was. Then the White Bear gave her a silver bell: whenever she wanted anything, she need only ring it, and she would have it. Well, when she had eaten and the evening wore on, she grew sleepy after her journey and thought she would like to go to bed. So she rang the bell, and scarcely had she touched it before she found herself in a chamber with a bed made up, as lovely as anyone could wish to sleep in, with silken quilts and hangings and golden fringe. Everything in the room was gold and silver. But when she had gone to bed and put out the light, someone came and lay down beside her, and this was the White Bear, who shed his bearskin at night;
but she never saw him, for he always came after she had put out the light, and before dawn he was gone again. All went well for a while, but then she began to grow quiet and sorrowful, for she spent the whole day alone and longed to go home to her parents and brothers and sisters.
One day, when the White Bear asked what was troubling her, she said it was so desolate there, and she was so lonely, and she longed to go home to her parents and brothers and sisters. It was because she could not visit them that she went about in such sorrow.
“That can be arranged,” said the White Bear, “but you must promise me not to speak to your mother alone, only when the others are there to hear. For she will take you by the hand,” he said, “and try to lead you into a room to speak to you alone, but you must not do that, or you will bring misfortune on us both.” One Sunday the White Bear came and said they could now go to her parents. So off they went, with her riding on his back, and they travelled far and long. At last they came to a large white farmhouse. Her brothers and sisters were playing outside, and it was all so pretty that it was a joy to see. “That is where your parents live,” said the White Bear, “but do not forget what I have told you, or you will bring misfortune on yourself and me alike.” No, goodness, she would certainly not forget; and when she had arrived, the White Bear turned back.
There was no end to the rejoicing when she went in to her parents. They felt they could never thank her enough for what she had done for them; now they were so very, very comfortable. And they all asked her how she fared in the place where she lived. She was perfectly well, she said, and had everything she could wish for. What else she told them I cannot say, but I do not think they learned much about it. Then, in the afternoon, after they had eaten dinner, it happened just as the White Bear had said: her mother wanted to speak to her alone in the bedroom.
But she remembered what the White Bear had told her and would not hear of it. “Whatever we have to talk about,” she said, “we can talk about at any time.” But somehow or other her mother persuaded her at last, and then she had to tell her how she lived. She said that someone always came and lay down beside her after she had put out the light at night, but she never saw him, for he was always gone before daybreak. This grieved her, for she felt she would so dearly like to see him; and all day she went about alone, and it was so desolate and lonely. “Ugh! It may well be a troll you are sleeping with,” said her mother. “But I shall tell you a way to see him. I will give you a piece of candle to take with you in your bosom. Light it and look at him while he is asleep! Only take care not to drip any tallow on him.” So she took the candle and hid it in her bosom, and that evening the White Bear came to fetch her.
But when they had gone a little way, the White Bear asked whether things had not happened just as he had said. Yes, she could not deny that. “Well, if you have listened to your mother’s advice, you have brought misfortune on us both, and all is over between us,” he said. No, she had done nothing of the kind.
When she had come home and gone to bed, everything happened as usual: someone came and lay down beside her. But late in the night, when she heard that he was asleep, she got up, struck a light, lit the candle, and shone it on him. Then she saw that he was the handsomest prince anyone could ever set eyes on, and she fell so deeply in love with him that she felt she could not live unless she kissed him that very instant. So she did, but as she did so she let three hot drops of tallow fall onto his shirt, and he woke. “What have you done?” he said. “Now you have brought misfortune on us both. If only you had held out for the year, I should have been saved. For I have a stepmother who has bewitched me, so that I am a White Bear by day and a man by night. But now all is over between us, and I must leave you and go to her. She lives in a castle east of the sun and west of the moon, and there is a princess there with a nose three ells long. Now I must marry her.” The girl wept and lamented, but there was nothing to be done: he had to go. Then she asked whether she might not go with him. No, that was impossible. “If you tell me the way, I shall come and find you. Surely I may do that?” she said. Yes, she might, he said, but there was no road to the place. It lay east of the sun and west of the moon, and she would never find her way there.
In the morning, when she woke, both the prince and the castle were gone. She lay on a little green patch in the midst of the dark, thick forest, and beside her lay the same bundle of rags she had brought from home. When she had rubbed the sleep from her eyes and cried herself weary, she set out, and walked for many, many days until she came to a great mountain. Outside it sat an old woman playing with a golden apple. The girl asked her whether she knew the way to the prince who was with his stepmother in a castle east of the sun and west of the moon, and who was to marry a princess with a nose three ells long. “How do you know him, then?” asked the old woman. “Perhaps you are the one who was to have married him?” Yes, she was. “Oh, so it is you?” said the old woman. “Well, I know nothing more about him than that he lives in the castle east of the sun and west of the moon, and you will be a long time getting there, if ever you do. But you may borrow my horse and ride to my neighbour. Perhaps she can tell you. When you get there, just give the horse a tap under its left ear and tell it to go home again. And you may take this golden apple with you.”
She mounted the horse and rode for a long, long time, until at last she came to a mountain where an old woman sat outside with a golden yarn-reel. The girl asked her whether she knew the way to the castle east of the sun and west of the moon. Like the first old woman, she said she knew nothing about it, except that it was indeed east of the sun and west of the moon. “And you will be a long time getting there, if ever you do. But you may borrow my horse to ride to my nearest neighbour; perhaps she may know. When you get there, you need only give it a tap under its left ear and tell it to go home again.” Then she gave her the yarn-reel, saying she might find a use for it. So the girl mounted the horse and rode for a long while once more, and at long last she came to a great mountain where an old woman sat spinning at a golden spinning wheel. The girl asked her whether she knew the way to the prince, and where the castle east of the sun and west of the moon might be. Once again it was the same. “Perhaps you are the one who was to have married that prince?” said the old woman. Yes, she was indeed. But the old woman knew the way no better than the other two. East of the sun and west of the moon it was; that much she knew. “And you will be a long time getting there, if ever you do,” she said. “But you may borrow my horse, and I think you had better ride to the East Wind and ask him. Perhaps he knows the place and can blow you there. When you arrive, you need only tap the horse under the ear, and it will go home again.” Then she gave her the golden spinning wheel. “Perhaps you may find a use for it,” said the old woman.
She rode for many days and a long, long time before she got there; but at last she arrived, and asked the East Wind whether he could tell her the way to the prince who lived east of the sun and west of the moon. Yes, the East Wind said, he had heard tell of that prince, and of the castle too, but he did not know the way, for he had never blown so far. “But if you like, I will go with you to my brother, the West Wind. Perhaps he may know, for he is much stronger than I am. You may sit on my back, and I will carry you there.” So she did, and away they went at a fine pace. When they arrived, they went inside, and the East Wind said that the girl he had brought was the one who was to have married the prince who lived in the castle east of the sun and west of the moon. Now she was travelling in search of him, and he had brought her there to ask whether the West Wind knew where it was. “No, I have never blown so far,” said the West Wind. “But if you like, I will go with you to the South Wind, for he is much stronger than either of us, and he has roamed far and wide. Perhaps he can tell you. You may sit on my back, and I will carry you there.” So she did; they set off for the South Wind, and I dare say they were not long on the way. When they arrived, the West Wind asked whether he could tell her the way to the castle east of the sun and west of the moon, for this was the girl who was to have married the prince there. “Oh,” said the South Wind, “is it she? Well, I have wandered here and there in my time,” he said, “but I have never blown so far. Still, if you like, I will go with you to my brother, the North Wind;
he is the oldest and strongest of us all, and if he does not know where it is, no one in the world can tell you. You may sit on my back, and I will carry you there.” So she climbed onto his back, and off he went at a splendid pace. They made short work of the journey.
When they reached the place where the North Wind lived, he was so wild and furious that they could feel his icy blasts a long way off. “What do you want?” he roared from afar, sending a chill through them. “Oh, you need not be so fierce,” said the South Wind, “for it is only me, and this is the girl who was to have married the prince who lives in the castle east of the sun and west of the moon. Now she wants to ask whether you have been there and can tell her the way, for she would dearly like to find him again.” “Yes, I know where it is,” said the North Wind. “Once I blew an aspen leaf there, but afterwards I was so weary that I could not blow for many days.
But if you are determined to go, and are not afraid to come with me, I will take you on my back and see whether I can blow you there.” Yes, she wished to go, and go she must, if there was any possible way of getting there; and she was not afraid, however bad the journey might be. “Well, well, you must stay here tonight,” said the North Wind, “for we shall need the whole day if we are to get there.” Early the next morning the North Wind woke her, then swelled himself up and made himself so great and strong that he was dreadful to behold. Away they went, high through the air, as though they were bound straight for the world’s end. Such a storm swept over the countryside that great stretches of forest and houses alike were blown down; and when they came out over the open sea, ships were wrecked by the hundred. On they rushed, so far, so far that no one could believe how far they went, and still they were over the sea. The North Wind grew wearier and wearier, and so exhausted that he could scarcely blow any longer. Lower and lower they sank, until at last they were so low that the crests of the waves washed about her heels. “Are you afraid?” said the North Wind. “No,” she said, she was not. But they were not far from land now, and the North Wind had just enough strength left to fling her onto the shore beneath the windows of the castle east of the sun and west of the moon. By then he was so weary and spent that he had to rest for many days before he could go home again.
The next morning she sat down outside the castle windows and began to play with the golden apple, and the first person she saw was the long-nosed creature who was to marry the prince. “What do you want for that golden apple of yours?” she asked, opening the window.
“It is not for sale for gold or money,” said the girl. “Not for gold or money? Then what do you want for it? You may have whatever you wish!” said the princess. “Well, if I may go to the prince who is here and stay with him tonight, you shall have it,” said the girl who had come with the North Wind. Yes, she might do that; it could be arranged. The princess took the golden apple, but when the girl went up to the prince’s room that evening, he was asleep. She called to him and shook him, and wept between times, but she could not wake him. In the morning, as day broke, the princess with the long nose came and drove her out again.
During the day she sat down outside the castle windows and began winding yarn on her reel, and the same thing happened again. The princess asked what she wanted for it, and she said it was not for sale for gold or money, but if she might go up to the prince and stay with him that night, the princess could have it. Yet when she went up, he was asleep once more; and for all her calling and crying and shaking, and all her weeping, he slept on, and she could not rouse him. As day broke the next morning, the princess with the long nose came and drove her out again.
Later that day the girl sat down outside the castle windows and began spinning at her golden spinning wheel, and the princess with the long nose wanted that as well. She opened the window and asked what she wanted for it. The girl answered as she had twice before: it was not for sale for gold or money, but if she might go up to the prince who was there and stay with him that night, the princess could have it. Yes, she was quite welcome to do so. Now, there were some Christian folk held captive there, and they had been in the room next to the prince’s. They had heard a woman in his chamber weeping and calling to him for two nights running, and they told the prince about it. That evening, when the princess brought him his bedtime drink, he pretended to drink it, but threw it over his shoulder instead, for he guessed that it was a sleeping draught.
When the girl came in, the prince was awake, and she had to tell him how she had reached the castle. “You have come just in time,” said the prince, “for tomorrow was to be my wedding day. But I will not marry that long-nosed creature, and you are the only one who can save me. I shall say that I want to see what my bride is good for, and ask her to wash the three tallow stains out of my shirt. She will agree, for she does not know it was you who spilled them. But only Christian hands can do it, not such troll rabble as these. Then I shall say that I will have no other bride than the one who can do it, and ask you to try.” There was great joy and gladness between them that night. But the next day, when the wedding was to take place, the prince said, “I should like to see what my bride is good for first.” Yes, that was fair enough, said his stepmother. “I have a fine shirt that I want to wear for my wedding, but it has three tallow stains on it that I want washed out. And I have vowed to marry no one but the woman who can do it. If she cannot manage that, she is not worth having.” Well, they thought that was a simple matter, and agreed to it, and the one with the long nose began washing as hard as she could. But the more she washed and rubbed, the larger the stains grew. “Oh, you cannot wash,” said the old troll-woman, her mother. “Give it to me!” But scarcely had she touched the shirt before it grew much dirtier still; and the more she washed and rubbed, the larger and blacker the stains became, and the more dreadful the shirt looked. Then the other trolls tried their hands at washing, but as time went on the shirt grew dirtier and fouler, until at last it looked as though it had been up the chimney. “Oh, none of you is any use!” said the prince. “There is a beggar girl sitting outside the window here. I am sure she can wash far better than any of you. Come in, girl!” he called. So she came in. “Can you wash this shirt clean?” he asked. “Oh, I do not know,” she said. “I think I might.” And scarcely had she taken the shirt and dipped it into the water before it was white as freshly fallen snow, and whiter still. “You are the one I will marry!” said the prince. Then the old troll-woman flew into such a rage that she burst, and the princess with the long nose and the little trolls must have burst too, for I have heard nothing of them since. The prince and his bride freed all the Christian folk who were held captive there, then took with them a great deal of gold and silver and moved far away from the castle east of the sun and west of the moon.
Izvirnik
Der var engang en fattig Huusmand, som havde mange Børn og ikke stort at give dem hverken af Mad eller Klæder; vakkre vare de alle, men den vakkreste var den yngste Datter, som var saa deilig, at der ikke var nogen Maade paa det. Saa var det en Torsdagskveld, seent om Høsten, der var stygt Veir ude og fælt mørkt, og det regnede og blæste, saa at det knagede i Væggene; de sad allesammen om Skorstenen og havde noget at stelle med. Ret som det var, saa bankede det tre Gange paa Ruden. Manden gik da ud og skulde see hvad der var paa Færde, og da han kom ud, saa stod der en stor, stor Hvidbjørn.
„God Kveld du!“ sagde Hvidbjørnen. „God Kveld!“ sagde Manden. „Vil du give mig den yngste Datter din, saa skal jeg gjøre dig ligesaa rig, som du nu er fattig!“ sagde den. Ja, Manden syntes det var nok saa gildt, at han skulde blive saa rig; men han syntes dog han maatte snakke med sin Datter først, og gik ind og sagde, at der var en stor Hvidbjørn ude, som lovede han skulde gjøre dem saa rige, naar han bare kunde faae hende. Hun sagde Nei og vilde nødig, og saa gik da Manden ud igjen og blev saa forligt med Hvidbjørnen, at den skulde komme igjen næste Torsdagskveld og hente Svar. Imedens overtalte de hende og snakkede for hende om al den Rigdom, de skulde komme til, og om hvor godt hun skulde have det selv;
hun fandt sig da i det og vaskede og stelte istand Fillerne sine, pyntede sig saa godt hun kunde og holdt sig reisefærdig. Ikke stort var det hun skulde have med heller. — Næste Torsdagskveld kom Hvidbjørnen og skulde hente hende; hun satte sig op paa Ryggen af den med Tullen sin, og saa gik det afsted. Da de vare komne et langt Stykke paa Veien, sagde Hvidbjørnen: „Er du ræd?“ Nei det var hun ikke. „Ja hold dig bare godt fast i Ragget mit, saa har det ingen Fare heller,“ sagde den.
Nu red hun langt, langt bort, og saa kom de til et stort Fjeld. Der bankede Hvidbjørnen paa, saa gik der op en Port, og de kom ind i et Slot, hvor der var mange oplyste Værelser som skinnede baade af Guld og Sølv, og saa var der en stor Sal, som der stod et dækket Bord i, og det saa prægtigt, at du ikke kan tro hvor prægtigt det var. Saa gav Hvidbjørnen hende en Sølvklokke; naar det var noget hun vilde, behøvede hun bare at ringe paa den, saa fik hun det. Ja, da hun havde spist og det led paa Kvelden, blev hun søvnig efter Reisen, og syntes hun kunde have Lyst til at lægge sig; saa ringede hun paa Klokken, og hun havde ikke taget i den, førend hun kom ind i et Kammer, hvor der stod en opredt Seng, saa deilig, som Nogen vilde ligge
i, baade med Silkedyner og Omhæng og Guldfryndser; og Alt, som var der, var af Guld og Sølv; men da hun havde lagt sig og slukket Lyset, kom der et Menneske og lagde sig med hende, og dette var Hvidbjørnen, som kastede Hammen af sig om Natten; men hun fik aldrig see ham, for altid kom han, efterat hun havde slukket Lyset, og førend det var lyst om Morgenen, var han borte igjen. Det gik baade godt og vel en Stund, men saa begyndte hun at blive saa stille og sørgmodig, for hun gik der alene hele Dagen og stundede hjem til Forældrene og Sødskende sine.
Da nu engang Hvidbjørnen spurgte, hvad det var, som feilede hende, sagde hun, at det var saa øde der, hun gik der saa alene og stundede hjem til Forældrene og Sødskende sine, og det var fordi hun ikke kunde komme til dem, at hun gik og sørgede saa. „Det kan der nok blive Raad til,“ sagde Hvidbjørnen, „men du skal love mig det, at du ikke taler med din Moder alene, men bare, naar de Øvrige høre paa det, for hun tager dig ved Haanden,“ sagde den, „og vil lede dig ind i et Kammer og tale alene med dig, men det maa du slet ikke gjøre, ellers gjør du os ulykkelige begge To.“ En Søndag kom Hvidbjørnen og sagde, nu kunde de reise til Forældrene hendes. Ja de reiste, og hun sad paa hans Ryg, og det gik baade langt og længe; tilsidst kom de til en stor hvid
Gaard; der løb hendes Sødskende ude og legede sig, og der var saa vakkert at det var en Lyst at see det. „Der boer Forældrene dine,“ sagde Hvidbjørnen, „men glem ikke det, jeg har sagt dig, ellers gjør du baade mig og dig ulykkelige.“ Nei Kors, det skulde hun nok ikke glemme, og da hun var kommen did, saa vendte Hvidbjørnen om igjen, den. Der blev saadan Glæde, da hun kom ind til Forældrene, at der ikke var nogen Maade paa det; de syntes de kunde ikke fuldtakke hende for det, hun havde gjort imod dem, nu havde de det baade saa godt og saa godt, og alle saa spurgte de hende, hvorledes hun havde det, der hun var. Hun havde det baade godt og vel, og havde Alt, hvad hun kunde ønske sig; hvad hun svarede
for Resten, skal jeg ikke kunne sige, men jeg troer ikke, de fik nogen rigtig Besked om det. Men saa om Eftermiddagen, da de havde spist til Middag, gik det som Hvidbjørnen havde sagt: Moderen vilde tale med hende alene inde i Kammeret. Men hun huskede paa hvad Hvidbjørnen havde sagt, og vilde paa ingen Maade. „Det vi har at snakke om,“ sagde hun, „det kan vi altid snakke om. Men, hvorledes det gik eller ikke, saa fik Moderen overtalt hende tilsidst, og saa maatte hun fortælle, hvorledes hun havde det. Hun sagde da, at der altid kom et Menneske og lagde sig med hende, naar hun havde slukket Lyset om Aftenen, og ham fik hun aldrig see, for han var altid borte førend det blev lyst om Morgenen; det gik hun og sørgede over, for hun syntes, hun vilde saa gjerne see ham, og om Dagen
gik hun der alene, og det var saa øde og eensomt. „Huf, det kan gjerne være et Trold, du ligger med,“ sagde Moderen, „men jeg skal lære dig et Raad, saa du skal faae see ham; du skal faae et Stykke Lys af mig, som du kan tage med dig i Barmen; lys saa paa ham med det, naar han søver! men vogt dig at du ikke drypper Talg paa ham af det.“ Ja, hun tog Lyset og gjemte det i Barmen sin, og om Aftenen kom Hvidbjørnen og hentede hende.
Men da de vare komne et Stykke paa Veien spurgte Hvidbjørnen om det ikke var gaaet saaledes, som den havde sagt. Jo, det kunde hun da ikke nægte, det. „Ja, har du lyet til din Moders Raad, saa har du gjort os begge ulykkelige, og saa er det forbi mellem os,“ sagde den. Nei, det havde hun slet ikke. Da hun saa var kommen hjem og havde lagt sig, gik det som det pleiede; der kom et Menneske og lagde sig med hende, men da det led ud paa Natten, og hun hørte, han sov, stod hun op og slog Ild, tændte i Lyset og lyste paa ham, og saa fik hun see, han var den deiligste Prinds, En kunde see for sine Øine, og hun blev saa forelsket i ham, at hun syntes, hun ikke kunde leve, hvis hun ikke fik kysse ham strax paa Øieblikket; det gjorde hun ogsaa, men med det samme dryppede hun tre hede
Talgdraaber paa Skjorten hans, saa han vaagnede. „Hvad har du nu gjort?“ sagde han. „Nu har du gjort os ulykkelige begge To; havde du nu bare holdt Aaret ud, saa havde jeg været frelst, for jeg har en Stedmoder, som har forhexet mig, saa jeg er Hvidbjørn om Dagen og Menneske om Natten, men nu er det forbi mellem os, nu maa jeg reise fra dig til hende; hun boer paa et Slot, som ligger østenfor Sol og vestenfor Maane, og der er en Prindsesse med en Næse, som er tre Alen lang; hende skal jeg have nu.“ Hun græd og hun bar sig, men det var intet at gjør ved det, han maatte reise. Saa spurgte hun om hun da ikke kunde faa være med. Nei, det gik ikke an. „Kan du sige mig Veien,
saa skal jeg lede dig op; det kan jeg vel faae Lov til?“ sagde hun. Ja, det kunde hun, sagde han, men der var ingen Vei did, det laa østenfor Sol og vestenfor Maane, og did fandt hun aldrig frem. Om Morgenen da hun vaagnede var baade Prindsen og Slottet borte, hun laa paa en liden grøn Flæk midt inde i mørke, tætte Skoven og ved Siden af hende laa den samme Fillebylten, hun havde havt med sig hjemmefra. Da hun nu havde gnedet Søvnen af Øinene sine og grædt sig træt, gav hun sig paa Veien, og saa gik hun mange, mange Dage, alt til hun kom til et stort Bjerg. Udenfor det sad der en gammel Kjærring og legede sig med et Guldæble. Hende spurgte hun om hun
vidste Veien til den Prindsen, som var hos Stedmoderen sin paa et Slot, som laa østenfor Sol og vestenfor Maane, og som skulde have en Prindsesse med en Næse, som var tre Alen lang. „Hvor kjender du ham fra da?“ spurgte Kjærringen, „kanskee det var dig, som skulde havt ham?“ Ja, det var det. „Jasaa, er det dig?“ sagde Kjærringen, „ja jeg veed ikke noget mere om ham jeg, end at han boer paa det Slottet, som er østenfor Sol og vestenfor Maane, og did kommer du seent eller aldrig, men du skal faae laant Hesten min, og den kan du ride paa til Grandkjærringen min; kanskee hun kan sige dig det, og naar du er kommen frem, saa kan du bare slaae til Hesten under det venstre Øret og bede den gaae hjem igjen; og dette Guldæble kan du
tage med dig. Hun satte sig op paa Hesten og red i lange, lange Tider, og saa kom hun tilsidst til et Bjerg, hvor der sad en gammel Kjærring udenfor med et Guldhaspetræ. Hende spurgte hun om hun vidste Veien til det Slottet, som laa østenfor Sol og vestenfor Maane. Hun sagde, som den forrige Kjærringen, at hun ikke vidste Noget om det, men det var nok østenfor Sol og vestenfor Maane, „og did kommer du seent eller aldrig, men du skal faae laant Hesten min til min nærmeste Grande, kanskee hun tør vide det, og naar du er kommen did, saa behøver du bare at slaae den under det venstre Øret og bede den gaae hjem igjen,“ og saa gav hun hende Haspetræet, for det kunde hun nok komme
til at faae Brug for, sagde hun. Gjenten satte sig da op paa Hesten og red i langsommelig Tid igjen, og langt om længe kom hun til et stort Bjerg, hvor der sad en gammel Kjærring og spandt paa en Guldrok. Hende spurgte hun om hun vidste Veien til den Prindsen, og hvor det Slottet var, som laa østenfor Sol og vestenfor Maane. Saa gik det ligedan. „Kanskee det er dig, som skulde have den Prindsen der?“ sagde Kjærringen. Ja, det var da det. Men hun vidste ikke bedre Veien hun end de andre To; østenfor Sol og vestenfor Maane var det, det vidste hun, „og did kommer du seent eller aldrig“ sagde hun; „men du kan faae laant Hesten min, saa mener jeg du faaer ride til Østenvinden og spørge den, kanskee den er kjendt der og kan blæse dig
did. Naar du er kommen frem, faa behøver du bare at slaae Hesten under Øret, saa gaaer den hjem igjen.“ Og saa gav hun hende Guldrokken. „Kanskee du kan faae Brug for den,“ sagde Kjærringen. Hun red i mange Dage og langsommelig Tid førend hun kom did; men langt om længe kom hun frem, og saa spurgte hun Østenvinden om den kunde sige hende Veien til den Prindsen, som boede østenfor Sol og vestenfor Maane. Ja, den Prindsen havde han nok hørt snakke om, sagde Østenvinden, og Slottet med, men Veien vidste han ikke, for han havde aldrig blæst saa langt. „Men hvis du vil, saa skal jeg følge dig til Broder min, Vestenvinden kanskee han kan vide det, for han er meget
stærkere; du kan sætte dig paa Ryggen min, saa skal jeg bære dig did.“ Ja, hun gjorde saa, og det gik nok saa friskt. Da de kom frem did, saa gik de ind, og Østenvinden sagde, at den, han havde med sig, det var hende, som skulde havt Prindsen, som boede paa det Slottet, der laa østenfor Sol og vestenfor Maane; nu reiste hun og skulde lede ham op igjen, og saa havde han fulgt hende did og vilde gjerne høre om Vestenvinden vidste hvor det var henne.“ „Nei, saa langt har jeg aldrig blæst,“ sagde Vestenvinden, „men hvis du vil, saa skal jeg følge dig til Søndenvinden, for han er meget stærkere end Nogen af os, og han har flakket baade vidt og bredt; kanskee han kan sige dig det. Du kan sætte dig paa Ryggen min, saa skal jeg bære dig
did.“ Ja, hun gjorde saa; de reiste til Søndenvinden og var ikke længe om Veien, skal jeg troe. Da de kom frem, spurgte Vestenvinden om han kunde sige hende Veien til det Slottet, som laae østenfor Sol og vestenfor Maane, for det var hende, som skulde have den Prindsen der.“ „Jasaa,“ sagde Søndenvinden, „er det hende? Ja jeg har vanket noget hvert Sted i min Tid,“ sagde han, „men saa langt har jeg aldrig blæst; men hvis du vil, saa skal jeg følge dig til Broderen min, Nordenvinden; han er den ældste og stærkeste af os allesammen, og veed ikke han, hvor det er, saa faaer du aldrig i Verden spurgt det.
Du kan sætte dig op paa Ryggen min, saa skal jeg bære dig did.“ Ja hun satte sig op paa Ryggen hans, og han af Gaarde, saa det havde god Skik. De gjorde ikke Veien lang. Da de kom did, hvor Nordenvinden boede, saa var den saa vild og gal, at der stod kold Gufs af den lang Vei. „Hvad vil I?“ skreg han langt borte, saa det isnede i dem. „Aa, du faaer ikke være saa stræng af dig du heller,“ sagde Søndenvinden, „for det er mig, og saa er det hende, som skulde havt den Prindsen, som boer paa det Slottet, der ligger østenfor Sol og vestenfor Maane, og nu vil hun spørge dig om du har været der og kan sige hende Veien, for hun vilde gjerne finde ham igjen.“ „Ja, jeg veed nok hvor det er,“ sagde Nordenvinden, „jeg har blæst et Aspeløv did en eneste Gang men da var
jeg saa træt, at jeg ikke orkede at blæse paa mange Dage efter. Men hvis du endelig vil did, og du ikke er ræd for at være med mig, saa skal jeg tage dig paa Ryggen min og see om jeg kan blæse dig did.“ Ja, hun vilde og hun maatte did, hvis der paa noget Sæt og Viis var fremkommeligt, og ræd var hun ikke, om det gik aldrig saa galt. — „Ja, ja, du faaer ligge over her i Nat,“ sagde Nordenvinden, „for vi maae have hele Dagen for os, skal vi række frem did.“ Tidlig den anden Morgen vækkede Nordenvinden hende og blæste sig op og gjorde sig saa stor og stærk, at det var fælt at see; og saa bar det afsted med dem høit bort igjennem Luften,
som om de skulde fare til Verdens Ende med det samme. Paa Bygden var der saadan Storm, at der røg ned baade store Skovstykker og Huse, og da de kom ud over Storsøen forliste der Skibe i Hundredeviis. Saaledes foer de afsted saa langt, saa langt, at Ingen kan troe hvor langt de foer, og bestandigt gik det ud over Havet, og Nordenvinden blev trættere og trættere og saa udmaset, at den næsten ikke orkede at blæse længere, og det dalede og dalede mere og mere med dem, og tilsidst gik det saa lavt, at Bølgetoppene slog om Hælene hendes. „Er du ræd?“ sagde Nordenvinden. „Nei,“ sagde hun, det var hun ikke. Men de vare ikke langt fra Land heller, og der var netop saamegen Magt tilbage i Nordenvinden, at den fik kastet hende ind paa
Stranden under Vinduerne paa Slottet, der laa østenfor Sol og vestenfor Maane; men da var den ogsaa saa træt og saa ussel, at den maatte hvile over mange Dage, førend den kunde komme hjem igjen. „Den anden Morgen satte hun sig til at lege med Guldæblet udenfor Vinduerne i Slottet, og den Første hun saa var det Næsegrævet, som skulde have Prindsen. „Hvad skal du have for det Guldæblet dit, du?“ sagde hun og lukkede op Vinduet.
„Det er ikke tilfalds hverken for Guld eller Penge,“ sagde Jenten. „Er det ikke tilfalds for Guld eller Penge? hvad er det da du vil have for det? — du kan faae hvad du vil!“ sagde Prindsessen. „Ja hvis jeg kan komme til den Prindsen, som er her, og faae være hos ham i Nat, saa skal du faae det,“ sagde hun, som var kommen med Nordenvinden. Ja, det kunde hun nok, det var der Raad til. Prindsessen fik Guldæblet, men da Jenten kom op paa Værelse til Prindsen om Kvælden, saa sov han; hun raabte paa ham og ristede i ham, og alt imellem saa græd hun, men hun kunde ikke faae ham vaagen. Om Morgenen, da det lyste af Dagen, kom Prindsessen med den lange Næsen og jagede hende ud igjen.
Om Dagen satte hun sig udenfor Vinduerne i Slottet til at haspe paa Haspetræet, og det gik da ligedan. Prindsessen spurgte, hvad hun vilde have for det, og hun sagde, at det hverken var tilfalds for Guld eller Penge, men hvis hun kunde faae Lov til at komme op til Prindsen og være hos ham om Natten, skulde hun faae det. Men da hun kom derop, saa sov han igjen, og alt hun raabte og skreg og ristede i ham, og alt hun græd, saa sov han, saa hun ikke var istand til at faae Liv i ham, og da det lyste af Dagen om Morgenen, kom Prindsessen med den lange Næsen og jagede hende ud igjen.
Da det led ud paa Dagen, satte Jenten sig udenfor Vinduerne i Slottet til at spinde paa Guldrokken, og den vilde ogsaa Prindsessen med den lange Næsen have. Hun lukkede op Vinduet og spurgte hvad hun vilde have for den. Jenten sagde nu som begge de forrige Gange, at den ikke var tilfalds hverken for Guld eller Penge, men kunde hun faae komme op til Prindsen, som var der, og være hos ham om Natten, da skulde hun faae den. Ja det kunde hun gjerne. Men saa var der nogle kristne Folk, som vare indtagne der, og de havde siddet i det Kammer, som var nærmest Prindsens; de havde hørt, at der havde været et Fruentimmer inde, som havde grædt og raabt paa ham to Nætter i Rad, og det sagde de til Prindsen. Om Kvælden, da
Prindsessen kom med Sovesupen, lod han som han drak, men slog den bagover sig, for han kunde skjønne, det var en Sovedrik. Da nu Jenten kom ind, var Prindsen vaagen, og saa maatte hun fortælle, hvorledes hun var kommen did. „Ja nu kom du rigtig tilpas ogsaa,“ sagde Prindsen, „for i Morgen skulde jeg have Bryllup; men jeg vil ikke have det Næsegrævet, og du er den eneste som kan frelse mig. Jeg skal sige, at jeg vil see hvad Bruden min duer til og bede hende vadske af den Skjorten med de tre Talgflækkerne paa; det gaaer hun ind paa, for hun veed ikke, at det er dig, som har gjort det; men der maae kristne Folk til det og ikke sligt Trolpak, og saa skal jeg sige, at jeg ikke vil have nogen Anden til Brud end den, som kan gjøre det,
og bede dig om det.“ Der var da stor Fryd og Glæde paa dem om Natten. Men Dagen efter, da Brylluppet skulde staae, sagde Prindsen: „Jeg vil nok see hvad Bruden min duer til først?“ Ja, det kunde saa være det, sagde Stedmoderen. „Jeg har en fiin Skjorte, som jeg vil have til Brudgomsskjorte, men det er kommen tre Talgflækker paa, som jeg vil have vadsket af, og det har jeg lovet, at jeg ikke tager nogen Anden end den, som er god for at gjøre det, og kan hun ikke det, saa er hun ikke værdt at have.“ — Ja, det var ingen Sag, meente de, og det gik de ind paa, og hun med den lange Næsen til at vadske det bedste hun kunde, men jo mere hun vaskede og gned desto større bleve Flækkerne. „Aa, du kan ikke vadske,“ sagde Gamletroldkjærringen,
Moer hendes, „lad mig faae den!“ men hun havde ikke før taget i Skjorten, førend den blev meget styggere endda, og jo mere hun vadskede og gned, desto større og sortere bleve Flækkerne, og desto fælere blev den. Saa skulde de andre Troldene til at vadske, men jo længre det led, desto styggere og fælere blev den, og tilsidst saae hele Skjorten ud som om den havde været i Skorstenspiben. „Aa I duer ikke Noget, Nogen af Jer!“ sagde Prindsen; „der sidder en Fantejente udenfor Vinduet her; jeg er sikker paa, hun er meget bedre til at vadske hun end Nogen af Jer. Kom ind du Jente!“ skreg han. Ja, hun kom ind. „Kan du vadske reen den Skjorten, du?“ sagde han. „Aa, jeg veed ikke jeg,“ sagde hun, „jeg tænker nok det.“
Og aldrig havde hun taget i Skjorten og dyppet den ned i Vandet hun, førend den var drivende hvid som Nysnee og hvidere endda. „Ja dig vil jeg have!“ sagde Prindsen. Saa blev den gamle Troldkjærring saa sindt, at hun sprak, og Prindsessen med den lange Næsen og Smaatroldene sprak nok ogsaa, for jeg har ikke hørt Noget til dem siden. Prindsen og Bruden hans de løste da ud alt Kristenfolket, som var indtaget der, og saa toge de med sig meget Guld og Sølv og flyttede langt bort fra Slottet, som laa østenfor Sol og vestenfor Maane.
