The Black Bull of Norway

Originally published: December 1904 in The Blue Fairy Book by Andrew Lang

Genres: Fairy Tale

Dime Novel Bibliography: https://dimenovels.org/Item/71979/Show

Goodreads link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/543164.The_Blue_Fairy_Book

Gutenberg link: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/503

And many a hunting song they sung,
And song of game and glee;
Then tuned to plaintive strains their tongue,
“Of Scotland’s love and lee.”
To wilder measures next, they turn
“The Black, Black Bull of Norway!”
Sudden the tapers cease to burn,
The minstrels cease to play.

“The Cout of Keeldar,” by J. Leyden.

In Norway, a long time ago, there lived a lady who had three daughters. The oldest of them said to her mother, “Mother, bake me a bannock and roast me a collop, for I’m going away to seek my fortune.

Her mother did so, and the daughter went way to an old wich washerwife and told her purpose. The old wife bade her stay that day and went out to look out of her back door and see what she could see.

She saw nothing the first day. The second day she did the same and saw nothing. On the third day, she looked again and saw a coach and six horses coming along the road. She ran in and told the old wife what she saw.

“Oh well, then!” said the wife. “That’s for you.”

So they took her into the coach and galloped off.

The second daughter said to the mother, “Mother, bake me a bannock and roast me a collop, for I’m going away to seek my fortune.”

Her mother did so, and away she went to the old wife, as the sister had done. On the third day, she looked out of the back door and saw a coach and four horses coming along the road.

“Oh well, then!” said the old wife. “That’s for you.”

So they took her in and off they set.

The third daughter said to her mother, “Mother, bake me a bannock and roast me a collop, for I’m going away to seek my fortune.”

Her mother did so, and way she went to the old witch-wife.

The old wife bade her look out of the back door and see what she could see. She did so, and when came back she saw nothing. The second day she did the same and saw nothing. The third day she looked again, and on coming back said to the old wife she saw nothing but a large Black Bull coming roaring along the road.

“Ah well, then!” said the old wife. “That’s for you.”

On hearing this, she was next to distracted with grief and terror, but she was lifted up and set on his back, and away they went.

On they traveled, and on they traveled, until the lady grew faint with hunger.

“Eat out of my right bag,” said the Black Bull, “and drink out of my left bag and set by your leavings.”

So she did as he said and was wonderfully refreshed.

Long they went and so they rode, until they came in sight of a very big and bonny castle.

“Yonder we might be this night,” said the bull, “for my older brother lives yonder.”

They lifted her off his back and took her in and sent him away to a park for the night. In the morning, when they brought the bull home, they took the lady into a fine shining parlor, and gave her a beautiful apple, telling her not to break it until she was in the greatest strait ever mortal was in the world, and that would bring her to it.

Again, she was lifted on the bull’s back, and after she had ridden far, further than I can tell, they came in sight of a far bonnier castle, and far farther way than the last.

The bull said to her, “Yonder we might be this night, for my second brother lives yonder.”

They lifted her down and took her in, and sent the bull to the field for the night. In the morning, they took the lady into a fine and rich room and gave her the finest pear she had ever seen, bidding her not to break it until she was in the greatest strait ever mortal could be in, and that would get her out of it.

Again, she was lifted and set on his back, and away they went. Long they went and so they rode, until they came in sight of the far biggest castle and far farthest off they had yet seen.

“We might be yonder the night,” said the bull,” for my younger brother lives yonder.”

They lifted her down, took her in, and sent the bull to the field for the night. In the morning, they took her into a room, the finest of all, and gave her a plum, telling her not to break it until she was in the greatest strait mortal could be in, and that would get her out of it. They brought home the bull, set the lady on his back, and away they went.

Away they went, and on they rode, until they came to a dark and frightful glen, where they stopped and the lady lighted down.

The bull said to her, “Here ye might stay until I go and fight the devil. You must seat yourself on that stone and move neither hand nor foot until I come back, or else I’ll never find you again. And if everything around you turns blue then I have beat the devil. But if things turn red, he’ll have conquered me.”

She sat herself down on the stone, and by-and-by around her turned blue. Overcome with joy, she lifted her fight foot and crossed it over the other, so glad was she that her companion was victorious. The bull returned and looked for her but could never find her.

Long she sat until she wearied. At last, she rose and went away. On she wandered until she came to a great hill of glass that she tried to climb but wasn’t able. Around the bottom of the hill she went, sobbing and seeking passage over, until at last she came to a smith’s house.

The smith promised that if she would serve him seven years, he would make her iron shoes wherewith she could climb over the glassy hill. At seven years’ end, she got her iron shoes, climbed the glassy hill, and chanced to see the old washerwife’s habitation.

There, she was told of a gallant young knight who had been given some bloody socks to wash, and whoever washed the socks was to be his wife.

The old wife had washed until she was tired and then she sent to her daughter and both washed, and they washed, and they better washed, in hopes of getting the young night. But all they could do they couldn’t bring out the stain.

At length, they set the stranger damosel to work, and whenever she began the stains came out pure and clean. The old wife made the knight believe it was her daughter who had washed the socks. So the knight and the eldest daughter were to be married, and the stranger damosel was distracted at the thought of it, for she was deeply in love with him.

She thought of her apple and, breaking it, found it filled with gold and precious jewelry, the richest she had ever seen.

“All these,” she said to the oldest daughter, “I will give you on condition that you put off your marriage for one day, and allow me to go into his room alone at night.”

So the lady consented, but meanwhile, the old wife had prepared a sleeping drink, and given it to the knight who drank it and never wakened until the next morning.

The whole night, the damosel sobbed and sang:

“Seven long years I served for thee,
The glassy hill I climbed for thee,
The bloody shirt I wrang for thee;
And wilt thou no waken and turn to me?”

The next day, she didn’t know what to do with grief. She then broke the pear and found it filled with jewelry far richer than the contents of the apple. With these jewels, she bargained for permission to be a second night in the young night’s chamber.

The old night gave him another sleeping drink, and he again slept until morning.

All night, she kept sighing and singing as before,

“Seven long years I served for thee,
The glassy hill I climbed for thee,
The bloody shirt I wrang for thee;
And wilt thou no waken and turn to me?”

Still, he slept and she nearly lost hope altogether. But that day when he was out hunting, somebody asked him what noise and moaning they heard all last night in his bedchamber. He said he heard not any noise. But they assured them there was so, and he resolved to keep awake that night to try what he could hear.

That being the third night, and the damosel being between hope and despair, she broke her plum, and it held far the richest jewelry of the three. She bargained as before, and the old wife, as before, took in the sleeping drink to the young knight’s chamber. But he told her he couldn’t drink it that night without sweetening. And when she went away for some honey to sweeten it with, he poured out the drink, and so made the old wife think he had drunk it.

They all went to bed again, and the damosel began, as before, singing:

“Seven long years I served for thee,
The glassy hill I climbed for thee,
The bloody shirt I wrang for thee;
And wilt thou no waken and turn to me?”

He heard and turned to her. And she told him all that had befallen her, and he told her all that had happened to him. And he caused the old washerwife and her daughter to be burned. And they were married, and he and she are living happily to this day.