The Changelings.
Every intelligent grandmother knows that the fire must not be allowed to go out in a room, where there is a child not yet christened; that the water in which the new-born child is washed should not be thrown out; also, that a needle, or some other article of steel must be attached to its bandages. If attention is not paid to these precautions it may happen that the child will be exchanged by the Trolls, as once occurred in Bettna many years ago.
A young peasant’s wife had given birth to her first child. Her mother, who lived some distance away, was on hand to officiate in the first duties attending its coming, but the evening before the day on which the child should be christened she was obliged to go home for a short time to attend to the wants of her own family, and during her absence the fire was allowed to go out.
No one would have noticed anything unusual, perhaps, if the child had not, during the baptism, cried like a fiend. After some weeks, however, the parents began to observe a change. It became ugly, cried continuously and was so greedy that it devoured everything that came in its way. The people being poor, they were in great danger of being eaten out of house and home. There could no longer be any doubt that the child was a “changeling.” Whereupon the husband sought a wise old woman, who, it was said, could [[177]]instruct the parents what to do to get back their own child.
The mother was directed to build a fire in the bake oven three Thursday evenings in succession, lay the young one upon the bake shovel, then pretend that she was about to throw it into the fire. The advice was followed, and when the woman, the third evening, was in the act of throwing the changeling into the fire, it seemed, a little deformed, evil-eyed woman rushed up with the natural child, threw it in the crib and requested the return of her child. “For,” said she, “I have never treated your child so badly and I have never thought to do it such harm as you now propose doing mine,” whereupon she took the unnatural child and vanished through the door.
Another changeling story, but with less unfortunate consequences, is told in Södermanland.
A resident of Vingåkir, who made frequent trips to Nyköping with loads of flour, was in the habit of halting for the night at the house of a farmer in Verna. One summer night he arrived later than usual, and, as the people were already in bed and asleep, the weather being pleasant, he did not wish to wake anyone, so unhitched his horse from the wagon, hitched him to a hay stack and laid himself under the wagon to sleep.
He had been some time under the wagon, yet awake, when, from under a stone near by, an ugly, deformed woman, carrying a babe, made her appearance. Looking about her carefully, she laid the child on the stone and went into the house. In a short time [[178]]she returned, bearing another child; laid it upon the stone, and taking up the first one, returned to the house.
The man observed her actions, and divining their purpose, crept cautiously from his resting place as soon as the woman had disappeared into the house, took the sleeping child and hid it in his coat under the wagon. When the Troll returned and found the child gone she went a third time to the house, from which she returned with the child she had just carried in, whereupon she disappeared under the stone.
The traveler, anxious for the welfare of his little charge, which had in such an extraordinary manner fallen into his hands, could not close his eyes for the rest of the night.
As soon as it dawned he went with his precious burden to the house, where he found the occupants in great consternation over the disappearance of the child, which, as may be presumed, was received with great rejoicing. [[179]]
The Lady of Pintorp.[1]
What is now the country seat of Eriksberg, with its castle-like buildings among parks and gardens, was once an estate called Pintorp, upon [[180]]which tradition has fixed the melancholy story of “The Lady of Pintorp.”
At Pintorp, so goes the story, lived a nobleman who, at his death, yet a young man, left his goods and estates to his widow. Instead of proving a good mistress to her numerous dependents, she impoverished them in all possible ways and treated them with the greatest cruelty. Under the castle she had deep cells, the terrors of which, on the slightest provocation, many a poor innocent creature was made to experience. She would set vicious dogs on beggars and children, and he who was not at his work at a fixed hour could be certain that he would go home in the evening with his back well lashed.
Early one morning the Lady of Pintorp stood on the castle steps watching the people congregate for the day’s work. Noticing an unfortunate fellow a little behind time, she flew into a rage, pouring upon him a flood of abuse and curses, and in punishment commanded him to fell the largest oak to be found upon the estate, and to carry it, before evening, uncut, top foremost, to the garden. If he failed to execute the command fully and punctually he was to be mercilessly driven from the estate and all his possessions confiscated. [[181]]
Pondering over his sentence the man went to the woods where he met an old man who inquired why he looked so sad.
“Because I am done for, if the Lord does not come to my aid,” sighed the unfortunate fellow, and informed the old man what a task his mistress had put upon him.
“Don’t be uneasy,” said the stranger, “but chop that oak, then set yourself upon the trunk, when Erik Gyllerstierna and Svante Baner will draw it to the castle.”
The peasant, as he was instructed, began to cut the tree, which fell with a great crash at the third blow of his ax. Taking his seat upon the trunk, the tree at once began to move as if drawn by horses. The speed was soon so great that opposing fences and gates were brushed aside like straws, and in a short time the oak had arrived at the designated spot in the castle yard. Just as the tree top struck the castle gate one of the invisible haulers stumbled, and a voice was heard to say, “What, you on your knees, Svante?”
The lady who was standing upon the steps at the time understood, without anything further, who had been the laborer’s helpers, but instead of repenting she began to swear, scold and in the end, to threaten the man with imprisonment. Hereupon there was an earthquake which shook the walls of the castle, and a black carriage drawn by two black horses stood in the castle yard. A handsome man dressed in black stepped from the carriage, bowed to the lady and bade her prepare to follow him. Tremblingly—for she knew [[182]]well who the stranger was—she begged him to let her remain three years yet; to this the visitor would not consent. She begged for three months; this was also denied her, and at last she prayed for three days, then three hours, but was allowed only three minutes in which to dispose of her household affairs.
When she saw that prayers availed her nothing she asked him to, at least, allow her curate, chambermaid and house servants to go with her on the journey. This was granted, so they entered the carriage, which was instantly under way and went off at such a speed that the people who stood in the yard saw nothing but a black streak behind it.
When the lady and her followers had ridden some time they came to a lighted castle, up the steps of which the black gentleman conducted them. Arriving in the hall, he deprived the lady of her rich clothes and gave her instead a coarse gown and wooden shoes. Next he combed her hair three times with such a vengeance that the blood streamed from her head, and concluded by dancing with her three times until her shoes were filled with blood.
After the first dance she asked permission to give her gold ring to her chamberlain, whose fingers were burned by it as with fire. After the second dance she gave the chambermaid her key ring, which scorched her fingers as if glowing iron. At the termination of the third dance a trap in the floor opened and the woman vanished in a cloud of smoke and flames.
The priest who stood nearest peeped with curiosity into the opening where the woman had gone down, [[183]]when a spark came up from below and hit him in the eye so that thereafter he had but one eye.
When all was over the gentleman in black gave the servants permission to return home, but with strong injunctions not to look back. Hurriedly they sprang into the carriage. The way was broad and straight, and the horses galloped with great speed, but the chambermaid could not control her curiosity, and looked back. Instantly the carriage, horses, even the road disappeared and the travelers found themselves in a wild forest, where they wandered three years before finding their way back to Pintorp. [[184]]
[1] The chief character in this narrative is the wife of President and Senator Erik Gyllerstierna, Beata Yxkull, to whom the name of Lady Pintorpa is given. As far as can be judged from the best accounts obtainable, Lady Beata was a woman of unusual understanding, decision and power. It is quite possible [[180]]that in her exactions and treatment of her servants and dependents she may have sometimes been unreasonably severe, and that therefore she did not command their love. It is certain that the stories of her inhuman conduct and tragical end are of a later date than her generation, and that this is a localization of a similar German legend.
The opinion is ever hazarded that Beata Yxkull came to play a part in this gruesome myth, alone because of the name of the estate, Pintorp, which our uncritical story-tellers have credulously taken for granted, was derived from Pina—to tease—though good grounds exist for the belief that the estate took its name from the family of Pinaur, who, in former days, resided thereon. [↑]
Lake Goldring.[1]
About a mile and a half from Strengnäs lies a narrow valley, between several wood-covered heights and the island upon which in olden times Ingiald Illrada burned herself and all her attendants.
The valley is called Eldsund, and was formerly an open water way connecting two of lake Mälar’s bays. Vessels went, then, unhindered through there, and not many years ago a sunken vessel was found, buried in the mud that had one time been at its bottom. Now there is nothing but a small stream winding its way between grass-grown banks, and cows and goats graze where the perch and the pike formerly had their playground.
At one place this little stream spreads its banks until a small lake is formed, which was once of quite respectable size, but is now almost grown over with reeds. Many a poor man has there caught a fish for his pot, that otherwise would have been empty enough.
A good while back there lived a lady on the estate not far from this lake, perhaps as near as Näsbyholm, upon which, near the water-course, lies the notable “cuckoo stone.”
This lady was very rich and still more proud, [[185]]looking with contempt upon all who had less money and lands than she, and were not of as noble blood as she believed herself to be.
One day an old priest visited her. A priest in all respects, not one of those accommodating fellows that could be sent to stir the fire, or one who went with bent back away from home and was painfully straight at home, but a priest who did not hide his thoughts under a chair.
While the priest and his hostess were one day walking along the lake shore, she began, as was her habit, to boast of her riches; to tell how much money she had at interest, and how many tax lists she had complete and incomplete, whereupon the priest asked her how far she thought all that went, or what, after all, it amounted to, for she could not take her riches with her into the grave. At this the lady became angered, and declared that she was so rich that if she should live even many hundreds of years she need not want, and that it was as impossible that she should become poor as it would be to recover her gold ring from the depths of the lake—at the same time drawing a ring from her finger and casting it far out into the water.
The priest maintained that as wonderful things as this had happened in the world, and that it was not more impossible that her ring might be recovered than that she might become poor.
Later in the day an old fisherman came to the house with fish to sell. A number were bought, and the kitchen girl was given the task of cleaning them. [[186]]
When she cut open the largest pike, she saw something shining, and, upon looking with greater care, she recognized her mistress’ most valuable finger ring. In great haste she rushed to the lady, who sat wrangling with the moderate priest because he could think it possible her riches might be taken from her.
“Has my lady lost her ring?” asked the maid.
The lady ceased to talk, and cast a glance at the priest, who sat quietly at the window looking out toward the lake.
“Here it is, any way,” said the maid, and laid the ring upon the table.
The lady grew pale, but the priest looked more serious than ever.
How it went with her and her riches thereafter, the story does not relate, but the lake is called Goldring to this day. [[187]]
[1] The legend of the ring, originally an Oriental tale [See Herodotus on King Polycrates in Samos], has become a part of the folk-lore of several localities in Scandinavia, as in Närike, The Rich Lady; in Norway, The Insolent Priest’s Daughter; in Denmark, Free Birthe, etc. [↑]
