I have closed
my accounts
that were on
the Internet

and which
were certainly
datamining me
for Big Tech

Forgive me
they were increasingly
frustrating
and so much hard work

I have two variants of “Askeladden, Who Stole the Troll’s Silver Ducks…” One of these variants has a heroine, whose “call to adventure” is a familiar tale of sibling rivalry followed by a crone in the forest. This variant is incomplete in that there are only two (not three) challenges; one of these, however, is to retrieve the sun from beneath the troll-wife’s apron, after which the tale ends quite abruptly. In other words, the family relations, the fact that the protagonist is a girl, and the sun as a possession of a troll are the points of interest.

The other variant has a conventional hero – one of three brothers. His helper is a goat, and instead of a magic bridge, he passes through a waterfall “that separates the land of the trolls from the land of the Christians.” This tale has three challenges, one of which involves a misspelled musical instrument, and a bit of troll cannibalism, before it ends with a wedding that the sketch forgets to forebode.

Neither of these variants is wholly satisfactory, but each has eye-opening elements. So what if I combine the records, and produce a composition using the interesting elements of each? Something similar has been done before, even by Asbjørnsen & Moe, so it’s not as if I’m cheating in an unprecedented manner…

I have made no decision yet, but would very much like to keep the girl, the goat, the waterfall, the quest for the sun, and the cannibalism. We'll see if I can keep my nerve in altering the source material to such a degree.

A Profound Thought™ struck me when I recently re-read Thrond Sjursen Haukenæs’ Old Christmas Customs, and I have been reading myself into a rabbit hole ever since. I haven’t yet read enough to be able to unravel the question at the end of this post. I’m working on it, though I doubt the answer is out there.

We begin with Christmas in rural Norway, which by the beginning of the 20^th century, was typically celebrated the same way throughout the country. The baking was completed in the first half of December, the beer had been brewed after the barley harvest, and a goat, a lamb, or a pig was slaughtered close to Christmas Eve, so that the Christmas meal should consist of fresh meat.

Now, when we compare these customs with the way in which The Saga of Haakon the Good says the Norse folk marked their sacrifices, the similarities are quite interesting.

It was an old custom, that when there was to be sacrifice all the bondes should come to the spot where the temple stood and bring with them all that they required while the festival of the sacrifice lasted. To this festival all the men brought ale with them; and all kinds of cattle, as well as horses, were slaughtered, and all the blood that came from them was called “hlaut”, and the vessels in which it was collected were called hlaut-vessels. Hlaut-staves were made, like sprinkling brushes, with which the whole of the altars and the temple walls, both outside and inside, were sprinkled over, and also the people were sprinkled with the blood; but the flesh was boiled into savoury meat for those present.

Quite similar in a number of points.

Of course, the different ways in which a community can celebrate a holiday are limited, and feasting seems to be widespread, but here’s the interesting bit: the yearly slaughter on Norwegian farms took place in the autumn – after the now fat billy-goats came down again from the saeter. The meat from the autumn slaughter was preserved (salted, cured, dried, pickled) for the coming year; why should meat eaten at Christmas be fresh?

So is this custom of slaughtering and eating fresh meat at Christmas a bloody remnant of old Norse religions, which may have survived through to the beginning of the industrial period?

There was once upon a time a small boy who was on his way to church. As he passed through a clearing in the woods, he saw a fox lying asleep on a slab of glimmerite. The fox didn’t notice that the boy saw him.

“When I now take the life of this fox and sell its pelt,” said the boy, picking up a big stone, “then I’ll have some money. With that money I’ll buy some rye, and I’ll sow the rye on father’s strip of field back home. When then the church folk come, they’ll say: ‘Oh what fine rye that boy has!’ And I’ll say to them: ‘Don’t tramp on the rye!’ But they shan’t listen, so I’ll shout at them: ‘Say, don’t tramp on the rye!’ But still they shan’t listen, so I’ll scream at them as loudly as I can: ‘Don’t tramp on the rye, I said!’ And then they’ll listen.”

Now, at the boy’s screaming, the fox awoke and ran off into the forest, and so the boy didn’t get so much as a tuft of its hair.

No, it is better to take the opportunity that presents itself; one ought never to boast of what has not been accomplished, as they say.

– Gabriel Djurklou (1829–1904). Sagor och äfventyr (1885).

A girl served on a farm where there was a nisse. This nisse was a good-natured kind of creature and would gladly do everyone all possible manner of favours. Thus, for a long time he had given the girl a hand with little tasks about the kitchen so that she never had to wash pots or plates, but simply put them on the chimney breast in the evening and found them again clean in the morning. In gratitude to her little helper, she decided to honour him. One Christmas Eve, she put in the kitchen, next to the usual Christmas porridge, a small garment that would just about suit her favourite, as well as a mirror in which he could gaze upon his new finery. She hid herself, to see how he would behave when he – whose dress was otherwise very ragged – beheld the glory of his appearance. The evening came, and after completing his meal the nisse made his toilet. With the help of the mirror he regarded his figure with pleasure. Then, ignoring his usual work, he exclaimed at last: “No, now you are far too handsome to wash pots.” The girl never saw him again!

— Morgenbladet. Kristiania, 1823-04-01.
This is a very early written account of the nisse.