I The Dark School
Long, long ago, when Trolls and Giants lived among men, there was a famous school where curious youths were taught the mysteries of witchcraft. France and Germany both claim the honour of it, but no one knows where it really was.
It was kept in a dismal cavern, deep underground, into which no ray of sunlight ever entered. Here, the scholars had to stay no less than seven winters; for it took them all that time to complete their studies. They never saw their teacher from one year’s end to another. Every morning a grey grizzly hand, all covered with hair, pushed itself through the cavern wall and gave to each one his lesson book. These books were written all over with letters of fire, and could be read with ease, even in the dark. The lessons over, the same grizzly hand again appeared to take away the books and bring in the scholars’ dinner.
At the close of winter, the scholars who had then got through their seven years apprenticeship were dismissed. The great iron door was opened, and the master stood watching those who went out; for he had stipulated that the scholar who walked hindmost, in passing through, was to be seized by him and kept as a thrall. But who was this strange school-master? Why, Old Nick himself. No wonder, then, that each of the scholars struggled hard to be first in passing the fatal threshold.
Once on a time, there were three Icelanders at the dark school; Sæmund Frodi, afterwards parish priest at Oddi, Kalfur Arnason, and Halfdan Eldjarnsson, afterwards parish priest at Fell, in Slettuhlid. They were all dismissed at the same time. Sæmund, to the great delight of his companions, offered to walk hindmost in going out of school, so he dressed himself in a long loose cloak, which he took care to leave unbuttoned, and bidding good bye to school-fellows left behind, prepared to follow his countrymen. Just as he was putting his feet on the first step of the stair which led up from the school door, Old Nick, who was watching hard by, made a clutch at the cloak and called out,
“Sæmund Frodi, pass not the door,
Thou art my thrall for evermore.”
And now the great iron door began to turn on its hinges; but, before Old Nick had time to slam it too, Sæmund slipt his arms out of the sleeves of his cloak, and sprung forward out of the grasp of his enemy.
In doing so, the door struck him a heavy blow on the heel, which gave him a good deal of pain, when he said,
“The door hath swung too near the heel,
But better sore foot than serve the Deil.”
And so Sæmund outwitted Old Nick, and got away from the dark school along with his two friends. Since then, it has become a common saying in Iceland, when a person has had a narrow escape from danger, that “the door swung too near his heels.”43
II. Sæmund Gets the Living of Oddi
At the time Sæmund, Kalfur, and Halfdan came out of the dark school, there was no priest at Oddi, for the old priest had just died. All three of them would fain have the living, and so each went to the king to ask it for himself. The king knew his men; and so he sent them all away with the same answer, that whoever reached Oddi first, should be made priest of that place.
Thereupon Sæmund summoned Old Nick and said to him, “Now, I’ll make a bargain with you, if you swim with me on your back across to Iceland, and land me there without wetting my coat-tail, I’ll be your servant as long as I live.” Old Nick was highly pleased with the offer and agreed at once. So, in less than no time, he changed himself into a seal, and left Norway with Sæmund on his back.
Sæmund took care to have his prayer book with him, and read bits out of it every now and then while on the way. As soon as they got close to the shores of Iceland, which they did in less time than you would think, he closed the book and suddenly struck the seal such a heavy blow on the neck with it that the animal went down all at once into deep water. Sæmund, now left to himself, struck out for the shore and got easily to land. In this way Old Nick lost his bargain, and Sæmund got the living of Oddi.
III. The Goblin and the Cowherd
When Sæmund was priest of Oddi, he once had a cowherd—a good servant withal, but greatly addicted to swearing. Sæmund often reproved him for this, but all his reproofs were of no avail. At last he told him, he really ought to leave off his bad habits, for Old Nick and his servants lived upon people’s curses and wicked words. “Say you so?” said the cowherd, “if I knew for certain that Old Nick would lose his meals by it, I would never say a bad word more.” So he made up his mind to mend his ways.
“I’ll soon see whether you are in earnest or not,” said Sæmund, and so, he forthwith lodged a goblin in the cowhouse. The cowherd did not like his guest, and no wonder: for he was up to every kind of mischief, and almost worried the life out of him with his wicked pranks. The poor cowherd bore up bravely for a time, and never let slip an oath or angry word. The goblin got leaner day by day, to the intense delight of the cowherd, who hoped, bye and bye, to see an end of him.
One morning, on opening the byre door, the poor cowherd found every thing turned topsy-turvy. The milk pails and stools were broken in pieces and scattered about the floor; and the whole of the cows—and there were many of them—tied tail to tail, were straggling about without halters, and goring each other. It needed but half an eye to see who had done the mischief. So the cowherd in a rage turned round to the goblin who, shrunk and haggard, lay crouched up in a corner of a stall, the very picture of wretchedness, and poured forth such a volley of furious curses as would have overwhelmed any human being in the same plight. The goblin all at once began to revive; his skin no longer shrivelled looked smooth and plump; his eye brightened up, and the stream of life again flowed joyously through his veins.
“O, oh!” said the cowherd, as he suddenly checked himself, when he saw the wonderful effect his swearing had on the goblin, “Now I know for certain that Sæmund was right.” And from that day forward he was never known to utter an oath. As for the goblin, he soon pined away again and has long since been beyond troubling anybody. May you and I, and all who hear this story, strive to follow the good example of Sæmund’s cowherd!