The Fiddler and the Sea Nymph
Many years ago a dancing society of Brästa, a village in the parish of Stora Mellösa, planned a great Christmas festival, to which, on the appointed day, old and young flocked from far and near, knowing that Sexton Kant, of Norrbyås, would be there with his fiddle, and assured that fun would run riot. Kant, it is related, was no ordinary fiddler, not a little proud of his skill, and ready at the least word of praise to laud himself to the skies.
When the merry making had gone well into the night and the pleasures were at their height, some one remarked that not many could measure themselves with Father Kant, when he let the bow leap over the strings and played in “four voices,” as he himself called it. Nothing further was needed. Kant, always ready to begin where the others left off, declared that the devil, good player as he was reputed to be, could not compete with him in the waltz which they had just heard. This boast came near costing Kant dear. When the dance ended and he set out in the night on his way home, he met, near the hill of Bjurbäcka, a young woman clad in white, who saluted him and addressed him as follows:
“If you will play a polka for me, Father Kant, I will dance for you.”
So said, so done. Father Kant sat himself upon a stone and applied the bow to the strings of the instrument. Instantly he lost all control of himself. Such a polka as now came from his fiddle he had never expected to hear, much less play. The tones seemed to come without help from him. The bow bounded over the strings and his arm was forced to follow. One melody followed another; his arm became numb, but the music continued in the same wild measure.
Kant now understood that something was wrong. Finally he burst forth:
“God forgive me, poor sinner. What have I brought upon myself?”
Upon the instant the fiddle strings parted, and an awful-sounding laugh was heard from the brook at the foot of the hill. Heavy of heart, Kant hastened homeward, acknowledging to himself that the devil, after all, was his superior. For a long time he could not be persuaded to again take up his fiddle, but, when he finally complied, he found that one of the beautiful waltzes he had played on the eventful night had fastened itself upon his memory, and he acquired greater renown than before as a fiddler.
The snipe, as is well known, is a bird which inhabits low, marshy meadows, and which, in flight, makes a noise with its wings not unlike the neighing of a horse.
A farmer, who himself never looked after his property, had in his employ a lazy and negligent servant. One dry summer the man rode his master’s horse, many days in succession, to a pasture where there was no water, without first giving it drink, as he had been instructed. So the poor animal was thus left to suffer through the long dry period.
It happened one day that the farmer would go to the city, and commanded the servant to fetch the horse from the pasture. The man went, but search where he would, no horse could be found. The servant not returning in season, his master set out after him, but neither could he find the animal. It had disappeared from the pasture completely, and was not found again.
Some days later, when the farmer was again out, continuing the search, to his surprise he heard a neighing in the air. Soon after he observed his horse, as he supposed, standing and drinking in an adjoining meadow. “Are you there, Grålle?” cried the farmer, and hastened to catch the horse. His shout was answered with a neigh.
“Grålle, Grålle, my boy!” continued the farmer, in persuasive tones and was about to grasp the halter, when the horse was transformed into a bird, which, with another neigh, flew into the air.
From that day the farmer took care of his own horses, and before all else he saw to it that they did not want for water when they went to pasture.