Swedish Folktales: Skåne

The Free Shooter

Rustic people believe that there are several ways to acquire the ability to “shoot free.” However, the most common method is for the hunter to make a contract with the skogsrået. But these sorts of agreements only ever lead to misfortune, and in the end result in the shooter’s ruin. In the meantime however, for as long as his pact persists, he can shoot anything he desires. Indeed, he need do no more than wish for the wild game he would have, and of its own accord it runs right up to his own cottage door.

Many years ago up in the Göinge area there was a man, and a wild one at that, who sat and drank with a few neighbors one evening. He was in high spirits, and the longer the night went on, the more and the bigger he talked, until he made a wager with his fellows: that he would shoot a mastershot, the likes of which no one had ever seen before.

“Right now as we speak, there is a roe deer walking on Halland’s ridge…”

It was several miles to Halland’s ridge. His drinking buddies laughed in his face.

“I’ll bet you,” the man said defiantly, “that I can go outside right now and shoot that stag.”

“Bull!” said the others.

“Wanna bet on it?”

“Fine then! One gallon of beer.” With the gamble settled, the company went out onto the porch.

It was a bleak autumn night. Storm winds chased the clouds across the sky, and the halfmoon threw a dull light from between broken clouds. It didn’t take long before, in the uncertain moonlight, they saw something running past the edge of a thicket. The man threw his rifle to his shoulder and shot, as the others saw it, at random.

A resounding laugh greeted that strange shot. No mortal could have hit a running target at that distance in such poor light.

However, everyone hastened to the edge of the woods to find out what had actually taken place. There was, after all, a whole gallon of beer at stake.

Who could portray the surprise of the doubters when they, among the yellowed leaves on the ground, found the most majestic stag. Its tongue was hanging out, it had foamed and sweated as the poor beast had been chased by an invisible power all the way from Halland’s ridge in hardly a half-hour. Even more astonishing was that it lay there with a bullet in the middle of its heart.

The man received his winnings. But his neighbors sat in silence. They could see what kind of a man they were dealing with, and in the future, they took care to avoid him, this man who had clearly made a pact with no less than the devil himself.

Stompe-Pilt

Not too far away from Balsberg in Fjälkestad socken there lies a hill, where long ago a giant lived by the name of Stompe-Pilt.

One day there happened to be a goatherd driving his goats towards the hill where Stompe-Pilt lived.

“Who’s there?” shouted the giant and rushed out of the hill with a flintstone in his hand.

“It’s me, if you must know,” answered the herder and drove his goats up onto the hill.

“If you come up here, I’ll crush you just like I can crush this here rock,” said the giant, as he ground the flintstone to fine sand between his fingers.

“Then I’ll crush the water out of you, just like I can do to this stone,” replied the herder as he took a fresh cheese out of his bag and squeezed it so that the whey ran down his fingers.

“You’re not scared?” asked the giant.

“Not of you!” cried the herder.

“Well, then we’ll fight!” answered the giant.

“We just might!” said the herder, “but first let’s throw insults at each other to get good and mad, because insults lead to anger and anger leads to fightin’!”

“Well, I wanna insult you first,” said the giant.

“Go for it!” said the herder, “but then it's my turn.”

“You’re going to get a hook-nosed troll!” said the giant.

“And you’re gonna get a flying devil!” said the herder and shot an arrow into the giant’s belly.

“What was that?” asked the giant, trying to pull out the arrow.

“That was a proper insult!” said the herder.

“But why does it have feathers?” the giant asked.

“So it can fly fast,” the herder answered.

“And why is it stuck?” asked the giant.

“Because it has rooted itself in your body,” answered the herder.

“Do you have more insults like that?” asked the giant.

“Here’s another one for you,” answered the herder, shooting another arrow into Stompe-Pilt.

“Ow! Ow!” shouted the giant. “Aren’t you mad enough to fight yet?”

“Nope, I haven’t insulted you enough yet,” answered the herder, nocking another arrow to his bowstring.

“Herd your goats wherever you want. I can’t take your insults, much less your punches,” shouted Stompe-Pilt and ran back into the hill.

And thus it was that the goatherd defeated the giant, for he was courageous and did not allow himself to be scared by the foolish giant.

Finn the Giant and Lund’s Cathedral

In the far distant past, in Helgonabacken near Lund there lived a family of giants. One day they learned to their dismay that a holy man from Saxony had come to build a church to the “White Christ,” as He was then called.

One day the holy man, Laurentius, was staking out the site for the temple when the giant in Helgonabacken appeared at his side, and said:

This Christ is no doubt

a most worthy Lord,

Who merits a church

And I give you my word

I shall build it myself -

A temple most holy,

If when it is done

You can just only

Tell me my very own name.

But if you can’t say me -

Pay attention wise man,

Then you must pay me -

With the sun in the sky

And the moon up on high

To give to my children as playthings.

Now, you should know that in the world of the giants a name is a secret of the utmost importance, and if it is revealed the giant dies, and any man who had obligations to him is released from them. Now, of course, Laurentius could not offer the giant the sun and the moon in payment, but as he wanted the church so badly he offered his own two eyes as payment instead. He hoped that somehow he would be able to discover the giant’s secret name before the building was complete. The giant agreed, and with marvelous speed the church walls rose up into the sky. Soon there was nothing left to be done but for one stone in the tower. The day before that stone was to be set in place St. Laurentius stood on Helgonabacken, forlorn at the thought that this was the last day he would see the light of the heavens, and henceforth he would live in darkness. While he brooded on these gloomy thoughts he seemed to hear a child crying inside the hill, and a woman giant who tried to console the boy with a song, in which he clearly discerned the words:

Be still, be still, my little thing

Soon pappa Finn will to you bring

Something to cherish, something to prize -

The sun and the moon or Laurentius’ eyes.

Beside himself with joy, St. Laurentius hurried to the church, and cried, “Come down, Finn! What remains to be done, I shall do myself. Come down, Finn! I no longer require your help.”

Frothing with rage, Finn rushed down from the tower into the crypt below the church, where he threw his great arms around a pillar, planning to pull down the whole building. In that moment came his wife and children to help destroy the church. But just as the cathedral began to sway, they were all turned to stone, and stand there to this day, each one embracing their own pillar.

The Master of Rosendal

In the beginning of the 1600’s, when Skåne was still a part of Denmark, there was an aristocrat by the name of Anders Bille, who was the lord of Rosendal. He was a stern man and hard on his people, and anyone who gave him offense was sure to be tied up and thrown into a cell on the estate.

One day Bille’s fiance came to Rosendal for a visit. When she arrived at the estate, she saw a farmer walking there bound like a tethered horse. When she asked what the poor fellow had done, lord Anders said that he had been late for work, and now endured his well-deserved punishment. She began to plead for the man’s release, for her sake, but Bille flatly refused and told her to keep out of his business.

She stood up in her wagon and said, “When you deny your fiance a so modest request, what then would be her fate once she becomes your wife?” She then told her coachman to drive away, and she never came back to Rosendal.

People predicted, rightly, that such a hard man would never find rest in his grave. After his burial Bille would, every night, drive a team of white horses to Rosendal and stop in the courtyard, from where he then stole quietly up into his old bedroom. If his bed was made, then all remained quiet, but if the bed was out of order, he would cause such an awful din that no one in the mansion could sleep. And when the maid went in in the morning, she saw the bedclothes on the ground, looking as if a dog had slept on them.

When the haunting had gone on for many years, the new owner turned to a pastor, Master Staffan of Hässlunda, and asked him to put a stop to it. Together with another pastor, Master Staffan set off for Kropp’s church, where Anders Bille was buried. At the stroke of midnight, the grave opened and the deceased stepped out. The other pastor panicked and fled, but Master Staffan remained and began to read out of a book he had brought. While he read, the ghost grew bigger and bigger, but the pastor didn’t allow himself to be frightened, but just continued to read. Finally the ghost interrupted him and said, “Is that none other than you, Staffan Goosethief?"

“It is quite true,” said the pastor, “that in my youth I stole a goose. But with that goose I bought a Bible and with it, I now send you to hell, vile spirit!”

And with that he smacked the ghost in the forehead with the Bible, and it sunk down into the abyss.

But, because Anders Bille could ascribe to Staffan a sin in his youth, the pastor lacked the power to completely quiet the restless dead. However, he was able to do this much: that Lord Bille now comes to Rosendal but once a year.

The Lords of Ugerup

In Köpinge socken, on the banks of a tributary to the Helga river just south of Kristianstad, there is an old estate called Ugerup or Ugarp, that has existed since the Middle Ages and has since been passed down in the family of Ugerup, renowned in Danish history.

In the middle of the 1500s, the estate was owned by Axel Ugerup, a member of the national council. A few miles away at the Näs estate there lived a Tage Thott, a rich man who at the time was one of the most powerful men in Skåne.

Master Arild, Axel Ugerup’s son, and Tale, Tage Thott’s lovely daughter, had more or less grown up together and even in childhood had taken an interest in each other. After serving as the Danish emissary to the crowning of Erik the 14th of Sweden, Arild Ugerup finally proposed to his childhood sweetheart. She said “yes” of course, and he had no trouble in gaining the favor of her parents too.

Not long after, war broke out between Sweden and Denmark. With anxious and troubled hearts, the lovers listened to the drums of war. The flower of Danish chivalry rushed into place under their proud banners, and there was a spot set aside for Arild Ugerup too. When the betrothed couple said farewell, they promised to be eternally faithful to each other. So it was that master Arild left his betrothed behind, and drew out to war.

When he arrived in Copenhagen, he was assigned a position in the navy, and he served with distinction in the war at sea. In the beginning the Danes were successful, but soon the tide turned on them. Near Öland, Klas Kristerson Horn defeated a combined fleet of Danes and Lübeckians, seizing three ships and their crews. Arild Ugerup was himself among the captured. It was three years after he had attended King Erik’s coronation.

While Master Arild sat in prison in Stockholm, people in Denmark believed that he would come home only after a long, long time, or never. Tage Thott, who watched his daughter dismiss one suitor after the other, finally declared that she would cease this behavior, and that she must choose someone other than Arild. His daughter pleaded and wept and wailed, but neither prayers nor tears availed her. Her father forbade her to think of her betrothed and explained in no uncertain terms that she was to marry another. A difficult time followed for the abandoned girl. Many was the night that she sat weeping by her window, sighing the name of the man for whom she would give her life. Winter came and went, and then spring, but Arild did not come. Finally the day came when she submitted to her father’s will: to marry the man he chose for her.

During that whole time, Arild sat in the prison tower, thinking only of how he might once again be free. He drew up one plan after the other, each one more daring than the last, but rejected them all. When he finally believed he had found a way to be quit his shackles, he wasted no time. He begged King Erik for leave to travel home and celebrate his wedding, as well as time enough at Ugerup to harvest the crop he would sow that year. The king granted his request and allowed him to go free once Arild had given his word as a knight to return to captivity as soon as his crop was ready.

He hurried now to Skåne, but when home, he learned what had happened while he was away, and that his bride, at her father’s command, was to marry another. He raced to Näs, where his arrival caused both joy and consternation. Sir Tage would not hear of a wedding and declared sternly that his daughter would belong to the man he had appointed for her. But Arild quickly put an end to the trouble by eloping with Tale to Denmark. Once married, there was nothing Sir Tage could do about it, and he accepted Arild as his son-in-law.

Now it was time to sow a crop that would take a good long time before it was ready for harvest, and master Arild sowed his fields with – pine seed. When winter approached, King Erik thought Arild ought to be finished with his harvest and sent a message commanding Arild to return to Stockholm. But Arild convinced the messenger that his seed had not yet come up from the soil yet, much less matured to harvest.

When King Erik learned what had taken place, he couldn’t help but appreciate the cunning way Arild had obtained his freedom without breaking his word. So he let the matter be. Meanwhile, Arild’s fields grew the most excellent pine forest, which still grows at Ugerup. New soil was broken to replace those fields which were sown with pine, and it is those new fields that are in use today.

But there are many other legends in Skåne that concern Arild Ugerup and his wife Tale Thott.

For instance, it is said that Arild was endowed with an unbelievable strength. There were two iron hooks set into the archway at the entrance to Ugerup, and Arild, when he rode home from Helsingborg, would grab one hook in each hand and lift himself, and his horse, up off the ground. Only after that demonstration of strength would he ride into the courtyard.

Lady Tale, as well as her husband, were kind and benevolent to their people. One midsummer eve, when everyone was gathered on the green to dance, the Lady asked her husband if she could give the people as much food as she could carry out in one trip. Her request was granted of course, and the lady, who was as strong as she was pretty, piled up high stacks of beef, pork, and bread on two beer barrels, and with a barrel in each arm, carried them out to the celebration.

The Ghost of Fjelkinge

During the first half of the 1700’s, several of the large estates of Skåne belonged to the Barnekow family, or more accurately to Lady Margareta Barnekow, the foremost representative of the Barnekow family. Margaret was the daughter of the renowned commander and governor general Count Rytger von Ascheberg, and married to colonel Kjell Kristofer Barnekow. She was a widow by the age of 29, and took personal control over many of her properties. She worked tirelessly, showed indomitable courage, and never failed in caring for all the numerous people who worked and lived on her farms.

One evening while on a trip between two of her estates, Lady Margareta arrived at Fjelkinge Inn, and insisted on sleeping in a room called the “ghost room.” A few years earlier, a traveller stayed in that same room and had been murdered, or at least the man and his things were gone without a trace, and no one really knew what had taken place. But after that the room was haunted, and those who knew it would rather travel in the dark to a more distant inn than stay in the ghost room. Margareta Barnekow was not among their number. She had shown more courage than that and, without fear, chose to sleep in that haunted room.

She left the lamp burning, and after her evening prayer she went to sleep. At the stroke of midnight, she woke to the sound of floorboards being pushed up by a bloody figure with a split head hanging down upon his shoulder.

“Noble lady!” whispered the ghost, “prepare for me, a murdered man, a place in a Christian cemetery, and bring my murderer to justice!”

Godfearing and undaunted, Lady Margareta waved the ghost closer, who told her that he had several times made that same plea, but no one had had the courage to follow through and grant his request. But Lady Magareta took a golden ring from her finger, laid it in the gaping wound, and bound the phantom’s head with her handkerchief. With a look of indescribable gratitude, the ghost whispered the name of his murderer and silently vanished under the floor.

The next morning Lady Margareta called the sheriff and his men to the inn, recounted what had happened the night before and told them to break up the floorboards in her room. Underneath they found a half-decomposed corpse, with her ring in the skull and her handkerchief bound about the head.

At the sight, one of the men present turned pale and swooned, falling to the ground. When he came to his senses again, he confessed that he had murdered the man and taken his possessions. For his crime he was sentenced to die, and the victim was given his grave in the socken’s cemetery.

The ring, which has a peculiar shape and is set with a large grey stone, is said to still be kept by the Barnekow family, and is believed to possess the power to work miracles against disease, fire, and other misfortune. They say that when someone in the family dies, a red spot, like blood, appears on the stone.

The Ljungby Horn and Flute

On the estate of Ljungby there is a great stone, called the Maglestone, under which, long ago, trolls lived, and they were also accustomed to celebrating Christmas with dances and games there.

Late one Christmas Eve the Lady Cissela Ulfstand was sitting in her home and heard the trolls making an awful din out there under the stone. Curious to learn more about the secretive mountain people, she promised her best horse to whomever would ride out early Christmas morning to the Maglestone and find out what was going on there.

One of her servants, a spry young man, agreed to the offer and departed to accomplish his task. When he arrived at the stone he saw how it was lifted up upon posts of gold and how the trolls underneath were making merry.

A young trollwoman came out towards him bearing a drinking horn and a flute, and told him first to drink the mountain king’s health and then blow three times in the flute. The man took both items, but at that moment he heard the voice of an unknown woman whisper sound advice in his ear. He quickly tossed the drink over his shoulder and rode like the wind over fields and meadows home to the farm. The trolls pursued him, shouting fiercely but he managed to reach safety and, once the drawbridge was raised, delivered both objects into the hands of the lady.

Outside the trench around the fortress stood now the trolls, who promised Lady Cissela success and great riches if she would return the horn and flute, but if she didn’t then both she and her family would be punished with misfortune and ruin. In particular, the hardest misfortune would fall upon whomever moved the heirlooms away from Ljungby. The man who had taken them died the third day after his visit to the Maglestone, and his horse perished the day after.

During the war of 1645 Field Marshal Gustaf Horn, who had his headquarters in Fjelkinge, asked to see the horn and flute, and sent a messenger to collect them. As unwilling as Axel Gyllenstierna (who owned Ljungby at the time) was to grant Horn’s request, he dared not refuse, and so surrendered the two trollthings, though with an urgent request that he get them back as soon as possible. Horn himself didn’t want them to remain in his keeping, for as long as he had them his sleep every night was disturbed by noise and clamor, which stopped when he sent a company of riders to escort the things back to Ljungby.

Ten years later something even more strange happened. The Pastor in Ljungby, Henrik Nilsson, had borrowed these strange items to show his brothers-in-law who had come to visit. During the night, the pastor’s mother-in-law, Lady Anna Conradi, was awakened by a shining light in her room. The hangings were drawn back from her four-poster bed, and onto the mattress was lowered a basket, in which sat five small children, who cried “Oh, be good, as you tend to be, and let us have our horn back again!”

When she asked why they wanted it, and why they valued it so, they answered “for the sake of our family.”

When she wouldn’t heed their pleas, they said they would be back every third night.

Three days later, on a Thursday night, there was again a light in the rum. When Mrs. Anna drew back the curtain around her bed, she saw a whole crowd of little people on the floor and among them the trollking himself, walking under a canopy of silver cloth, held up by four servants. He was dark brown with black fuzzy hair, of which only a tuft was left over his forehead, and another tuft by each ear. Slowly he walked up to the bed, holding a lidded drinking horn decorated with golden chains and heavy gold buttons, which he offered in exchange for the actual horn. But the old lady would not be persuaded, and she banished them to God, if they belonged to him, or to the devil if they were his, whereon the trolls, silent and dejected, slowly went away..

Not long after the trolls stole a child from a torpare’s wife, but the boy was returned through the ringing of the church bell. Later the boy told of his adventure, saying that the trolls were not pretty, they had big mouths and noses, that the man under Maglestone was called Klausa and his wife Otta, that they stole the nourishment from people’s food, that they had a king, that they often quarreled, and that they spoke the nation’s language. The court chancellor Coyet, who authored “Story of the Ljungby Horn and Flute,” dated the eleventh of February 1692, says that he himself knew the boy, who was by then twenty seven years old, as well as his mother, but concedes that both were prone to superstition, and that their minds were just as feeble as their bodies.