The Princess on the Glass Hill

There was once a man who owned a meadow high up on a hillside, with a barn in it where he stored his hay. But for the last year or two there hadn’t been much hay in that barn. Every Midsummer Night, when the grass stood at its greenest and thickest, the meadow was eaten down to the bare ground by the next morning, as if a whole flock of sheep had grazed there overnight.

It happened one year and it happened the next, until the man grew tired of losing his hay. He had three sons, and the youngest, of course, was nicknamed Boots. The father told them that this year one of them must sleep in the barn on Midsummer Night and keep a sharp watch, for it was too much to lose the whole crop a third time.

The eldest son was quite ready to go. Trust him to guard the grass! Neither man nor beast nor the devil himself would get a single blade while he was there. So that evening he went up to the barn and lay down to sleep. But later in the night there came such a crashing and such an earthquake that the walls and roof shook and groaned and creaked. Up jumped the lad and ran as fast as his legs would carry him, and he didn’t dare look back until he was home. As for the hay, it was eaten up just as in the two years before.

The next Midsummer Night, the father said it would never do to lose all the grass year after year, so one of his sons must go and watch it, and watch it well. The second son was ready to try his luck. He lay down in the barn as his brother had, but as the night went on, there came a rumbling and shaking of the earth even worse than the year before. When the lad heard it, he took fright and ran off as if he were in a race.

The following year it was Boots’s turn. When he got ready to go, his brothers laughed and made fun of him. “Oh, you’re just the man to guard the hay, you who have done nothing all your life but sit in the ashes and warm yourself by the fire!”

Boots didn’t care a bit about their teasing. As evening came on, he tramped up the hill to the meadow, went into the barn and lay down. In about an hour the barn began to groan and creak so that it was dreadful to hear. “Well,” said Boots to himself, “if it gets no worse than this, I can stand it.”

A little later came another creak and a shaking so strong that the straw in the barn flew around his ears. “Oh,” said Boots, “if it gets no worse than this, I can probably stand it.”

Then came a third rumbling and a third earthquake, so violent that he thought the walls and roof would fall on his head. But it passed, and everything around him was as still as death. “It will start up any minute,” thought Boots. But no, it didn’t. All stayed quiet. After a while he heard a sound like a horse standing just outside the barn door, munching grass.

He crept to the door and peeped through a crack, and there stood a horse, grazing away. Boots had never seen such a big, sleek, splendid horse. On the grass beside it lay a saddle and bridle and a whole suit of knight’s armor, all of brass, so bright that it shone.

“Aha!” thought Boots. “So it’s you who eats our hay! I’ll soon put a stop to that.” Quick as a wink he took the steel out of his tinderbox and threw it over the horse. At once the horse could not move from the spot and became so tame that the lad could do anything he liked with it. So he climbed on its back, rode it off to a hiding place that no one else knew about and left it there.

When he got home, his brothers laughed and asked how he had got on. “You didn’t lie in the barn very long, even if you were brave enough to go as far as the meadow.”

“All I can say,” said Boots, “is that I lay in the barn until sunrise and neither saw nor heard a thing. I can’t think what scared you both so much.”

“A likely story!” said his brothers. “We’ll soon see how well you guarded the meadow.” But when they got there, the grass stood just as thick and tall as the evening before.

The next Midsummer Eve, neither of the older brothers dared to go to the meadow, but Boots was brave enough, and everything happened just as before: first a crash and an earthquake, then a bigger crash and another earthquake, and then a third, only this year they were far worse. Then all at once everything was as still as death, and the lad heard something munching grass outside the barn door. He crept to the crack and peeped out, and what do you think he saw? Another horse, standing right against the wall, chewing and chomping with all its might. It was even finer and sleeker than last year’s, with a saddle on its back and a bridle on its head, and beside it lay a full suit of knight’s armor, all of silver, as grand as you could wish.

“Aha!” said Boots. “So it’s you who gobbles our hay! I’ll soon put a stop to that.” He threw the steel from his tinderbox over the horse’s mane, and it stood as still as a lamb. He rode this horse, too, to the hiding place where he kept the first one, and then went home.

“I suppose you’ll tell us there’s a fine crop up in the hayfield this year too,” said one of his brothers.

“Well, so there is,” said Boots. Off ran the others to look, and there stood the grass as thick and deep as the year before, but they spoke no more kindly to Boots for all that.

When the third Midsummer Eve came, the two older brothers still didn’t dare to spend the night in the barn, for they had been so badly frightened that they couldn’t get over it. But Boots went, and to make a long story short, the same thing happened a third time. Three earthquakes came one after another, each worse than the last, and with the final one the lad was flung from one barn wall to the other. Then all at once it was as still as death. After a little while he heard something tugging at the grass outside, so he crept to the crack and peeped out, and there, close by, stood a horse far, far bigger and sleeker than the other two.

“Aha!” said the lad. “So it’s you who comes here eating our hay! I’ll soon stop that.” He snatched up his steel and threw it over the horse’s neck, and in a twinkling it stood as if nailed to the ground, and Boots could do as he pleased with it. He rode it off to the hiding place where he kept the other two and then went home.

His brothers made fun of him as usual. They said they could see he had guarded the grass well, for he looked as if he were sleepwalking, and they said plenty of other mean things. But Boots paid no attention and only told them to go and see for themselves, and when they did, the grass stood as fine and thick as ever.

Now, the king of that country had a daughter, and he would give her only to the man who could ride up the glass hill. For close by the king’s palace stood a high, high hill made all of glass, as smooth and slippery as ice. The princess was to sit at the very top with three golden apples in her lap, and whoever could ride up and carry off the three golden apples would win half the kingdom and the princess as his wife. The king had this announcement posted on every church door in his realm and sent word of it to many other kingdoms too.

The princess was so lovely that everyone who saw her fell head over heels in love with her, whether they wanted to or not. So, of course, every prince and knight who heard about her was eager to win her, and half the kingdom besides. They came riding from all over the world on tall, prancing horses, dressed in the grandest clothes, and every one of them was sure that he alone would win the princess.

When the day of the contest came, there was such a crowd of princes and knights at the foot of the glass hill that it made your head spin to look at them, and everyone in the country who could even crawl went to watch. The two older brothers went along too, but they flatly refused to take Boots. If they were seen with someone so grimy and sooty from cleaning their shoes and sifting cinders, they said, people would laugh at them.

“Very well,” said Boots. “It’s all the same to me. I can go by myself.”

When the brothers reached the glass hill, the knights and princes were hard at it, riding their horses until they foamed at the mouth. But it was no use. As soon as a horse set foot on the hill, down it slid, and not one could get more than a yard or two up. No wonder, for the hill was as smooth as a windowpane and as steep as the wall of a house. Still, they all wanted the princess and half the kingdom, so they rode and slipped and slipped and rode, and it was always the same. At last their horses were so worn out that they could barely lift a hoof, and so sweaty that the lather dripped off them, and the knights had to give up.

The king was just thinking of announcing a new trial for the next day when suddenly a knight came riding up on a horse finer than anyone there had ever seen. The knight wore armor of brass, and the horse had a brass bit, so bright that the sunlight blazed from it. The others called out that he might as well save himself the trouble, for it would do him no good, but he paid no attention. He rode straight at the hill and went up it easily, about a third of the way. Then he turned his horse around and rode down.

The princess thought she had never seen such a handsome knight, and as he rode, she sat thinking, “Oh, if only he would come up to the top!” When she saw him turn back, she threw one of the golden apples after him, and it rolled down into his shoe. But when he reached the bottom, he rode off so fast that no one could tell where he had gone.

That evening all the knights and princes were to come before the king, so that the one who had ridden partway up the hill could show the apple the princess had thrown. But one after another they came, and not a single man had the apple to show.

That evening Boots’s brothers came home with a long tale to tell about the riding. “At first not one of them could get even a step up the hill,” they said. “But at last came one in brass armor, with a brass bridle and saddle, so bright they shone a mile away. Now there was a rider! He went a third of the way up the glass hill, and he could easily have gone all the way if he’d wanted, but he turned and rode down, thinking that was enough for one day, I suppose.”

“Oh, how I would love to have seen him!” said Boots, who sat by the fire with his feet in the cinders as usual.

“Would you, now?” said his brothers. “As if you were fit to keep company with such great lords, you grubby creature, sitting there in the ashes!”

The next day the brothers set off, and Boots begged them to take him to see the riding, but no, they wouldn’t have him at any price. He was too ugly and dirty, they said.

“Well, well,” said Boots, “if I go at all, I’ll go by myself. I’m not afraid.”

At the glass hill, all the princes and knights began riding, and you can be sure they had had their horses shod with sharp shoes. But it did no good. They rode and slipped and slipped and rode, just as the day before, and not one got so much as a yard up the hill. When they had tired out their horses until they could not move a leg, they all had to give up. The king thought he had better announce that the riding would take place for the last time the next day, to give them one more chance, but then it crossed his mind to wait a little and see whether the knight in brass armor would come.

They saw no sign of him. But suddenly someone came riding up on a horse far, far finer than the brass knight’s. He wore silver armor and had a silver saddle and bridle, so bright that the sunlight flashed from them far and wide. The others shouted that he might as well not bother, for all his trouble would be wasted, but the knight ignored them and rode straight at the hill, right up two-thirds of the way. Then he turned his horse and rode down. The princess liked him even better than the knight in brass, and she sat wishing he could reach the top. When she saw him turn back, she threw the second apple after him, and it rolled down into his shoe. But as soon as he came down from the glass hill, he rode off so fast that no one could see where he went.

That evening, when everyone came before the king and the princess to show the golden apple, no one had it. The two brothers went home as on the day before and told how everyone had ridden at the hill and no one had got up. “But last of all,” they said, “came one in silver armor, with a silver saddle and bridle. What a rider! He got two-thirds of the way up and then turned back. A fine fellow he was, and the princess threw him the second golden apple.”

“Oh, how I would love to have seen him too!” said Boots.

“A likely story,” they said. “Maybe you think his armor was as bright as the ashes you’re always poking at, you grubby creature.”

On the third day everything happened as on the two days before. Boots begged to go, but his brothers would not hear of it. At the hill, no one could get even a yard up, and everyone waited for the knight in silver armor, but there was no sign of him. At last someone came riding on a horse so magnificent that no one had ever seen its equal. The knight wore golden armor and had a golden saddle and bridle, so wonderfully bright that the sunlight blazed from them a mile away. The other knights and princes were too amazed even to call out to him. He rode right at the hill and raced up it so easily that the princess had no time even to wish he would reach the top. As soon as he got there, he took the third golden apple from her lap, then turned his horse and rode down, and he galloped away and was out of sight in no time.

When the brothers got home that evening, you can imagine the long stories they told about the day, especially about the knight in golden armor. “Now there was a rider!” they said. “There isn’t a grander knight in the whole wide world.”

“Oh, how I would love to have seen him!” said Boots.

“Ha!” said his brothers. “His armor shone a good deal brighter than the glowing coals you’re always poking and digging at, you grubby creature.”

The next day all the knights and princes were to pass before the king and the princess so that whoever had the golden apple could bring it out. One after another they came, first the princes and then the knights, but no one could show the golden apple.

“Well,” said the king, “someone must have it, for we all saw with our own eyes a man ride up and carry it off.” So he commanded everyone in the kingdom to come to the palace and see if they could show the apple. They all came, one after another, but no one had it. At last, after a long time, Boots’s two brothers came. They were the very last, so the king asked whether there was anyone else in the kingdom who had not yet come.

“Oh, yes,” they said, “we have a brother, but he never carried off any golden apple. He hasn’t stirred from the cinder heap on any of the three days.”

“Never mind that,” said the king. “He may come up to the palace like everyone else.”

So Boots had to go up to the palace. “Well, now,” said the king, “do you have the golden apple? Speak up!”

“Yes, I do,” said Boots. “Here is the first, and here is the second, and here is the third as well.” And he pulled all three golden apples from his pocket, and at the same moment he threw off his sooty rags and stood before them in his gleaming golden armor.

“Yes!” said the king. “You shall have my daughter and half my kingdom, for you have well earned them both.”

So the wedding was prepared, and Boots married the princess, and there was great merrymaking at the wedding feast, you can be sure, for everyone could be merry even if they couldn’t ride up the glass hill. And if they haven’t stopped their merrymaking yet, why, they’re still at it.

About this story

“The Princess on the Glass Hill” is one of the best-loved Norwegian folk tales collected by Peter Christen Asbjørnsen and Jørgen Moe and translated into English by George Webbe Dasent in Popular Tales from the Norse (1859). Dasent calls the recurring night St. John’s Night; this adaptation uses Midsummer Night. Its return provides the timetable for the three magical encounters.

Boots, the youngest brother who sits in the ashes and is mocked by everyone, is like a boy Cinderella. Throwing steel over a horse works as an enchantment in this story; it is not a real way to handle an animal.

Read the original: Popular Tales from the Norse (Project Gutenberg)

Best for ages 6–8 — three magic horses, a hill of glass and a youngest brother whom everyone laughs at.

The same rider, three different judgments

The brothers admire the unknown riders and mock Boots, although the reader can see that they are praising the person they dismiss at home. Their reports build the joke without changing his ability. The three metals also connect the private meadow adventure to the public contest: brass, silver and gold mark increasingly impressive appearances.

The princess does more than wait at the summit. She throws the first two apples when the rider turns back, helping him collect the signs that later prove his identity. The king calls her a reward, but her wishes appear in these actions; a marriage should involve a person’s choice, not simply a prize announced by someone else.

Pair the three nights with the three rides

Make three rows labelled brass, silver and gold. Record the horse, the height reached and how each apple reaches Boots. Then compare what the brothers say about Boots with what they say about the rider. What evidence do they ignore because of his clothes?

Questions to ask

• Why did the older brothers run away from the barn?
• How did Boots tame the three horses?
• Why do you think Boots kept his secret until the very end?

Related stories

• The Widow’s Son — another hidden hero who wins the day three times
• The Giant Who Had No Heart in His Body — another adventure of Boots
• Soria Moria Castle — another lazy-seeming youngest son who proves everyone wrong