The Widow’s Son

There was once a very poor widow who had one son. She struggled along with him until he was confirmed, and then she told him she could not feed him any longer; he must go out and earn his own living. So the boy set off into the world, and after a day or so of walking, he met a stranger.

“Where are you going?” asked the man.

“Out into the world to look for work,” said the boy.

“Will you come and work for me?” asked the man.

“Gladly; you as well as anyone,” said the boy.

“You’ll have an easy job with me,” said the man. “All you need do is keep me company.”

So the boy stayed with him and ate and drank of the very best and had almost nothing to do. But he never saw another living person in that man’s house.

One day the man said, “I’m going away for eight days, and you’ll be here alone. But you must not go into any of these four rooms. If you do, I’ll kill you when I get back.”

The boy promised he wouldn’t. But when the man had been gone three or four days, the boy could stand it no longer and went into the first room. He looked all around but saw nothing except a shelf over the door with a bramble switch lying on it. “Well, really!” he thought. “Fancy forbidding me to see that.”

When the eight days were up, the man came home, and the first thing he said was, “Of course you haven’t been in any of those rooms.”

“No, no, not I,” said the boy.

“I’ll soon find out,” said the man, and went straight into the room. “Ah, but you have been in here,” he said, “and now you shall die.” The boy begged and pleaded so hard that his life was spared, but the man beat him. Afterward, daily life resumed as though nothing had happened.

Some time later the man set off for fourteen days, and he forbade the boy to enter any room he had not been in yet, though the first one he might visit as he pleased. It was the same thing over, except that this time the boy held out for eight days before going in. In this room, too, he saw nothing but a shelf over the door with a big stone and a jug of water on it. “There’s not much to be afraid of in here,” he thought.

When the man came home and asked whether he had been in any of the rooms, the boy said no. “We’ll see,” said the man, and when he found that the boy had been in after all, he said, “Now I’ll spare you no longer. You must die.” But the boy begged for his life a second time, and once more he got off with a beating, though it was as hard as his skin could bear. When he had healed, the comfortable routine resumed, despite the violence he had suffered.

A while later, the man had to go away for three weeks, and he warned the boy never to enter the third room, for if he did, he could give up all hope of living. After fourteen days the boy could not resist and crept in. There was nothing inside but a trapdoor in the floor. When he lifted it and looked down, he saw a great copper cauldron, bubbling and boiling, though there was no fire beneath it.

“I wonder if it’s hot,” thought the boy, and he dipped his finger in. When he pulled it out, it was covered all over in gold. He scraped and scrubbed it, but the gold would not come off, so he wrapped a rag around it. When the man came home and asked what was wrong with his finger, the boy said he had cut it badly. But the man tore off the rag and soon saw the truth. At first he meant to kill the boy on the spot, but when the boy wept and begged, the man beat him so badly that he had to stay in bed for three days. Then the man took a jar down from the wall and rubbed some ointment from it on the boy, and he was well and strong at once.

Some time later, the man set off for a whole month, and before he left, he told the boy that if he went into the fourth room, there would be no saving him.

The boy held out for two or three weeks, but then he simply had to see that room, and in he crept. Inside stood a great black horse tied in a stall, with a manger of red-hot coals at its head and a bundle of hay at its tail. The boy thought that was all wrong, so he swapped them around and put the hay at the horse’s head.

Then the horse spoke. “Since you are kind enough to give me something to eat, I will set you free. If the troll comes back and finds you here, he will surely kill you. Now go up to the room just above this one and take a coat of mail from those hanging there. Whatever you do, don’t choose a shiny one. Take the rustiest you can find. Choose a sword and saddle the same way.”

The boy did all that, though it was a heavy load to carry down at once. Then the horse told him to undress and bathe in the boiling cauldron in the other room. “If I do, I’ll look a dreadful sight,” thought the boy, but he did as he was told. When he climbed out, he was handsome and glowing, with cheeks as rosy as could be, and far stronger than before.

“Do you feel any different?” asked the horse.

“Yes,” said the boy.

“Then try to lift me.” He could do that easily, and he swung the sword as if it were a feather.

“Now saddle me,” said the horse, “put on the coat of mail, and bring the bramble switch, the stone, the jug of water and the jar of ointment, and we’ll be off as fast as we can.”

The boy mounted, and they galloped away so fast that he had no idea how they went. After a while, the horse said, “I think I hear something. Look back. Can you see anything?”

“Yes, a crowd is chasing us, at least twenty,” said the boy.

“That’s the troll and his pack,” said the horse. They rode on until the pursuers were close behind. “Now throw the bramble switch over your shoulder,” said the horse, “but throw it well clear of my back.” The boy did, and at once a thick, tangled bramble forest sprang up behind them. The troll and his crew had to go home for tools to hack their way through, and meanwhile the boy rode on for a long, long time.

At last the horse said, “Look behind you. What do you see now?”

“A great many, enough to fill a big church,” said the boy.

“That’s the troll with more help,” said the horse. “Now throw down the stone, and throw it far behind me.” The moment he did, a huge black mountain of rock rose up behind them, and the troll had to go home for tools to tunnel through it. While he did, the boy rode a good deal farther.

But the horse kept asking him to look back, and soon he saw a host like a whole army behind him, glittering in the sunlight. “That’s the troll with his whole band,” said the horse. “Throw the jug of water behind you, but be careful not to spill any on me.”

The boy threw it, but in spite of all his care, one drop fell on the horse’s flank. The water became a great deep lake, and because of that one drop, the horse found himself far out in it, but he swam safely to shore. When the trolls reached the lake, they lay down to drink it dry, and they gulped and gulped until they burst.

“Now we are rid of them,” said the horse.

After a long, long ride, they came to a green clearing in a wood. “Take off your armor and put on your ragged clothes,” said the horse. “Take my saddle off and let me go, and hang my harness and your armor inside that big hollow linden tree. Then make yourself a wig of moss and go up to the king’s palace nearby and ask for work. Whenever you need me, come here and shake the bridle, and I will come.”

The boy did everything his horse told him, and as soon as he put on the moss wig, he looked so ugly, pale and wretched that no one would have known him. He went up to the palace and asked to work in the kitchen, carrying wood and water for the cook. But the kitchen maid said, “Why do you wear that ugly wig? Take it off. I won’t have such a fright in here.”

“I can’t,” said the boy, “for I’m not quite right in the head.”

“Do you think I’ll have you near the food, then?” cried the cook. “Off with you to the coachman. Cleaning stables is all you’re good for.”

But when the coachman asked him to take off the wig, he gave the same answer, and the coachman would not have him either. “Go to the gardener,” he said. “Digging is all you’re good for.”

So he went to work for the gardener. But none of the other servants would share a room with him, so he had to sleep alone under the steps of the summerhouse, which stood up on beams with a tall staircase. He got some turf for a bed and lay there as best he could.

One morning, after he had been at the palace some time, the boy took off his wig at sunrise and washed himself, and he was so handsome it was a joy to see. The princess saw the handsome gardener’s boy from her window and thought she had never seen anyone so fine. She asked the gardener why the lad slept out under the steps.

“None of the other servants will share with him,” said the gardener.

“Then let him come up tonight and sleep on a mat just inside the door of my rooms, as a guard,” said the princess. “After that, the others won’t refuse him.”

The gardener told the boy. “Do you think I’ll do that?” said the boy. “People will start saying there’s something between me and the princess.”

“Yes, you have good reason to fear that, handsome as you are,” said the gardener, teasing him.

“Well, if it’s her wish, I suppose I must go,” said the boy.

That evening he clumped and stomped up the stairs so loudly that they had to beg him to step softly in case the king heard. He came into the princess’s rooms, lay down by the door and began to snore at once. The princess told her maid, “Go quietly and pull off his wig.” But just as the maid reached for it, he grabbed it with both hands and said she should never have it, then lay down and snored. The princess winked at her maid, and this time the maid whisked the wig off, and there lay the boy, as handsome as the princess had seen him in the morning sun. After that he guarded the princess’s door every night.

But before long the king heard that the gardener’s boy spent every night in the princess’s rooms, and he was so furious that he nearly had the boy killed. Instead, he threw him into the prison tower and shut the princess in her rooms, never letting her out day or night. All her pleading for the boy and for herself was useless. It only made the king angrier.

Some time later, war broke out, for another king wanted to seize the kingdom. When the boy heard, he begged the jailer to ask the king for a coat of mail and a sword and permission to go to war. Everyone laughed when the jailer gave the message, and they begged the king to give him an old worn-out suit so they could have the fun of watching such a wretch in battle. So he got that, and an old broken-down nag that walked on three legs and dragged the fourth.

They rode out to meet the enemy, but they had hardly left the palace when the boy got stuck in a bog with his nag. There he sat, digging in his spurs and shouting, “Giddy-up! Giddy-up!”

Everyone laughed and jeered as they rode past. But no sooner were they gone than he ran to the linden tree, put on his armor and shook the bridle, and in a flash the horse was there. “Do your best now, and I’ll do mine,” it said.

When the boy arrived, the battle had begun, and the king was in serious trouble. But the moment the boy charged into the thick of it, the enemy was driven back and put to flight. The king and his men wondered who their helper could be, but none got near enough to speak to him, and as soon as the fighting was over, he was gone. When they rode home, there sat the boy in the bog, spurring his three-legged nag, and they all laughed. “Just look,” they said, “the fool is still sitting there!”

The next day, as they rode out, there he sat, and they laughed and jeered, but as soon as they had passed, he ran to the linden tree, and everything happened as on the first day. Everyone wondered who the strange champion was, but no one could get close enough to say a word to him, and of course no one guessed it was the boy. That evening, when they saw him still sitting on his nag, they burst out laughing, and one of them shot an arrow that hit him in the leg. He howled and wailed so pitifully that it was enough to break your heart, and the king threw him his handkerchief to bind the wound.

On the third day the boy was still sitting there. “Giddy-up! Giddy-up!” he said to his nag.

“Ha, he’ll sit there till he starves,” said the king’s men, and they rode on, laughing so hard they nearly fell off their horses. When they had gone, he ran to the linden tree and reached the battle in the very nick of time. That day he defeated the enemy king, and the war was over.

After the battle, the king caught sight of his own handkerchief tied around the strange warrior’s leg, and so it was easy to tell who he was. They carried him joyfully to the palace, and the princess, watching from her window, was gladder than anyone could believe. “Here comes my own true love!” she said. Then the boy took the jar of ointment and rubbed it on his leg, and then on all the wounded, and they were all healed in a moment.

So he married the princess. But on the wedding day, when he went down to the stable to see his horse, it stood there dull and heavy, with drooping ears, and would not touch its oats. The young king, for now he was a king with half the kingdom, asked what was wrong. “I have helped you to good fortune,” said the horse, “and now I do not wish to live any longer. Take the sword and cut off my head.”

“I’ll do nothing of the kind,” said the young king. “You shall have everything you want and rest for the rest of your life.”

“If you don’t do as I say,” said the horse, “I’ll find a way to take your life.” So the king had to obey, but when he raised the sword, he was so sad that he turned his face away so as not to see the blow. And the instant it fell, there stood the most handsome prince in the place where the horse had been.

“Where in the world did you come from?” asked the king.

“I was the horse,” said the prince. “I was king of the land whose king you defeated yesterday. He put this enchantment on me and sold me to the troll. Now that he is gone, I have my own shape, and you and I shall be neighboring kings who will never make war on each other.”

And they never did, for they stayed friends as long as they lived and visited each other often.

About this story

“The Widow’s Son” comes from Popular Tales from the Norse, the 1859 translation by George Webbe Dasent of the folk tales gathered in Norway by Peter Christen Asbjørnsen and Jørgen Moe. It combines several much-loved story patterns: the forbidden rooms, the magic flight in which thrown objects become obstacles, the hero in disguise and the mysterious knight who saves the kingdom three times.

The horse’s restoration completes a reciprocal rescue: the boy first brings it food, it helps him escape and establish a new life, and he finally breaks its enchantment. The threat that forces the last act makes this friendship more unsettling than a straightforward reward for kindness.

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

For older readers: includes repeated severe beatings, threats to kill a young servant, a boiling magical bath, battlefield violence and the beheading of a horse that becomes human.

What the forbidden rooms reveal

The first rooms appear to hold useless objects, but the bramble, stone and water become the escape route once the horse explains them. Curiosity exposes danger and also makes rescue possible. That double role complicates a simple lesson about obeying orders: the stranger’s threats and beatings are his own wrongdoing, not punishments the boy deserves.

The palace repeats the pattern of mistreatment. Servants reject the boy’s appearance and his claim about his head; soldiers laugh at him and one shoots him. The discovery that he is their champion exposes their judgment, but a person should not need hidden beauty or military success to deserve care. His first offer to the unhappy horse is rest and safety. The eventual blow is a magical transformation under threat, not a model of caring for an injured animal.

Follow the objects into new roles

List the bramble, stone, water, ointment and handkerchief. Beside each, note its first appearance and its later use. Which items block pursuit, which heal and which reveal an identity? Explain why the ointment’s use on all the wounded matters after a story so full of cruelty.

Questions to ask

• What did the boy find in each of the four forbidden rooms?
• How did the bramble switch, the stone and the jug of water help him escape?
• Why do you think the boy hid his true looks under a moss wig?

More stories like this

• The Princess on the Glass Hill — another humble hero who secretly wins the day three times
• The Giant Who Had No Heart in His Body — another boy helped by a grateful animal
• The Blue Belt — another Norwegian boy who escapes a troll