Ólafur & Helga
A folktale from Borgarfjörður
There was once a man named Sigurður, a good farmer and mostly liked by people, who had a daughter called Helga. He also had a manservant named Ólafur, a young and hopeful fellow, fitted in every way for his position; he was the son of a priest, and his father was already declining in years when the events of this tale took place. Ólafur fell in love with the farmer’s daughter, and the news of this soon spread. The match was thought desirable and the farmer wished nothing more than that his daughter should marry Ólafur, whom he had grown as fond of as his own child.
One summer, it came to pass that all the farmer’s sheep were lost and were not found again in spite of repeated searches. Next summer, the same thing happened to his ewes, and the search for them proved equally useless. This greatly vexed Ólafur, who was a faithful and able servant. There was much speculation, but the farmer seemed mostly untroubled about it; and so some time passed without anything leading to the discovery of the sheep.
Around the beginning of the winter, the farmer’s daughter went out one evening to look after some washing but did not return. When people felt she had been away too long, they went out to look after her, but nowhere was she to be found. After this, a number of people gathered together to search for her, but all in vain. This grieved everyone, but chiefly Ólafur, who took to his bed and enjoyed neither food nor rest. One night, when a sweet sleep had crept upon him, he had a dream and thought that his father came to him, saying: “How cowardly and unsteady you are! It is unmanly to lie in bed helplessly without trying to do something that might lead to a happy resolution of this present trouble. Or do you distrust God’s taking away your distress, imagining this difficulty cannot be overcome? Rise, provide yourself with victuals and new shoes, and then go southwards until you arrive at a mound surrounded by heather-covered slopes. Pass the brook that flows by the mound, and there you will find a lightly travelled path that you shall follow. Trust in God only, and let neither long walking nor bad paths cause you to turn back.”
When Ólafur awoke, he arose speedily and dressed, asking for provisions and three pairs of new leather shoes. The farmer asked where he was going, but Ólafur said he did not know. The farmer begged him to stay at home, saying that he should die of grief if he lost him, too, as the youth had become his only hope for support of his declining years. Ólafur urged him be of good cheer and not despair. Then he went away shedding tears, having said farewell to the farmer. Now he went southward, as his dream had shown him. He walked over heaths and moors, night and day, becoming weary from his long and difficult walk. At last, he came to the mound mentioned in his dream, passed the brook, and found the dimly-traced path. Now, his mood lightened and he continued his long walk. After he had travelled for some time, he heard a shout from someone on the mountain. It was late in the day, but he went in the direction of the sound and soon saw a stout man driving before him a great flock of lambs. He carried an axe on his shoulders and was dressed in a white-striped brown cape with a slouched hat on his head.
Ólafur went over and greeted him, receiving an abrupt response asking what business he had there. Ólafur said he was searching for some lost sheep.
“Do you think they are here?” asked the man in the cape. “No, my good fellow, you needn’t lie to me, for I know your name and what your errand is. You are looking for Helga, the farmer’s daughter, not for sheep. You should therefore know that she is not far from here. She is well kept, but you shall nevermore see her. I therefore advise you to retire home, the sooner the better, or I shall be compelled to hurl my axe into your skull, although it is not my desire to kill anyone.”
“There would be no glory for you to kill me with a weapon when I have none,” replied Ólafur. “Surely it would more just that we should wrestle and try one another’s strength.”
“So be it,” said the man in the cape as he flung down his axe. They grasped one another and wrestled with a manly flow of skill and strength. Backwards and forwards they went, over the ground, and Ólafur found that the man was more than his match in bodily strength. He therefore remained on the defensive until the man began to falter, and then Ólafur, using his greater skill, felled his foe by a trick called “the heel-hook.”
Then the man in the cape said: “Little glory is it for you to bring me down, a youth of fifteen.”
Ólafur answered that he was going to drag him to the spot where his axe lay, obliged to deal him his death-blow, “although I may assuredly boast, as you did before, that I have no desire to kill anyone.”
The man in the cape answered: “Do not kill me, then, for I can be of good use to you if you spare my life.”
Finding the man’s look not overly intimidating, Ólafur pardoned him and raised him on to his feet, having made him swear that he would act faithfully towards him. Ólafur then asked him who he was and where his home was. The man in the cape answered that his home was not far from them, and that he himself was an outlaw.
“My name is Kári,” he said, and I have a father and mother living, both of whom are old now. I have also two brothers, who are both much older and a great deal stronger than I am, the greatest trolls. One of them stole Helga intending to marry her, but she will neither hear nor see him, and leads a most unhappy life. She is kept imprisoned, but my sisters are often with her, trying to comfort her. Everything possible is done to make her happy, but all in vain. She has grown pale from sorrow and pining. My father has the ability of foresight, so he knew all about your movements, and he gave me the axe this morning when I went to the lambs, bidding me to redden it with your blood, saying that you would come to meet me. A sorry fate awaits you if my father or my brothers get the chance to kill you. So, I advise you to rest in this lamb-pen tonight, and I will send you food from home.”
But Ólafur said he would go home with him, no matter what the price.
“Have your way then,” said Kári, “and one fate shall be for both of us.”
After this, they went to a little dale, where Ólafur saw a mean cottage. Arriving at the door of the cottage, they were met by an old man, trollish and rascally-looking. Ólafur guessed him to be Kári’s father, and greeted him, but the old man paid no heed whatever to Ólafur’s courtesy, and returned only an angry glance at Ólafur and Kári. Now Kári took Ólafur inside, leading him through a low and narrow entrance into the thick darkness until they came into the family room, where Ólafur saw two girls, young and fair in appearance. He found wondered at their appearance when their father was such an ugly rascal. In the far end of the room he saw a small alcove with an old and hideous hag sitting in it. Kári showed Ólafur to a seat, and, sitting down with him, ordered meals to be brought and set before them.
Then, the old man came in and went up to the old hag in the alcove. Shortly after, Ólafur heard a great din in the entrance passage; it was the sound of the footsteps of Kári’s brothers. They were unlike their brother Kári – more in the shape of trolls than of men. They went into the alcove where their father and mother were, not even looking at Ólafur, but sending an awful side-glance at Kári. Ólafur heard them speaking in a low voice, but he spoke to no one at all. Nor did anyone accost him, and even Kári remained silent.
After a while, the old man came forth and said: “Is not it time to go to bed?”
Kári took Ólafur by the hand and led him through the gloomy passage to a sleeping room, apart from the family room, saying that he could rest there for the night. Then he went away. The room was perfectly dark and it gave birth to many an uneasy and awful thought in Ólafur’s mind. He loathed the place. Soon enough, there came in to him a girl, who took off his clothes. They said nothing to one another, but as she wiped his feet, he thought he felt a tear drop onto one of them. As the maid went out, she said in a whispering voice: “Be watchful!”
When she was gone, Kári entered the room and said he would stay there with Ólafur through the night. But Ólafur said: “That is not wise, for it may have a deadly result for both of us.”
Kári saw the wisdom of these words, urging Ólafur to be watchful and dress again, placing his axe on the bed before Ólafur while saying: “This will be your faithful companion, in your need, even if all other things should fall.”
Kári then went away and Ólafur rose and dressed quickly. He took the cover of the bed, wrapped it round his arm and chest, and then lay down with his hand on the handle of the axe. He took care to keep the axe from sight. When he had rested for a time, he heard voices and the sound of footsteps outside his door. He feigned a deep sleep, snoring loudly. Soon the door opened, and in stepped the old man with a sword in his hand, accompanied by one of his older sons, who carried a light in one hand and a knife in the other.
They stopped in the middle of the room and the old man said: “He is asleep.” At the same moment, he rushed at the bed in order to drag Ólafur to the side of it, but Ólafur made a nimble movement, and cut off the old man’s head with the axe. Then the son rushed at Ólafur to avenge his father’s death. But Ólafur used all the swiftness of his hand, and soon despatched him with a deadly blow. At this instant, the second older brother entered the room, looking by no means kindly. Ólafur made ready to fight him, but seeing that he was unarmed, he flung the axe away, as he was not a treacherous man. So they wrestled furiously. They flung one another, in turn, to and fro, and everything – house and all – trembled as if they would fall to the ground.
This brother was far stronger than Ólafur, and at last he fell. As the brother was dragging him towards the axe, Kári entered the room, and catching his brother’s hand, urged him to stop. “I have little to be thankful to you for,,” Kári said, “for you have tried to make me the worst of men.” Now, his brother did not dare to move, letting go his hold of Ólafur and swearing he would do him no more harm.
Ólafur thanked Kári heartily for his aid, and said: “You have acted well, even though my blows have fallen so near to you, in that I have killed your father and brother.”
Kári answered: “You had your own life to save; let us nevermore mention what is past.”
After this, Kári led Ólafur to the place where Helga was kept. Ólafur could hardly believe that it was Helga, who had once looked so beautiful and blooming. She was kneeling in prayer, and tears of sorrow flowed down her pale cheeks. But now her tears of grief changed into tears of joy and gratitude for the saving of Ólafur’s life. She had been the very damsel who waited upon Ólafur as he went to bed, but the old man had been standing in the door of the dark room to listen if they spoke to one another. He did this only to satisfy his cruelty, and to inflict yet deeper wounds upon the grief-pierced heart of the virtuous and faithful maiden.
Ólafur remained here for some days in great joy, and returning home, took Helga with him, along with Kári and his two sisters. When the older brother of Kári and his mother chose not to remain, they joined the rest. They drove home all the sheep from the valley, taking everything of value with them, and set fire to the farm, burning it to ashes. Their journey was good and they returned safely home. The reunion was one of great joy, and a feast was held at Sigurður’s farm to honour this happy event with great glee and pleasure.
Ólafur dwelt with his companions at Sigurður’s farm that winter. The next spring, he married Helga, rented a farm, and soon became very important. He gave in marriage both of Kári’s sisters and found a good and notable wife for Kári. Kári’s brother also married, thanks to Ólafur. Kári and Ólafur continued to be good friends until death, and enjoyed both old age and high regard.
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This story is adapted from the version that appears in the collection of Jón Árnason (1819–1888), Íslenzkar þjóðsögur og ævintýri (Icelandic Folk Tales and Legends), as translated by George E.J. Powell and Eiríkur Magnússon. The language has been modernized from the original translation. Attributed to an old woman in Borgarfjörður, the tale was recorded by Rev. Magnús Grímsson (1825–1860), who graduated from the Learned School in 1848 and then completed his studies at the Theological College in 1850. He worked as a guide, researcher, author, and editor before reluctantly becoming the priest at Mosfell í Mosfellssveit from 1855, where he served until his premature death from typhoid at the age of 34. He was also an inventor. Alongside Jón Árnason, Rev. Magnús was the most prolific collector of Icelandic folktales during the middle of the nineteenth century. Most of Rev. Magnús’s siblings, as well as his only daughter, emigrated to North America, settling in North Dakota, Saskatchewan, and Manitoba. One of his nephews was North Dakota Supreme Court Justice Gudmundur Grimsson and another was the Chicago inventor Chester Thordarson.