There was a miller whose mill was burnt down on two successive Whitsuneves. In the third year, just before Whitsuntide, he had a tailor in his house to make holy day clothes.
‘I wonder how it will go with the mill this time; whether it will be burnt again tonight,' said the miller.
‘You need not fear that,' said the tailor, ‘give me the key, and I will keep watch in it.'
This seemed to the miller both good and highly acceptable; and when it drew towards evening the tailor got the key and went to the mill, which was still empty, having just been rebuilt. So placing himself in the middle of the floor, he chalked round a large circle, on the outside of which he wrote the Paternoster; and thus fortified, would not have feared if the arch-enemy himself had made his appearance. In the dead of the night the door suddenly flew open, and there came in such a multitude of black cats, that the place literally swarmed. But a short time had elapsed when they set a large earthen pot in the chimney, and lighted a fire under it, so that it began frying and hissing in the pot as if it were full of boiling pitch and tar.
‘Oho,' thought the tailor, ‘is that what you are after?' And scarcely had he given utterance to the thought when one of the cats put its paw behind the pot and tried to upset it.
‘Whisht cat, you'll burn yourself!' cried the tailor.
‘Whisht cat, you'll burn yourself! the tailor says,' said the cat to the other cats, and all ran from the chimney, and began hopping and dancing round the circle; but in the meanwhile the cat again sneaked to the chimney and endeavored to upset the pot.
‘Whisht cat, you'll burn yourself!' cried the tailor, and drove it from the chimney.
‘Whisht cat, you'll burn yourself! the tailor says,' said the cat to the other cats, and all began dancing and hopping again, but in a moment the same cat was away trying a third time to overturn the pot.
‘Whisht cat, you'll burn yourself!' cried the tailor in a rage, and so terrified them that they tumbled one over another, and then began to jump and dance as before.
They then formed a circle without the tailor's circle, and began dancing round it with an ever-increasing velocity, till at length it seemed to the tailor that everything was whirling round before him. All this while the cats were staring at him with their large, fierce eyes, as if they would swallow him.
While they were in the thick of it, the cat that had tried to upset the pot put her paw within the circle, as if she felt inclined to seize hold of the tailor, but who seeing her design, drew out his knife and stood on his guard. After a few moments the cat again put her paw within the ring, when the tailor in one instant chopped it off; and all the cats took to their heels, screaming and howling, as speedily as they could, and left the tailor in quiet possession of the field.
The tailor then lay down in the circle till long after the sun had been shining in upon him. He then rose, locked the mill-door and proceeded to the miller's house.
When he entered the room the miller and his wife were still in bed, it being Whitsunday.
'Good-morning,' said the tailor, giving the miller his hand.'Good-morning,' said the miller in return, and was both glad and surprised to see the tailor again.
'Good-morning, mother,' said he, holding out his hand to the miller's wife.
'Good-morning,' said she, but appeared pale and sorrowful, and kept her hand under the bedclothes, but at last offered him her left hand. The tailor now saw how matters stood; but what afterwards took place is not said.
Peter Christian Asbjørnsen
English version: Northern Mythology by Benjamin Thorpe
© Wordsworth Editions Limited, 2001; ISBN 1 84022 501 7BACK TO:
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