# East of the Sun and West of the Moon _Asbjørnsen and Moe_ · 15 min read · ages 7-12 The youngest daughter of a poor farmer rides away on the back of a great White Bear, and loses him when she lights a candle to see his face. The girl follows the prince to the castle east of the sun and west of the moon, and when she washes three spots of tallow out of his wedding shirt, the trolls burst with rage. --- Once there was a poor farmer with so many children that there was never enough food or clothing to go round. The youngest daughter was the loveliest of them all. One Thursday evening late in the autumn the weather turned wild. Rain came down, the wind blew, and the walls of the cottage shook. The family sat round the fire, each busy with some small piece of work. Then something tapped three times on the windowpane. The father went out to see what it was, and there in the dark stood a great White Bear. “Good evening to you,” said the White Bear. “And the same to you,” said the man. “Will you give me your youngest daughter? If you will, I shall make you as rich as you are now poor.” The man would not have minded being rich, but he must speak with his daughter first. The girl said no outright, and nothing anybody could say would move her. So it was settled that the Bear should come again the next Thursday for his answer. All that week her father told her of the riches they would have, until at last she gave in. She washed and mended her rags and made herself as neat as she could. Her packing did not take her long. The next Thursday evening the White Bear came. She climbed onto his back with her bundle, and off they went. When they had gone a little way, the Bear said, “Are you afraid?” “No,” she said. “I am not afraid.” “Hold tight to my shaggy coat, then, and there is nothing to fear.” She rode a long, long way, until they came to a great steep hill. The White Bear knocked on the face of it, and a door swung open. Inside was a castle with room after room, all lit up and gleaming with silver and gold, and a table already laid. The White Bear gave her a little silver bell: whenever she wanted anything, she had only to ring it. When evening wore on she rang the bell, and at once she stood in a bedchamber with a bed as white as anyone could wish. But when she had gone to bed and put out the light, a man came and lay down beside her. She never saw him, for he came only once the light was out and was up and away before daybreak. For a while things went happily. But she walked about all day with nobody to talk to, and grew sorrowful. One day the Bear asked what was the matter. She said the castle was lonely, and she longed to see her father and mother and her brothers and sisters. “Perhaps there is a cure for that,” said the Bear. “But promise me one thing: never talk alone with your mother, only when the others are there to hear. She will take you by the hand and try to get you alone, and you must not go, or you will bring bad luck on us both.” She promised. So one Sunday they set off, she on his back, and travelled far, until they came to a grand house where her brothers and sisters were at play. “This is where your father and mother live now,” said the White Bear. “But do not forget what I told you, or you will bring bad luck on us both.” She said she would not forget, and at the door the Bear left her. There was great joy when she walked in. They had everything they could wish for now, and could not thank her enough. They all wanted to know how she lived, and I don’t think they got much out of her. In the afternoon everything happened as the White Bear had said: her mother wanted to talk with her alone upstairs. “Whatever we have to say will keep,” said the girl, and put her off. But somehow or other her mother got round her at last, and the whole story came out: the man who came once the light was out, whom she had never seen, and the long empty days alone. “Oh dear,” said her mother. “It may well be a troll you are sleeping beside. Here is a bit of candle, and I shall teach you how to set eyes on him. Light it while he sleeps, and take care not to drop the tallow on him.” She hid the candle away, and as night drew on the White Bear fetched her. “Now mind,” he said on the road. “If you have listened to your mother’s advice, you have brought bad luck on us both, and everything between us is undone.” “No,” she said. “I did not listen to my mother’s advice.” That night the man came as before; but at dead of night, when she heard him sleeping, she got up, struck a light, and let the candle shine on him. He was the loveliest prince anyone ever set eyes on. She fell in love with him at first sight, and could not help kissing him there and then. As she kissed him, she dropped three hot drops of tallow on his shirt, and he woke. “What have you done?” he cried. “Now you have brought bad luck on us both. If you had held out one year longer, I would have been free.” Then he told her the rest. “I have a stepmother who bewitched me, so that I am a White Bear by day and a man by night. Now every tie between us is broken, and I must go to her castle east of the sun and west of the moon, and take for my wife the princess there who has a nose three yards long.” The girl wept, but there was no help for it. Go he must. She asked whether she might go with him. No, she might not. “Then tell me the way,” she said, “and I will find you.” “There is no way there,” he said. “It lies east of the sun and west of the moon, and you will never find it.” Next morning both prince and castle were gone. She lay on a patch of green grass in a dark wood, with the same bundle of rags she had brought from home. When she had wept until she was tired, she set out and walked for many, many days. At last she came to a high crag, where an old woman sat tossing a golden apple from hand to hand. The girl asked her the way to the prince who was to marry the princess with the nose three yards long. “How do you come to know about him?” said the old woman. “Perhaps you are the girl who should have had him?” Yes, she was. “Well, all I know is that he lives in the castle east of the sun and west of the moon, and you will come there late, or never. Still, take my horse and ride to my nearest neighbour; perhaps she can tell you more. And take this golden apple.” She rode a long, long time to a second crag, where a second old woman sat with a golden carding comb. That one knew no more than the name of the place. “And you will come there late, or never. But take my horse and ride to my nearest neighbour; perhaps she will tell you. And take the carding comb. You may find a use for it.” She rode on for days and days to a third crag, where a third old woman sat spinning with a golden spinning wheel. It was the same again. “And you will come there late, or never. But take my horse and ride to the East Wind; perhaps he knows those parts and can blow you there. And take the spinning wheel. You may find a use for it.” On she rode a weary time, until at last she reached the East Wind’s house, and asked him the way to the prince who lived east of the sun and west of the moon. The East Wind had often heard tell of the prince and the castle, but he had never blown so far. “I will take you to my brother the West Wind,” he said. “He is stronger than I am, and perhaps he knows.” The West Wind had never blown so far either. “But our brother the South Wind is stronger than us both, and he has flapped his wings far and wide. Get on my back.” The West Wind carried her there and told his brother what she had come for. “Is that really the girl?” said the South Wind. “I have blustered about in most places in my time, but never so far as that. I will take you to my brother the North Wind. He is the oldest and strongest of us all, and if he does not know, nobody in the world can tell you.” She got on the South Wind’s back, and away they went. When they came to the North Wind’s house, he was so wild and cross that cold puffs came off him from a long way away. “What do you want, the two of you?” he roared. “You need not be so rough,” said the South Wind. “Here is the girl who should have had the prince who lives in the castle east of the sun and west of the moon, and she wants to know the way.” “I know well enough where it is,” said the North Wind. “Once in my life I blew an aspen leaf there, and afterwards I could not blow a puff for days. But if you are not afraid, I will take you on my back and see whether I can blow you there.” Yes, with all her heart. She would get there if it could be done at all, and however wildly he went she would not be afraid. Early next morning he puffed himself up and blew himself out until he was fearful to look at, and off they went, high up through the air. Down below there was such a storm that it threw down forests and houses, and over the sea ships went down by the hundred. On and on they tore over open water, and the North Wind grew wearier and wearier, until he sank so low that the crests of the waves washed over his heels. “Are you afraid?” said the North Wind. “No,” she said. “I am not afraid.” Land was not far now, and he had just enough strength left to throw her ashore under the windows of the castle that lay east of the sun and west of the moon. Then he had to rest many days before he could get home. Next morning the girl sat under the castle window and played with her golden apple. The first to see her was the Long-nose, the princess who was to marry the prince. “What do you want for that golden apple, girl?” she called, and threw up the window. “It is not for sale for gold or money,” said the girl. “But if I may go up to the prince who lives here and be with him tonight, you shall have it.” Yes, she might do that. So the princess got the golden apple. But that night the prince was fast asleep. The girl called and shook him and wept over him, and could not wake him; and as soon as day broke the Long-nose drove her out again. Next day she sat under the window and carded with her golden carding comb, and the princess asked what she wanted for it. “It is not for sale for gold or money,” said the girl. “But if I may go up to the prince and be with him tonight, you shall have it.” Again he was fast asleep. She called and shook him, she wept and she begged, and still she could not wake him; and at the first grey light of day the Long-nose chased her out. On the third day she sat under the window and spun with her golden spinning wheel, and the princess wanted that too. “It is not for sale for gold or money,” said the girl. “But if I may go up to the prince and be with him alone tonight, you shall have it.” Yes, she might, and welcome. Now you must know that there were folk in that castle who had been carried off from their homes and shut up in the room next to the prince’s. Two nights running they had heard a woman weeping and calling to him, and they told him so. So that evening, when the princess brought him his drink, he guessed what was in it, and only made as if he drank, throwing it over his shoulder. When the girl came in she found him wide awake, and told him the whole story. “You have come in the very nick of time,” said the prince, “for tomorrow is to be my wedding day. But I will not have the Long-nose now, and you are the only woman in the world who can set me free.” “I shall say I want to see what my bride is fit for,” he went on, “and ask her to wash the three spots of tallow out of my wedding shirt. She will say yes, for she does not know it was you who put them there.” The girl asked what good that would do. “No troll hand ever washed anything clean,” he said. “Those drops fell from your own candle, and no one but you can wash them out. I shall swear before them all to take no bride but the one who can wash the shirt, and when they have failed I shall call you in.” Next day, when the wedding was to be, the prince said, “First of all, I should like to see what my bride is fit for.” “Yes indeed,” said the stepmother, with all her heart. “I have a fine shirt for my wedding,” said the prince, “but it has got three spots of tallow on it, and I must have them washed out. I have sworn to take no bride but the woman who can do it.” That seemed no great thing to ask. So the princess with the long nose washed as hard as she could, but the more she scrubbed, the bigger the spots grew. “You cannot wash,” said the stepmother. “Let me try.” She had not had it long in her hands before it was worse than ever, and the more she rubbed, the blacker the spots grew. Then all the other trolls tried, and the longer it went on the blacker the shirt grew, until at last it was as black as if it had been up the chimney. “You’re not worth a straw, not one of you,” said the prince. “Why, there’s a beggar girl sitting outside, and I’ll be bound she can wash better than the whole lot of you. Come in, girl!” In she came. “Can you wash this shirt clean?” said the prince. “I don’t know,” she said, “but I think I can.” She had hardly dipped it in the water before it was as white as driven snow, and whiter still. “You are the girl for me,” said the prince. At that the old stepmother flew into such a rage that she burst on the spot, and the princess with the long nose after her, and the whole pack of trolls after her; and nobody has heard a word of them since. As for the prince and the girl, they set free all the poor folk who had been carried off and shut up there. Then they took the silver and the gold with them, and went away as far as ever they could from the castle that lay east of the sun and west of the moon. --- - Read online: https://talerie.com/en/tales/east-of-the-sun-and-west-of-the-moon - Wikidata: https://www.wikidata.org/wiki/Q3021568 - Tale type: ATU 425A (per Wikidata) - Source: Popular Tales from the Norse, Asbjørnsen og Moe, trans. George Webbe Dasent (Project Gutenberg #8933) (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8933) - Public-domain basis: Talerie contemporary retelling (CC0 2026), based on: Popular Tales from the Norse, Asbjørnsen og Moe, trans. George Webbe Dasent (Project Gutenberg #8933) — translation: author died 1882/1885 (+70 passed); translator George Webbe Dasent died 1896 (+70 passed) - License: CC0-1.0 (https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/)