Tatterhood is born riding a goat, a wooden spoon in her hand and a ragged hood about her ears. Her twin sister is as lovely as she is ugly, yet the two will not be parted. When trolls and witches come to keep Christmas in the palace gallery, Tatterhood sets out to drive them away with her spoon.
Once upon a time there was a king and a queen who had no children, and the queen grieved so much over it that she hardly had a happy hour. At last they took a little girl into the palace to raise as their own.
One day the little girl was playing with a gold apple in the palace yard when an old beggar woman came by with a girl of her own, and soon the two children were playing together. The queen tapped on the window to call her foster daughter in, but the beggar girl came up with her, hand in hand.
“You ought to know better than to play with a ragged beggar’s child,” the queen scolded, and she was about to send the beggar girl away.
“If the queen knew what my mother can do, she wouldn’t send me away,” said the beggar girl. Her mother, she said, knew how the queen could have children.
The queen didn’t believe it, but she sent the girl to fetch her mother.
“Your daughter says you know how I can have children, if you will only tell me,” said the queen.
“Queens shouldn’t listen to beggar girls’ silly stories,” said the old woman, and she marched out of the room.
The queen was angry, but the beggar girl insisted every word was true.
“Just give my mother something to drink, Your Majesty,” she said. “Once she’s merry, she’ll soon find a way to help you.”
So the beggar woman was fetched back and given all the wine and mead she wanted, and once her tongue loosened, the queen asked again.
“Perhaps I do know one way,” said the beggar woman. “Some evening, Your Majesty must have two pails of water brought in. Wash in each of them, and pour the water out under the bed. In the morning two flowers will be growing there, one fair and one ugly. You must eat the fair one and leave the ugly one standing. Be sure you don’t forget that last part.”
The queen did just as she was told, and the next morning two flowers stood under the bed. One was ugly and foul, with black leaves; the other was so bright and lovely that she ate it at once. But it tasted so sweet that she couldn’t stop herself, and she ate the ugly one too. “It can’t do much harm either way,” she thought.
Some time later the queen gave birth. First came a girl who rode on a goat and held a wooden spoon in her hand. She was as ugly as could be, and the moment she came into the world she called out, “Mama!”
“If I’m your mama,” said the queen, “God help me mend my ways.”
“Oh, don’t be sorry,” said the girl on the goat. “Someone better looking will soon come after me.”
And soon the queen had another girl, so fair and sweet that no one had ever seen a lovelier child. They called the elder twin Tatterhood, because she was so ugly and ragged and wore a hood that hung about her ears in tatters. The queen could hardly bear to look at her, but no one could keep the twins apart: wherever her sister was, Tatterhood had to be too.
One Christmas Eve, when the girls were half grown, a terrible clatter broke out in the gallery. A pack of trolls and witches had come to keep Christmas in the palace. Everyone begged Tatterhood to leave them alone, but she meant to drive them out.
“Keep every door shut tight,” she told the queen, “so that not one of them opens even a crack.” Then off she went with her wooden spoon.
Such a racket rose in the gallery that the whole palace creaked and groaned. Somehow one door slipped ajar, and Tatterhood’s sister peeped out to see how things were going. Up came an old witch, whipped off the princess’s head, and stuck a calf’s head on her shoulders instead. The princess ran back into the room on all fours, mooing like a calf.
When Tatterhood came back, she was furious that no one had kept better watch. “Still, I’ll see if I can’t set her free,” she said.
She asked the king for a ship, fully rigged and stocked, but she wanted no captain and no sailors. She would sail with her sister alone, and there was no holding her back.
Tatterhood steered straight for the land where the witches lived. She told her sister to stay quietly on board and rode her goat up to the witches’ castle. One of the gallery windows stood open, and there on the window frame hung her sister’s head. She leaped her goat through the window, snatched up the head, and was off with it.
The witches came swarming after her like bees from a hive, but the goat butted them with his horns, and Tatterhood banged them about with her wooden spoon, until they gave up.
Back on the ship, Tatterhood took the calf’s head off her sister and put the princess’s own head back where it belonged, and her sister was herself again. Then they sailed a long, long way, to a strange kingdom.
Its king was a widower with an only son. When the king saw the strange sail, he sent his men down to the shore. They found no one aboard but Tatterhood, galloping around and around the deck on her goat, her wild hair streaming in the wind. She had her sister with her, she told them, but she would not show her.
“No one shall see her unless the king comes himself,” said Tatterhood, and she galloped about until the deck thundered.
So the king came down himself. Tatterhood led out her sister, who was so fair and gentle that the king fell head over heels in love with her. He brought them both to his palace and wanted the sister for his queen.
“You may have her only if your son marries me, Your Majesty,” said Tatterhood.
The prince wanted no such bride, but the whole court talked him into it, and at last he gave his word, though it went sorely against the grain.
On the wedding day the king drove ahead to church with his bride, who was so lovely that people all along the road stopped to stare. Behind them rode the prince beside Tatterhood on her goat, with her wooden spoon in her fist. He looked as if he were going to a funeral, and he never said a word.
“Why don’t you talk?” asked Tatterhood, when they had ridden a while.
“What would I talk about?” said the prince.
“You could at least ask me why I ride on this ugly goat.”
“Why do you ride on that ugly goat?” asked the prince.
“Is it ugly? Why, it’s the finest horse a bride ever rode!” said Tatterhood, and in a twinkling the goat became a splendid horse.
They rode on, but the prince was as gloomy as before.
“Why don’t you talk?” asked Tatterhood. “You could at least ask me why I ride with this ugly spoon in my fist.”
“Why do you ride with that ugly spoon in your fist?” asked the prince.
“Is it ugly? Why, it’s the finest silver wand a bride ever carried!” said Tatterhood, and in a twinkling the spoon became a silver wand, so bright that the sunlight flashed from it.
They rode on, but the prince was as gloomy as before.
“Why don’t you talk?” asked Tatterhood. “You could at least ask me why I wear this ugly gray hood on my head.”
“Why do you wear that ugly gray hood on your head?” asked the prince.
“Is it ugly? Why, it’s the finest golden crown a bride ever wore!” said Tatterhood, and in a twinkling the hood became a golden crown.
They rode on a long while, but the prince was as gloomy as before.
“Why don’t you talk?” asked Tatterhood. “You could at least ask me why my face is so ugly and ashen gray.”
“Why is your face so ugly and ashen gray?” asked the prince.
“Am I ugly? You think my sister is pretty, but I am ten times prettier,” said Tatterhood.
And when the prince looked at her, she was so lovely that he thought there was no lovelier woman in all the world. After that, the prince soon found his tongue.
At the wedding they feasted and drank deep and long. Then the prince and the king set out with their brides for the palace of the brides’ father, where they held a second wedding feast, and the merrymaking had no end.
Retold by Talerie from Popular Tales from the Norse (opens in a new window) Public domain Copy this text, adapt it, use it however you like. A link back to Talerie is appreciated but never required. CC0 1.0 (opens in a new window)