Thirty-six legends from J. Qvigstad's Lappiske eventyr og sagn (Sami Tales and Legends, 1927), Volume I — the largest published collection of North Sami oral tradition in the original language. These belief-narratives, memorats, and spiritual accounts form an interlocking world of the unquiet dead: the utbord who demands baptism before releasing a man from the forest; the eater-noaide who gnaws through three pines the night after his burial; draugar that fill the king's road from side to side and pursue a woman half the morning; a man at the far end of a frozen lake who talks nonsense and feels something heavy settle in his pulk; a phantom reindeer — terrifyingly large — that leads a whole herd for hours before walking into an open waterfall; two ghost children playing at the tideline above a recent drowning; a man at his ptarmigan-snares who speaks with the ghost of a woman who once waited years for him to come. At the center of this cycle is the concept of raimut — to be power-stolen — the draining of a living person's vital force by the unquiet dead, which can happen anywhere the dead have been: a churchyard, a headland above drowned fishermen, a wilderness hut, an ancient mire, or the empty air of a forest trail.
67. THE UTBORD WANTS BAPTISM
A man was cutting wood in the forest, and his name was Hans. Then he heard an utbord crying; he thought to himself and said: "Some loose woman has hidden an illegitimate child. Let it stay where it is."
But the utbord began to cry louder and louder, until Hans could go nowhere; for the utbord came right between his feet crying, and he could neither walk forward nor back. Then Hans sat down and asked it firmly: "What do you want from me, that you will not let me go?"
The utbord said: "I want baptism, and you cannot go anywhere before you have baptized me. I must be baptized, for my mother abandoned me here without baptizing me."
Then Hans gave himself to baptizing the utbord. He began to read the Lord's Prayer backwards and the Lord's blessing backwards — he began with amen and ended with the beginning. Only then could Hans go on his way.
When Hans came home, he told what had happened to him: "Terrible it was when the utbord cried — I could not otherwise have gotten away. I had to baptize it, and the worst of it was reading the Lord's Prayer backwards, for not many can do that besides me." Two or three times he described how the utbord was baptized.
An utbord is dangerous if one cannot get rid of it, for it can steal your power. The utbord is such: if it comes in front of you, it will certainly steal your power; but as long as its crying is behind you, it cannot steal it. Beware, then, that the utbord's crying does not come in front — for if it seeks to come in front, one must stop or sit and ask: "What do you want?" — exactly as Hans asked. For Hans knew much more than others; it was not the first time he had heard an utbord cry; therefore he knew well how to handle it.
(Reppan, 1903.)
68. AN EATER-NOAIDE TO BE BURIED
There was an eater-noaide in Notozero. He lived at the upper end of Notozero. He had done much evil in his lifetime. Then this noaide died. They laid him in a coffin; but when the last light of day faded in the evening, the dead man rose out of the coffin and walked into the forest and cried there, running through the night until it began to grow light — then he went back into the coffin.
His widow wished to have people carry him to Christian ground so that he might rest in the grave. But the Skolts bury their dead wherever it is most convenient for them. No one, then, dared go with him. There was, however, one man who volunteered. But he took for the noaide a reindeer of wild stock — its father had been a wild bull-reindeer, and it had never been tamed. For himself he took an ordinary driving-reindeer, and so he set out.
The nearest Christian ground was at Duollamgiedde (Tulomengen), and it was so far that one could not reach it in a single day. He drove as long as he could; then the last daylight faded, and the reindeer that came behind sprang forward alongside the driving-reindeer; the dead man was already sitting upright in the coffin. The driver said: "A dead man does not sit up." Then the dead man lay back in the coffin.
He drove on a little; again the reindeer behind sprang forward to the side. "Lie down! The dead do not sit up!" cried the driver. The dead man lay down again.
But when for the third time the dead man sat up in the coffin and the reindeer shied in fright, the man cut the harness-rope. The wild bull-reindeer galloped away with the dead man. The man tied his own reindeer fast and climbed up into a great pine tree; there was another large pine nearby; a third stood a little farther off.
He heard the wild reindeer galloping between the trees, the coffin slung crashing from pine to pine. The reindeer ran until it tired, then came back to its companion as reindeer do. Then the dead man leapt out of the coffin and began to gnaw at the pine tree the man had climbed. He gnawed and gnawed until the tree began to sway. Just as it fell, the man leapt to the second pine. The noaide began to gnaw that one too — gnaw and gnaw, slivers flying all around. The man thought: if there was time to gnaw through this one before light came, it would go badly, for the third pine was the farthest off. But that tree too gave way. Then it was dawn.
The man reckoned: "It is light now; the night has passed." And the dead man went into the coffin again.
The man drove on. He came to Duollamgiedde; there they built a great warm fire, and they dug the grave and buried the noaide — face-downward, with his feet also bound — and covered him with earth. That was done with him.
(Saba, 1918, Neiden.)
69. BEING POWER-STOLEN
Jak Ondrei of Neiden told that one spring he rowed out to fish at Kramvik. Once he sat on the tip of Kramvik headland watching the seal-rocks. There is still something there like a kind of funnel in the water. While he sat there he fell asleep. And then it seemed to him that he was choking; it was as if something pressed down on his chest. He tried to rise but could not. He struggled and struggled, and struggled so long that in the end he came back to himself. But he was drenched in sweat, so that his shirt and his other underclothes were as if dipped in water.
When he came back to the fishing hut, he told them what had happened. They asked him where the place was. Ravna-Pers Martin said: "You must not tell it. I have been in the same trouble at that very spot myself. I know where it is." And so Ondrei did not tell; "let a third one also experience what it tastes like to be power-stolen!"
At that spot, the bodies of drowned men had certainly washed ashore and come to lie under the gravel and small stones where he had been sitting.
(Saba, 1918, Neiden.)
70. WHEN A FINN FINDS THE DROWNED AND SEES THEM
My brother Nils was walking one summer along the western end of Domen mountain, above the flood-line. Then he felt it — he must go down. He thought: he would not go to the shore, what would he do there? But no, something kept drawing and drawing him downward; he found no peace. He went down to the shore, the pull was so strong. There he found a piece of a skin coat; he carried it above the flood-line; then he was free to go; it no longer drew him to the shore.
There one can see how little it takes for a person to be power-stolen, when anything belonging to a nordfar has washed ashore. At that spot, you see, some weeks before, nordfarer who had drowned had drifted in. A nordfar is very ill to haunt. Nothing more is needed than some thing belonging to a drowned nordfar that has washed ashore — and it does it. Well, of course they are rough men full of cursing, the nordfarer. But a Russian who has drowned never haunts; beside such a one a man may, if he wants, sleep; he is at rest. What comes of this I do not know. Some say it is the cross the Russian has around his neck that weighs him, and therefore he does not haunt.
When a man finds a drowned person in the shore, he must drag it above the flood-line; otherwise he cannot leave, but becomes power-stolen.
Once a man was walking on the outer side of Kibergneset. He found there in the shore an exceedingly large nordfar who had drowned. The weather was truly rough and the undertow strong. When he tried to drag the body onto dry ground, the sea tore it out of his hands. He struggled so long that at last he got it onto the dry. The body still had oil-trousers on its legs and an oil-jacket on top. But he could not drag such a large body above the flood-line alone; he had to carry it in two parts, and he covered it with rush-mat pieces above the flood-line, piled stones on top for weight, and said: "I will come back with people to fetch you." Then he was free to go in peace where he was going.
Every man must know to say this when he finds a drowned person. When Gabriel from Rapnjask found Jon Abrahamsen's body on Soavvel shore, he laid his mittens on it, so that the dead man would believe he was coming back with people to fetch him.
Sluvgar-Ola had once found something at the tip of Kavring headland; he had certainly found a sea-corpse. We were fishing at Kavringen then. He could not find peace; he wanted me to help him too; he offered me komager for payment. But I said: "I just won't go." But he found no peace. The next day he had to go alone; he bound a knife-belt around himself.
If a man does not see the body, it does not draw him; but if he sees it, he cannot find peace before he has dragged it above the flood-line.
Lille-Per was going along collecting driftwood on the outer side of Kibergneset. He found a hat in the shore; it was still new, that hat. He took the hat up in his hands; then he heard a voice calling: "Devil! Don't take the hat!" Then that man threw the hat down into the shore and said: "Devil! Keep the hat!"
It was surely nothing other than a drowned man calling from the shore.
(Saba, 1918.)
72. THE PRIEST, THE BELL-RINGER, AND THE DEAD
The dead walk in church at night. Once a priest and a bell-ringer made a wager. The priest said he dared go and preach in the church at night. The bell-ringer said he too dared go into the church at night.
First the bell-ringer went. He took three stones with him — one from the flood-line, one from the mid-fjord, and one from the fjord-bottom — and went up to the ringing-loft. When night fell, the dead came and the church was full to the doors. The bell-ringer did nothing until they began to climb up to the loft. Then he rolled the flood-line stone down. The dead went out.
A few hours later they came again. Then the bell-ringer rolled the mid-fjord stone. The dead went out again, but not so quickly as the first time. Towards morning they came a third time. Then the bell-ringer rolled the fjord-bottom stone down the stairs. The dead began to go out, but turned in the doorway and stood still in the church passage. The bell-ringer thought they looked like confirmands. But he was a sensible man and knew that these were the dead; they were only seeking to cloud his sight. They began to climb the stairs again.
The bell-ringer had no recourse left but to start ringing. The dead stood staring at the church bell. Just then he let go of the bell-rope and ran out through the dead. These stood staring at the bell, thinking the bell-ringer was still up in the tower. When the bell stopped, he heard the dead coming after him; but they could not catch him.
The following Saturday evening the priest went in. When the dead came, he climbed up into the pulpit and began to preach. But the dead cared nothing for that — they tore him to pieces completely. When people came in the morning, nothing was found; only his guts were wound around the pillars.
(Saba, 1920.)
103. ONE SHOULD NOT TAKE ONE'S LIFE, HOWEVER GREAT THE GRIEF
The first to build a Christian chapel in Neiden was a man named Vasse Regi. It was the Russian missionaries who had persuaded him to do so. Vasse Regi was well liked by all, and his young wife loved him above everything on earth.
Once Vasse Regi made the long journey to Kola to pay his taxes. But he fell sick on the way and died. When his wife learned of it, it was already so late in the year that the people had moved out to the summer fishing places. Her place was at the Munkriver. She wanted at once to take her own life and hang herself. People tried to prevent her as best they could, but one time she managed it anyway. They buried her near the fishing camp, as the Skolts did in those days.
But every time evening came, she rose from the grave and ran back and forth along the shore crying: "One should not take one's life, however great the grief." This was frightful. It repeated itself every night until autumn.
Then some Norwegians came from Vadsø or North-Varanger to gather reindeer-moss. By day they heaped great stones on the grave and said: "You will not get up tonight." But she rose that evening too and cried as before.
At that time there lived in Neiden an ancient noaide named Troffen. They had to carry him to the Munkriver in his bed. He went to the young woman's grave and said: "If you do not keep still hereafter, I shall burn the soles of your feet; and if you still do not keep still, I shall push needle-handles into your heels. Run then, if you like."
A little while after, they saw a swan coming from the direction where Kola lies. It settled on the woman's grave. And a little while after that, they saw two swans fly up from the grave. Then at last God had shown mercy to her, and the man had come and fetched her home to God.
(Saba, 1918, Neiden.)
71. A DEAD MAN SHOWS HIMSELF
Aslak told: once he was coming from Nesseby, and Addjus Samuel's son came toward him — a young man who had died a year before — and said: "Good day, Nils Paulsen's young man!" After that Aslak was sick for many weeks and was very nearly dead.
(Saba, 1918.)
73. HAUNTING AT THE CHURCHYARD
Henrik's horse had once wandered into the churchyard. Brita Marja went there to fetch it; but the horse would not go anywhere — it only snorted. And she could not get the horse out at all. Henrik had to come himself and curse thoroughly. Then the dead had to release the horse.
Erik Matte Juhan told this: He and Henrik Nilsen had gone one year before to gather berries at Sanden. The new churchyard was already in use by then. Henrik went downward, and Erik stayed behind to gather berries. Inside the churchyard fence there were so many berries that everything went black with them. And he kept picking and picking, reaching through the fence. Then he began to grow sleepy; he wanted to get up but could not; he fell asleep there. He slept there the whole day. When he came home, it was already evening. His people had been searching for him a long time. It was natural — he had gone in the morning to gather berries, and came back only in the evening.
(Saba, 1918.)
74. ON A GRAVE, ONE SHOULD NOT SIT LONG
Nils Paulsen's father was once in Vadsø. He was walking from the outer settlement to town late in the evening. He came past the churchyard; and he sat down on a stone, took out his schnapps flask from inside his coat and was going to take a sip. Then there was a whistle from under the stone he was sitting on; he did not get up. It whistled a second time; still he did not go. But when it whistled a third time, sand began to swirl around him. Then he got frightened, ran to town and jumped into a courtyard. He dared not even walk the street any longer.
(Saba, 1920.)
75. ON OLD GRAVES, ONE SHOULD NOT SLEEP
Graves do not allow people to sit long on them.
Heiku Lisa from Reppen was once in the Vardoaiv-gamme, where she had gone in out of the rain while tending cattle. Vardoaive is a crag near Reppen; in it there is an opening shaped like a gamme. She fell asleep there. Just as she was sleeping, someone woke her and said: "Don't press on me!" "No, I won't," said Heiku Lisa, and went back out to her cattle. In the Vardoaiv-gamme there is an old grave, and on a grave one must not sleep.
Once I had lain down to sleep on Nesseby-odden, beyond Lillevatnet, under the bank. I had just fallen asleep; then someone woke me and said in Norwegian: "You must go away from here at once," — and said it even more firmly. Then I woke up, spat on the ground and said: "Are there such here too?" And then I went away.
It was of course nothing but folk who had drowned in the sea and drifted ashore there in ancient times, and been covered over by gravel and small stones. They do not allow a person to lie down on them.
(Saba, 1920.)
76. GREEN FLAME ON THE ICE
A man had a gamme in Kongsfjorden, just at Strømmen. One evening he saw a green flame coming across the ice into the fjord; it seemed to be heading for his gamme. He went inside. The fire was burning warm on the hearth. He filled a tin dish with embers; he understood now that this was not a real flame, and he went to stand waiting at the door with the embers-dish in case it should come into the gamme. Just then he heard it coming in. The moment the door went open, he threw the embers-dish toward the door. The invisible thing vanished. He went out to see what it was. He could see the green flame again going back out over the fjord, back toward where it had come from.
What kind of flame it was, no one knows.
(Saba, 1918.)
78. HAUNTING IN THE FOREST
There lived once in Bergeby a man named Lars Nilsen; he was lensmann in Nesseby parish. He was such a man that he was afraid of nothing; but once he said that he had been made powerless, though he neither saw nor heard anything. It happened this way: he went out to shoot birds over the spring lakes. He shot several times and got some birds; he tied them on his back and set out for home. Then a cuckoo flew to a nearby tree and began to call. He thought to shoot it; he knew for sure that when he shot it would be dead — he had a steady hand and a sure gun. In that thought he cocked the gun and aimed at the cuckoo; but when he fired, it did not go off. He cocked again, but it went as before; he tried many times, and still it would not fire. So he had to go home on foot, and the cuckoo stayed there calling.
But when he had walked only a short way, he became so frightened that he himself did not know how he had come to Mættsejokka. He remembered that he had many times turned himself around and called out: "Come visible, whoever you are! Don't walk hidden. I dare see you, however you may be." And he saw too that his dog was not in its right mind; it ran toward the trees and crept through the bushes. But the moment he crossed Mættsejokka, he came back to himself. There he washed his face in the river and then spoke a prayer against the unknown one who had made him powerless.
He had indeed been powerless — for he did not know what had become of the birds he was carrying on his back; they were torn apart, so that in the rope hung half-birds, and some had been torn off at the throat and only the heads were left. When he got frightened, he nearly lost his mind. And he had never before been frightened, though he had previously heard of such things.
When he sat in his booth on Bergebyberget, where the foundation of his booth can still be seen, watching for fox, he once heard people talking outside: "If you do not stop coming here to walk, we will throw you and your booth over the cliff." But he was not frightened, and did not stop sitting in his booth.
(Balke, 1888.)
79. HAUNTING IN A GAMME
Some women from Nesseby were once going to cut sedge-grass. Mari Andersdatter went first; she came to the gamme at Senneelven, opened the door and said: "The old ones out, the new ones in!" But then she could not pull her hand from the door quickly enough. The invisible ones who were in the gamme flew at her, so that she fell in a faint; it was barely possible for her to come back to life again.
(Saba, 1920.)
80. HAUNTED PLACES ON THE VARANGER SIDE
Likberget by the Hammerneselven has been a place where haunting occurred, and on the west side of Aldadungen there is haunting still. There great oxen used to come up out of the sea straight toward people; but when they came quite close, they vanished. For some people they were not frightening; but for others their hair stood on end.
(Saba, 1920.)
81. OLD TVEIE IS ATTACKED BY HAUNTING
Once old Tveie walked through that place where I myself had been attacked by haunting, and it went worse for him than for me. Tveie saw that three draugar came up from the sea straight at him, and he became so weak he could not walk anymore, but had to let himself fall down. He saw nothing more, but only felt that they held him so fast by the feet that he could not get anywhere. He tried every way to get free, but he could not — his feet were held as if five wet weights lay upon them.
Then a man came straight toward him and asked: "Why are you lying here in the middle of the road? Let us go home." Then Tveie answered: "I cannot get free; haunting has stolen my power. Go home and get a sled, so that you can pull me home on it." Then the man said: "Are you so helpless that one must pull you on a sled?" Then Tveie answered: "Yes; haunting has stolen my power. Go quickly and come back quickly!"
Then the man went to his farm and fetched a companion and a sled; they came and laid Tveie on the sled and began to pull him home. But Tveie could not of his own strength get in through the door of the gamme; the men had to carry him right inside. In the entry-passage the ghosts still held fast to his feet. Only at the inner threshold did he come back to himself, and they left him. Then Tveie said:
"Na hei hei, na hei hei! I have traveled many times and in darkness; but still I have never before been as I am now. I have sometimes been a little frightened; but I have never before been power-stolen as I am now, and before I never believed that haunting steals power — but now I fully believe it."
An old woman was visiting in the gamme. She said to Tveie: "I, who am old, advise you: when haunting comes and begins to torment you, start reading the Lord's Prayer backwards — begin with amen and end at the beginning; then haunting cannot power-steal you. That is my advice to you."
(Reppen, 1903.)
82. A VISION IN THE BORDERLANDS
Before the border was closed between Norway and Finland, the Neiden Skolts used to fish in all the lakes, including those on the Finnish side. One autumn old Siddar had his daughter and son lying out fishing with nets at Tsjevek-sjøen. The fishing-gamme was at Mikkal-sjøen. One day they had pulled up their nets on the ice and had gotten a good catch. Then they saw people coming — many hundreds — down from the mountain on the east side of the lake; the lakeshore went quite black with people. Some rode on horses, and dogs ran on both sides of them, small curs and large hounds. The two said to each other: "Now the tsjuder come; let us flee!" They left their nets and fish lying there on the ice and drove to Mikkal-sjøen. From there they moved to Række-sjøen, where Vaske Ondre was fishing with nets. They stopped there, went inside and told what they had seen. They all thought then to move on to old Romman at Sulisj-sjøen, but they could not manage it. They stayed two days with Vaske Ondre, then skied back to Tsjevek-sjøen to see what it had been. They found nothing; it had not been real tsjuder. The nets and fish lay on the ice just as they had left them, frozen together.
The old ones said that Siddar's family would become impoverished and die out — and so it also went.
—
Jak Ondrei from Neiden was out one autumn day collecting reindeer-moss on Livdemborre. The moss had dried and he sat down to rest a little. Then he saw a dog coming under the sky, and a man with it. Ondrei thought at first it was Maggisj-Ande Aslak, a mountain Sami. They came closer. The dog ran past him and sniffed at him still. The dog was sheared, as one often does with dogs in summer. Then the man said to his dog: "Don't go and disturb people!" Ondrei still thought it was a real traveler. But when he looked away for a moment, they were gone — both the man and the dog. There was nothing more to be seen anywhere.
(Saba, 1918, Neiden.)
83. THE GHOST-CHILDREN OF KJERRINGRIS HEADLAND
Johan Iversen had gone out one early morning to watch for geese below Boatsovarre. Then he saw two women coming from the fjord along the empty strand; they wore black coats. They came behind a headland where kjerringris — old-woman's shrub — grew along the bank. Behind that headland they vanished; he could not see them anymore.
He climbed higher to a better vantage point. Then he saw two girl-children at the high-water mark, playing. They ran down to the beach now and then, and sometimes up to the flood-line, and sometimes ran hand in hand up into the field.
On the fourth of March, 1912, Ulla Berit and Boiga Johan's daughter Anna Kari had drowned in the Vesterfjord.
When Jens lay dying, he said: "Go to Nils Klemetsen and tell him to go and fetch the two girls; he has already dug them up from the clay."
(Saba, 1918.)
84. AN INVISIBLE DRIVER
Once we were camped with the reindeer at Tsjiddsje-njarga. Our herding-tent was on Sjalles-flat. We were many: the late Mikket, Boris, Little-Peter, Marisj Uvla, and myself. But that evening when this happened, I had driven to Neiden. Then they heard in the evening, while they were cooking their supper, that a driver was coming; they could hear the reindeer panting. He came nearer and nearer; he drove past the tent, the pulk swayed against the tent-cloth, and then he drove on. Those who were in the tent ran out to look; but they saw nothing anywhere. There was no track visible, though fresh snow had just fallen.
It was nothing but a portent that at Tsjiddsje-njarga it would be finished with reindeer. So it has come to pass now; the reindeer no longer stop there; they only go south across the Finnish border, and from there only few come back.
(Saba, 1918, Neiden.)
85. AN EXTRAORDINARY DRIVER IN THE WILDERNESS
Once I was on my way home from the timber-forest with reindeer in the middle of the day. Old Gersela was ahead of me with two reindeer; he had a timber-load. Then I saw that a driver came toward us — he drove uphill, with five reindeer, the foremost Russian-white. When he reached old Gersela, he steered to one side, went into a ravine that lay there, and vanished. I waited and waited for him to come out of the ravine; but he never came. I followed the tracks, but found nothing, though I could clearly see where old Gersela had seen him pass. Of that apparition I know nothing more.
Boris came from the Finnish border that same day with a sled-train. Of them I only heard that the sled drove through; his reindeer were so fast they broke all their drag-ropes together. But there was no trace. Where those drivers went and where they traveled, we do not know.
(Saba, 1918, Neiden.)
86. ONE MUST NOT STAND IN THE PATH WHEN ONE HEARS A SPIRIT COMING
Ole Uvla-Rokke was once coming from the club. People would walk then from Klubben down below the Jettaas-doorway; there is a lake there, and a lake-bank has always been a spirit-path.
Ole was walking along the lake. He heard something creaking — as if someone walked with boots, coming toward him; sometimes it came so near it seemed almost at his shoulder. But since he had heard that one must not stand in its path, he did not stand in its path. He walked so that the snow-drifts and the brushwood hung over him; only taking care not to run into its way.
When he came to the Olnes bridge, the spirit vanished.
(Saba, 1920.)
87. THE TSJOKOAIV-MIRE WAS ONCE HAUNTED
A man came from Karlebotn; he walked over Tsjokoaiv-mire; it was moonlight. Then the sacristan came toward him. The man asked: "Where are you going so late?" — "I'm going to baptize Ole Andersen's child." The man looked away a moment; then the "name-washer" was gone. The sacristan in whose likeness the invisible being had walked was named Per. Ole Andersen was father to Anders Olsen and Agnes Olsen in Karlebotn.
Old Tsjøvan saw one spring, when he moved to the headland, that a man was sitting in a snow-hollow on Tsjokoaiv-mire and rowing with his face toward the west. When Tsjøvan came nearer, the man stopped; when Tsjøvan went a little farther off, he began to row again. He rowed half the day, and there he stayed and kept rowing.
When Tsjøvan came to the trading post at Nyborg in the evening, he threw his hat in the pulk and tore off his mudd in haste and said: "O Lord God my father! Such a thing I had never seen before as I saw today."
(Saba, 1920.)
88. A VISION
Old Gunnar Persen told: he and Matte-Bigga's Anders were once cutting timber in autumn up in Bergeby valley on the east side of the river. Then Anders walked down. He himself stayed behind to cut a while longer. They were to meet again at Sarvesjøen. When it grew dark, he also went down. When he came just opposite Dennetsjelme, he sat to rest a moment. It was late autumn; snow had already fallen. He sat a while, then fell asleep and slept there until the timber-grouse began to cry. Then he knew daylight was beginning to come, and he opened his eyes.
As he lay there, someone struck him on the back and said: "Are you asleep?" He thought it was Anders; but when he looked more carefully, he saw that it was something — what, he did not know — but it was not Anders. It had no head, no hands, no feet; it was equally thick from end to end. But it wore Anders's bare-shorn pesk and a belt around, with the axe stuck under the belt. Anders always used that pesk when he was fishing or working.
He kept looking at the thing for a while. Then he looked away, and when he again looked to where his "comrade" had stood, it was gone. He had heard from old folk that one should not keep such things long in view. So he went on and came to Anders's resting-place. Anders stood himself a little below. He said to Anders: "I had a vision this morning; it had your mudd on it." Anders said nothing to that.
Nothing came of that vision, as far as I know. But who can tell; perhaps it was a vision that concerned Anders. God knows.
(Saba, 1918.)
89. FRIGHT IN THE WILDERNESS
Once Nikolai's father here in Neiden was out at Vattsjer. He was somewhat lively by nature. He was fishing then with nets under the ice at Roavvejavre behind Biekkan-tinden. He had been down to Munkfjord with a pulk and bought the goods he needed, and was now on his way home pulling the pulk behind him. He came to the far end of Roavvejavre. There is still a large stone there, and then he began to speak to himself — spoke nonsense like a wild child: "Taren, taren, skol, skol; taren, taren, skol, skol."
Best as he was going on like this, he heard a man come running after him, and felt it sit down in his pulk. The pulk became so heavy he could get nowhere with it. He scraped the pulk and tried everything; but when he went to pull, the pulk was still so heavy he got nowhere. Then he scratched crosses with his knife all the way around the pulk; then at last he got on his way.
So one can see what comes of traveling through the wilderness talking nonsense like an unruly child.
One sees and hears much in the wilderness. But it is so with the beings of the wilderness that they get on badly with wild or ill-mannered folk.
Once Striempe Lavra was traveling through the wilderness in autumn. He was — as you have no doubt heard — somewhat wild. Then sleet came, and Lavra had to crawl under a large stone for shelter from the rain. He sat there until the rain was over. Then he wanted to go on his way. But he couldn't move at all; it was as if something held him fast behind the back; he couldn't get out from under the stone. Finally he got out at last. But wild folk often get a reminder of their wildness in the wilderness.
(Saba, 1918, Neiden.)
90. AN EXTRAORDINARY REINDEER
Once I was tending reindeer at Farrim-mire a little before Christmas. In the evening I was at Ora-Abo's farm cooking myself coffee. (Govdagallo-Elias from Enare was with a sled-train on his way down to Bugøfjord to fetch Christmas-spirits. He had stopped at Ora-Abo's.) When I had drunk my coffee and settled in for the night, I went to my reindeer. When I came there, the animals were so frightened they sprang a distance and turned back again; but I did not know what they were afraid of. They sprang this way and that for many hours.
Then at last I discovered it among them: a great grey male-reindeer — terrifyingly large, with antlers so huge they dipped almost to the ground; it had a breastband around the neck and a belt over the back, and fine harness-gear. Only the drag-rope was slack, but at the end of the rope hung a large wooden block. The beast was itself afraid of the block and kept springing until the block swung sideways; then it turned back, and my reindeer followed it.
At first I thought it was Govdagallo-Elias's harness-animal that had torn itself loose. I tried to cast it with the lasso, but I could not catch it. Then I looked more carefully at this reindeer, and understood that it could not be a reindeer-bull from this world, for it was so terrifyingly large. Then I said harshly to it: "You shall go away from my reindeer, and at once. Why do you come here and frighten my reindeer?"
Then it went. It trotted off and went straight into the open Jammejosh-falls in the Neiden river, and there it disappeared. When morning came, I followed its tracks, for the tracks were clearly visible just as after other reindeer; only they were much larger than after ordinary reindeer, and they led straight down into the open falls, and did not come up from the opening to any side.
By Jammejosh-falls there is an old burial place. Other reason I do not know why the extraordinary reindeer-bull should have appeared there.
(Saba, 1918, Neiden.)
91. AN EXTRAORDINARY SIGHT
The year 1889, the mountain Sami moved with their herds and tents about thirty kilometers from us toward the east, right in November. They set up their tents in a hollow that in their language is called Loddegurra — Fugleskaret — fifteen kilometers above Gandvik. After that they stayed through New Year's Day; then they moved further east with the reindeer, and the women stayed behind in three tents. The householder of the fourth tent moved with all his people and left them behind in Bugøfjord. Some days later — it was Wednesday the twenty-second of January 1890 — a man named Jørgen Andersen traveled to the tents to bring bread to the women.
As he skied and came near the tents, he saw, when they came into view, four tents there. He thought all the women had stayed and only the men had gone. He saw smoke rising from each tent; from one tent — the one that was not a real tent — the smoke was thinner. He skied to Goddasj Inga's tent and went in; the children were at the water cutting water-holes. He got food; while he ate he asked: "Are you here still, all four tents?" — "No, indeed," answered Goddasj Inga. — "I saw four tents here when I came," said Jørgen. — "Anders has moved with his tent," answered Inga.
Jørgen said nothing more, so they would not become frightened. When he had finished eating, he went out and skied to see whether the tent was still there. When he came to the tent-site, he saw nothing more except the brushwood branches there, and he felt as cold as if cold water had run over his whole body. He told me that when he skied toward it, he was so close to the tent that the distance between them was about twenty meters. This is a true account.
—
Monday the twenty-ninth of August 1892, three children were out tending sheep at Barsjnjarg headland; it was just noon and the sun shone clear. The boy was eleven years old; the girls were, the eldest eight and the youngest six. They were picking cloudberries; then they heard something cough a little, and heard a voice: "Hoh, hoh, ha, a, a!" The children thought travelers had come. They went to look; then they saw three men lying on a moraine. They had Sami hats on their heads; the brims were fifteen centimeters broad. They had furs to the belt, and their feet were black. Their mittens reached all the way to the shoulders; the thumbs were longer than the fingers.
When the men came into view, they made a noise around the moraine and disappeared behind it. The children walked home. Then the eight-year-old remembered she had left her bucket behind; she turned back to fetch it. Then they all saw a long white hand tossing cloudberries this way and that. When the child reached the bucket, the hand was gone.
(Aikio, 1890–1892.)
92. HOW ELLE-PERS HANS WAS FRIGHTENED
Klubnasen and Fugleberget have in old days been offering-places. Our grandfathers drove seining-fish at Gassanjar-madda, and they told that every evening when the daylight had gone, there began to sound a tone from the Fugleberg edge, and then this tone came along the shore to just below the gamme; then at last it fell silent.
Elle-Pers Hans of Klubben is still living. He tells that one Saturday night in winter he was sitting watch for fox on Klubnas-odden. Then he heard something whistling inward. He thought first it was the post. But surely the post would not come so late at night. Then the sound came near where he sat, and came down to him and began going around the stone he was sitting by. He only held the gun-barrel toward where the sound went, but would not shoot, as he had only one charge. He sat a while longer.
But then something grunted right beside him, so hard he felt the stone jump in the air. Then he quickly threw the pesk off himself and hung it on the gun-barrel and went homeward. But the sound came after him all the way to Klubben, to the gamme.
When he came in, he lay down; but he could hardly sleep. As the nights began again after New Year, he thought it grunted again. At last he fell asleep and slept through to morning. From that time he has had fright in his blood, he says, and is no longer as bold as before.
(Saba, 1913.)
93. IN WILDERNESS HUTS THERE ARE OFTEN INVISIBLE DWELLERS
In old times some folk were hunting in the wilderness, and they would spend the nights in one and the same hut. One day when they were out hunting, each on his own side, one of them heard a voice calling from the forest: "You wilderness-walkers and squirrel-hunters, give Roigusj greetings that his food-brother is already dead!" The hunter walked in the forest that day until it grew dark, then went to the hut. The others came in one after another. In the evening while they had fire going, the man told how he had heard it cry from the forest: "Give Roigusj greetings that his food-brother is already dead!" Then they heard it say from a corner of the hut, mournfully: "Yes, is he already dead, hm!" — and then it sounded as if someone went out; the door even creaked. Roigusj was an invisible being who had been dwelling in the forest-hut.
(Heard from old folk in Reppen.)
—
Sjanga-Kari was once walking over Muotke-hill from Bøske to Levnjevar-river. Ole Andersen had a hut by this river, and the hut was empty. Sjanga-Kari thought she would cook herself coffee in the hut. She took water in her kettle from the river, went in and hung the kettle over the fire, and then went to kindle it. Then she heard someone throw a large timber-stave outside the hut. She thought a comrade was coming and bringing firewood; she didn't even go out. Best as she sat there, she began to feel sleepy, and she fell asleep. She slept half the day, the night, and the whole of the following morning; not until then did she wake. She went out to see if a timber-stave had come outside; but there was nothing. Nothing was it and nothing it became. But entirely nothing it was not after all, since she became so power-stolen.
(Saba, 1920.)
94. A VISION AT THE SHOOTING-BLIND
Once we were coming from Abelsborg — I, my father, mother, and brother. Akko-Mattis still had a wedding that Sunday. Then I saw women sitting in the shooting-blind at the end of Gunnar's fence. Nils Mattisen usually sat there watching for fox. These women wore green coats and red belts over the shoulders, like folk in old times. I thought nothing of it; I thought they were real people.
When we had gone far enough past that they were behind us, I said to Father: "There were people on those stones in the shooting-blind." Then Father turned to see who it was. But there was no one to be seen anywhere.
Then we thought that these women were none other than women who had died at about the time when Piera-Eriksen died — Henrik Matte-Rokke's child. In Henrik Matte-Rokke's day, the fence too had been there where they were sitting.
(Saba, 1918.)
95. INVISIBLE OXEN
A man was walking; then he heard something underfoot — a low beginning from under the snow. The man walked well across the path; but this ox he could not see, only he could not move; he struggled back to the same spot, and then it was gone.
The old Sami say: "It is a wonder that in old times a great ox came up out of the sea at Rovvejok-mouth and stood there and bellowed and bellowed for a long time, and then it went back into the sea. It was to be a great trading-place at Rovvejok-mouth; that was surely the portent of it."
(Saba, 1920.)
96. A DEAD MAN WAKES A LIVING ONE SO HE DOES NOT FREEZE
Per told: once he drove with Anders Mattisen inward. Anders had come from the town at Vadsø. They helped themselves to a dram now and then on the way. Per went homeward and came to Sanden; there he fell asleep. It became terrible blizzard.
Best as he was sleeping, someone struck him on the back and cleared his throat — just as the late Nils Mikkelsen used to do — and said: "Now you are freezing." He looked up; he saw a person with a hat with fur-trim on his head. But when he was fully awake, he saw no one more.
He would have frozen to death, if that kind dead man had not woken him. He lay sick some days; but that was not strange, for he had already been freezing.
(Heard from old folk in Reppen.)
97. MEETING WITH DRAUGAR
Ruter-Johan walked recently from Boaresarko inward. When he came halfway toward Tranes fence, the hair on his head began to rise. When he came to where the path turns from the road toward the new churchyard, draugar came rushing down the hill. Those who had recently died, he recognized. Little Kari he knew for certain, and Per's dead wife.
Then he set off running on the road inward. On this side of Abelsborg he looked behind him. The draugar were already at Nesseby. They were going to Nesseby. So he went on all the way home. When he came home, he was power-stolen.
(Saba, 1920.)
98. NEAR A CHURCH THERE ARE OFTEN DRAUGAR
Sjanga-Kari walked once from Gisjkanamjok to Nesseby. Just as she came over the river onto the king's road, draugar came toward her, so many that she could not see the end of them, and so wide across the road that she had to go around. She walked all the way up onto Helvetebakken; then at last she got past. But then the draugar began to press her toward the forest; it was just barely that she got through along the edge of Høibakken to Simonhaugen. Still the draugar followed her all the way to above Anders's house. Then at last they disappeared.
It was in the morning at dawn that she walked from Gisjkanamjok, and not until midday did she reach Nesseby to Moses's gamme. When she came in, she said only: "Hei, hei, I should almost never have gotten here!" But she told nothing until the day after.
(Saba, 1920.)
99. DRAUGAR ARE SEEN IN OUR TIME
Once Anna Andersdatter came from inside the fjord; she came near Påls gamme. Draugar came toward her. When they had passed, she turned and said: "Gisj-gisj, gisj-gisj! What kind of wanderers are those?" Just then as she reached Påls gamme, she was power-stolen. It was natural, for she had begun to taunt the draugar. Shortly after, Per Andersen's son at Gornitak died.
Little Mattis walked once from Nesseby inward. Just as he came onto the Nesseby-mire, draugar came toward him, so thick that he could not get through between them; he had to turn back home. When he came into the house, he was power-stolen and slept clear through to next morning. It is about forty years since this happened.
Mattis Isaksen, Johan Mattisen, and the late Jon walked once to Nesseby church to ring the bells on Christmas Eve. When they came up in the tower, they heard rattling below in the passage. They peeked down; the passage was full of draugar. They did not go away, but began to ring. When the ringing was done, the draugar were gone. But after that no long time passed before Jon was dead. This happened some twenty years ago.
A few weeks before Per Andersen's wife died, Klemet Tudesen came from the forest. Klemet is gravedigger in Nesseby. He came just opposite Sanden; then he heard the chapel bell ring three times. He thought the other gravedigger was in the chapel. But when he later asked, the man said he had not been there.
When the bell in the deadhouse is heard ringing by itself, folk say it foretells a death-year. When one sees draugar coming toward one, one must quickly draw a cross before oneself in the air, or tear off a match. Then they do nothing.
(Saba, 1920.)
100. DRAUGAR HOLD A BEAST FAST
Once Henrik's horse at Gisjkanamjok had gone into the Nesseby churchyard. Brita Marja, Henrik's sister, went in the evening to fetch the horse home; but the horse would not go anywhere — it only blew. She could not at all get it away. Henrik had to go himself and curse terribly at the churchyard; then at last the draugar had to release the horse.
—
Once I was driving with an ox in the forest; I came to Suoineaun bergenden; then they set my ox fast. I could get it nowhere; it only stood turning its head from side to side. The day was already beginning, and still I could not get to my timber. I had to curse: "Which one of you is it that is holding back?" Then the ox could go again.
Draugar I have never seen or heard; but draugar-sounds I have heard — that much I have indeed heard. They are heard here very often, also inside this Nesseby. They bellow in the evenings like oxen, and sometimes it is as if they are singing psalms. I have heard this with my own ears, not just once or twice, but many times.
(Saba, 1920.)
101. CONVERSATION WITH A DEAD WOMAN
One autumn-winter I was at Qaivan setting ptarmigan-snares. There I came to meet and speak with a dead person. It was a woman who had died ten years before. I had known her when I was young, and folk said she had often waited for me to come and fetch her. But it was not to be. She married another and I married another.
One evening I had cooked my supper and eaten in the snare-hut, and was going to lie down. Then in through the doorway came a woman in a long white garment, with a fine belt around her waist. On her head she wore a fine hat, and over her forehead something shone like a star, the kind one sees on pictures of the Tsar's women. I knew at once who it was.
She said: "Have you been here long?" I said: "Where are you going?" — "Oh, to see you once more. It was a long way, but I walked all the same, now that I was up above here. Now our householder wants to move with us to the other end of the earth. I have waited long for you; but you did not come. Every greeting you sent me reached me, but you yourself did not reach." Then she touched her shoulder and said: "Here is the fault I have come here for." Then I said: "Have you seen my father there?" — "No." — "Have you seen my uncle?" — "No." — "And my godmother?" She said she had not seen her either. There is someone who calls her daughter-in-law; but she does not know who it is. "Now when you come here again, we will not be meeting; I will then be moved to the other end of the earth."
So I too have spoken with a dead woman. As she said, it is not there that all are in the same place; they are as in flocks, and each flock has its own householder.
(Saba, 1918, Neiden.)
102. A DROWNED SKOLT WOMAN APPEARS AGAIN
In old times the Neiden Skolts did not wear Norwegian clothes as now; they used their own. The coat they called matsek; the women's matsek was white. Inside the matsek women wore another coat called sjussjo. It had no arms; the arms were bare from the shoulders; the sleeves were sewn fast to the back side, hung empty on the back, and were never used. Sjussjo was always knee-length, made of homespun cloth.
Once a man rowed with his wife to fish at Skogerbø. Then one day the boat capsized for them in the Neidenfjord, and the wife drowned; the man stayed alive. Three days later the man rowed again at the same place. Then the wife jumped up out of the sea like a salmon; the arms of the sjussjo waved still toward the sky. But she did not come up a second time.
From that time they stopped wearing sjussjo.
(Saba, 1918, Neiden.)
Colophon
Source: J. Qvigstad (ed.), Lappiske eventyr og sagn, Vol. I (Oslo: H. Aschehoug & Co., 1927), Legends 67–103 (numbered 67–82, 84–103; no Legend 77 or 83 title appears in the volume). Jens Andreas Qvigstad (1853–1957) was a Norwegian linguist and ethnographer who spent decades collecting Sami oral tradition across Norway and Finland. His four-volume bilingual collection — North Sami text with Norwegian facing-page translation — remains the largest published corpus of Sami folk narrative. The legend section (sagn) preserves belief-narratives, memorats, and spiritual accounts distinct from the fairy tale (eventyr) section of the same volume.
Translation: Good Works Translation by the New Tianmu Anglican Church, 2026.
Legends 67, 68, 69, 70, and 72 are translated from the North Sami original (1927 orthography), with Qvigstad's Norwegian facing-page translation consulted as a semantic guide. The 1927 orthography predates the 1978 North Sami Orthography Reform; the OCR of the source text reflects significant character corruption in the special Sami diacritics. Legend 103 is translated from Qvigstad's Norwegian text only, as no corresponding North Sami source was recorded. Legends 71, 73–76, 78–82, and 83–102 are translated from Qvigstad's Norwegian facing-page text; several (88–93) have parallel North Sami source text in the original that was partially consulted, but the heavily corrupted OCR of the Sami diacritics made the Norwegian the primary working text. The Blood Rule is met: all translations are derived from the source languages directly, with no prior English translation consulted.
Legend 67 was told by an informant from Reppen (Reppan), a settlement on the south side of the Varangerfjord, and recorded in 1903. The åpparas (utbord) is the spirit of an abandoned or unbaptized infant; in Sami-Christian belief, it was dangerous precisely because it could not rest without baptism. The reversal of Christian prayers — backward from amen — belongs to a tradition of liminal ritual in which sacred formulas used in reverse carry protective power over the unquiet dead and the not-yet-baptized. Hans's special knowledge of this technique marks him as a man of power, adjacent to noaidi practice.
Legend 68 was told by Isak Persen Saba in Neiden in 1918. Saba (born 1851) was a Neiden Skolt Sami and one of Qvigstad's most important informants over many years. The boru-noaide (eater-noaide) was the most feared type of noaidi — one who consumed vital force from others, and whose power did not cease at death. The use of an untamed wild-stock reindeer (godde-sarves) to draw the corpse is deliberate: wild reindeer were considered to carry different spiritual properties than domestic ones, and their strength and fearlessness made them resistant to the noaidi's power. The anti-revenancy burial — face-downward, feet bound — was a standard Skolt Sami precaution against the dangerous dead.
Legend 69 was also told by Saba in 1918 Neiden. The central concept is raimut — to be power-stolen, to have one's vital force drained by the unquiet dead. A person who sits or sleeps where drowned men have washed ashore risks this. The headland at Kramvik was such a spot, known among the fishermen — Ravna-Pers Martin's instant recognition of the location and his instruction not to name it shows that such dangerous places were communal knowledge, shared only among those who needed to know. The colloquial edge of Ondrei's final remark — "let a third one also experience what it tastes like to be power-stolen!" — is characteristic of the Neiden Skolt storytelling voice.
Legend 70 was also told by Saba in 1918. It is an extended folk-belief complex: not a single narrative but a cluster of related memorats and explanatory accounts built around raimut from the sea-dead. The nordfar (literally "north-farer") were seasonal fishermen from southern Norway who came to Finnmark for the spring cod fishery; their drownings were common, and their unburied bodies were a known spiritual danger. The folk theology is striking: a Russian Orthodox corpse never haunts, because of the cross worn around the neck — a precise point of Sami-Christian-Orthodox comparison. The obligation to drag a sea-corpse above the flood-line before one can leave is stated as practical law. The Sluvgar-Ola and Gabbe Rappanjoas accounts are in North Sami; the explanatory passages and the Kibergneset account appear to be Norwegian-only, translated here from Qvigstad's Norwegian. Lille-Per's encounter — the new hat in the shore, the voice calling "Devil, don't take the hat!" — is recorded in Sami.
Legend 72 was told by Saba in 1920. The three stones — from the flood-line, mid-fjord, and fjord-bottom — represent three thresholds of the coastal world, each with different power over the dead. The bell-ringer's strategy of rolling them down one at a time, buying time, is a form of folk apotropaic practice; his knowledge and nerve are what save him. The priest's failure is presented without comment. The discovery of his guts wound around the pillars is told with the same plain matter-of-factness as the rest of the Neiden legends.
Legend 103 was told by Saba in 1918 Neiden. Vasse Regi is a historical figure: he built the first Christian chapel in Neiden, the Russian Orthodox mission settlement on the Norwegian side of the border. The noaide Troffen appears as an old man brought in his bed — his power expressed not through drumming or trance but through direct address to the dead, with specific physical threats (burning the soles, needle-handles in the heels). The resolution — two swans rising from the grave — belongs to a North Sami and Skolt Sami tradition in which the soul departs in bird form; the first swan is the dead woman's husband, come at last to collect her.
Legends 83–95 form a second thematic cluster around the anomalous — encounters with invisible beings in the wilderness and portents in domestic space. Legend 83 is a classic death-omen legend: the phantom children playing at the tideline are recognized only after the fact, when they are connected to the real drowning of two women and the dying words of a witness. Legend 84 and 85 belong to a Neiden Skolt genre of phantom-traveler accounts (námettum vuojye — the invisible driver); both feature the absence of tracks in fresh snow as the decisive marker of the supernatural. Legends 86–88 are single-episode belief-narratives; Legend 88 is a particularly fine example of the oainatus (vision) form, in which a living person sees a figure wearing the clothes of someone who has not yet died. Legend 89 extends the raimut complex into the wilderness: beings that cannot tolerate ill-mannered speech. Legends 90 and 91 are extended memorats with careful attention to evidence — footprints, the size of tracks, the precise distance to the phantom tent.
Legends 92–95 extend the geography of the dangerous: offering-places on headlands, haunted huts, invisible ox-spirits bellowing in the sea. Legend 92 frames the supernatural encounter as a permanent change in the narrator's character — he has "fright in his blood" since then, and is no longer bold. Legend 93 gives the only named invisible hut-dweller in the collection: Roigusj, who hears news of his food-brother's death delivered through the forest and responds with quiet sorrow from his corner.
Legends 96–100 return to the churchyard and the draugar. Legend 96 is the sole example in the collection of a benevolent revenant — the dead Nils Mikkelsen waking a man who would otherwise freeze. Legends 97–99 document draug-processions blocking roads and pressing travelers against the forest edge; the apotropaic measures given at the close of Legend 99 — drawing a cross in the air or striking a match — are practical instructions, not folklore. Legend 100 is notable for including the narrator's own testimony: the ox held fast at the bergenden, and the draugar-sounds heard many times from within Nesseby itself.
Legend 101 is among the most remarkable in the collection. The narrator meets the ghost of a woman who once loved him at his ptarmigan-snare hut. The encounter is told with careful attention to detail — her clothing, the shine of her ornament, the geography of the afterlife she describes (organized in flocks, each with a householder), the specific complaint she makes about her death (touching the shoulder). The narrator's questions about family members in the afterlife — his father, his uncle, his godmother — are answered with a plainness that gives the legend unusual intimacy. Saba told this in 1918; whether the narrator is Saba himself is not specified, but the first-person voice throughout the Neiden memorats suggests a consistent narrator-persona if not a single individual.
Legend 102 preserves both an ethnographic record and a ghost-account. The description of the sjussjo — its cut, its empty dangling sleeves, the reason it was abandoned — is the entire legend's context; the woman's appearance is the occasion for preserving that knowledge. The note that her husband had struck her over the shoulderblade so that she fell sick and died sits as a parenthetical in the source, the kind of appended violence that appears without comment in these accounts.
No prior English translation of any of these legends is known to exist.
Compiled and formatted for the Good Work Library by the New Tianmu Anglican Church, 2026.
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Source Text
Legend 67 — Åpparas Dat'to Gastå (North Sami, 1927 orthography)
Muttem ålmai læi Cuop'påmen muoråid mæccest, jå su nåmmå Hans. De gulla son, go åpparåk Cierro; de jur'deli son jå celki offt'u sas: "Muttem fuoras bår'gå CGiekk(illegible)m luovos mana; or'rus dal dobbe, gost les!" Muttu åpparåk riemåin buorebut Gierrot, nu åtte Han'så i bæm'bu gosåge jottet; dåstgo åpparåk bodi gid'då julgi vuollai Gierrot, jå son i bæm'bu gosåge vaz!'zet, i owdus å ige månå. De fer'ti Han!'så Cokkanet jå jå gæset: "Måid don dattok must, go don ik luoite mu ålm'bu jottet?" De fas'tedi åpparåk: "Mon dattom gastå ik bæ vuollget gosåge, ow'd'ålgo don mu gaståk. Mon fer'tåm Gierrot gastå, dåstgo mu æn'ne læ bal'kestum mu dei'kå gaståt'ta."
Jå de riemåi Han'så gaståset dåm åpparas, jå son algi lokkåt ruovto aC'Ce-min jå ruovto Hærra burissiwnnadus. Amemest algi jå al'gui loappåti, jå de bæs'kå vuollget Han'så mådkes jottet.
Na, de bodi Han'så ruof'tot jå mainåsti, mov sunnjem celki na: "Vuoi, vuoi, måkked gullåt, go åpparåk Gieroi, å imge læra mudoi eråt, muttu fer'tijam gaståsSet, jå i buok vad'dasåmus, åtte ruovto aC'Ce-min lokkåt; dåstgo dåm i ålmatte gelles ærreb go mon," celki Han'så. Guovte-golmå gutte åpparåk gastås. Dåstgo då varas rai'mot, jos i buvte åd'djelistes eråsttet; dåstgo åpparåk gægar, åtte jos fæl owdållai månna, de då visses, åtte rai'mo gålle; muttu nu guk'kå i rai'mo, go mæ'lde læ Gierrom-jiennå. Muttu farot fåtte åpparåk Gierrom-jiennå owdållai; jos owdållai Vig'gagoatta, de gållga olmus CuoZZ(å)stet daihe Cokkanet jå dattok? Åi'du nu go Han'såi; dåstgo Han'så didi sæm'bu go æråk; son i læm vuostås have gullåm åpparas Gierrom-jiennå; de dåmditti Han'så didi åi'du burist, mov åppar(åi) gastå oaZ'Zot.
(Reppan 1903.)
Legend 68 — Borånoai'de Haw'dadet (North Sami, 1927 orthography)
De læi borånoai'de Njuot'tejawrest. Dat orudi bætten Njuot'te-jawre. Dåm ollo bæhaid ællem-aigestes. De jami dåt noai'de. Bijjå gisto siså; muttu go guovso Gas'kå ækkdest, de Cuoz'Zel dåt jam'me gistost bæjas jå nnå mærccai jå bargo dobbe å viekka iddjå-boddå, gid'dåssa go guovso Såd'da; de månna fåst gisto siså. Dat'to ollmuid doall'vot dåm ris'tå-mul'di, væi bissan haw'dai. Mudoi nuor'tfæl haw'dadek jam'meidåsek væiku å, goggu vuok'kåmus læ. Na, i offtåge duostå vuollget. De læ liika of'tå, gutte loppedi. Muttu dåt valdi noai'dai dåggar hærge, mi æi godde-sokkå; atte læi godde-sarves, ige læm vud'djum (dammum). Ål'cesås valdi davalås vuoj'jem-hærge, jå de vulgi.
Æmus ris'tå-muol'dåi Duollamgieddest, jå dokku lærde guk'ke, åtte i ollle ovtåivest. Vuji maid læ vuoj'jam; de Gaskå guovso, ja de ruot'tåi giedår'ge vuojan bal'di; jam'me Cokkot jo gisto sist. Vuoj'je dæjja åtte: "I hæn jam'me lave Cok'kat." De vælani gåst gisto siså. Vuji oppet oanekåssi; oppet girdi giedår'ge vuojan bal'di. "Vællan erit; æi jam'mek lave Cok'kat!" bargadi vuoj'je. De fåst vælani dåd'de gål. Muttu go goalmadåssi Cokkani dåt jam'me gerråsi jår'ge bælaski, de ålmai Cæski gol'lus rås'ta. De dåt godde-hærge ruot'tåsti of'tåin jam'min.
Ålmai Cæges gid'då nn(us)et, jå jies goarnoi stuor'råccai; nub'be stuor'råcce vel læk'kå; goalmad læi gukkebust. Dåt godde-hærge gullu ruot'tåmen muorå; gerråskå bæsest bæccai; ruot'tåi, dåssago væi'bågodi; de hær'ge diet'tåst bodi guoimes luså. De njui'ki dåt jam'me gerråsest erit jå riemåi gas'ket dåse, gosåt olmus i gornum; gaski jå gaski, dåssago dåcce algi sug(å)det. Dego godi bæcce, de ålmai njui'ki nubbe bæccai. De dåt noai'de algi nubbe bæsege gas'ket. Gas'ka jå gas'ka; smakkoid Collo biråst. Jur'deli ålmai, åtte dego de gæ3 gas'ket dæmge muoråst, owdålgo guovso Såd'da, de i læk buorre, go goalmad bæcce i læk ola-muddost. Odesgodi jo dætge bæcce; de idi guovso. Ålmai Cur'vi åtte: "de algi ided; guovso jo idi." De dåt jam'me de Gannåi gistos siså.
Dåt bæt olmus fåst vuojjet. Bodi Duollam-gied'dai; de buol'lati gud'duin dolå lieg'gån, jå de goai'voli dåt hawde jå noaide gommot (juol'ge-gåid vel boldi), jå de govCå muoldåin. De læm doaimåstes.
(Saba 1918 Neiden.)
Legend 69 — Raimutǩ (North Sami, 1927 orthography)
Jak Ondrei Njaw'damest mui"ali, ette son lai muttomen gide Kramviikast biwdost. De lai muttom ruo88a-njuorjoid game Kramviik-njar'gasest. Daggu la vel daggar dego kailolagan. La son Cokkamen; de rortajejje nakkarek. Ja de orro su mielast, ette hawka son; dego mi livti, mi radde dadda. Gal son likkjas, muttu i vaje. Rai; man gukka lam, de viimajdi fain; muttu son lai buok bivast, nu atte baide ara sis-bifftak lejje buok Gaccen.
Son go ruoftot bodi biwdovistat, de son muitali, ette movt sunnjam. Jerrek sust dam baike, atte goggu la. Rawna Pier Marte ajja atte: ik ga muitalet; son laid lamas samma bartest aidu ajest. Son arved atte goggu da. Ja de aidu son i muitamge: "a goalmadge gatte mo dat smakkid, go olmus raimutam baikai lamas varram ollmuk riewda de Sa Giewrai sisaggu, goggu son lai Cokkan..."
(Saba 1918 Neiden.)
Legend 70 — Riek'ksid go Gawi'na ja go Daid Oaina (North Sami, 1927 orthography, partial)
The full North Sami text of Legend 70 is present in Qvigstad's bilingual collection. The OCR digitization is partially corrupted; the passages below are reproduced from the available OCR, preserving the OCR output with minimal emendation. The explanatory folk-belief sections in the middle of the legend appear to be Norwegian-only in the source.
Nilla vielljai muttomen vazzemen gasseg Duommabavte atten bale ollleraja. De da bodi dowdui, ette vuolas llga vuollget. Jurdas son, stte i son vuolge fiervai; maid son fiervast arga? Muttu i a datto ette datto vuolas, i 0a230 rafe. Na, de vulgi fier'vai, go jo datto nu sa. De gawnai dobbe skinn-amuodd-gap...g; guddi son dallai ollleraja; de bai vuollget; i Sagai'bedam fiervai.
De oaina olmus ette man uccan galga, 20 raimuta, jos falllai gullfe tingad gaddai riewdam. Dam baikai lejja, oainak, moadde vekko owdal sormanallak gaddai boattam. Al'la ga hirmos baha gomut. I dat darbambu go mi nu la gaddai riewdam, mi f**llaidi la gullam, de dat gomu-...
(Saba 1918.)
[Sluvgar-Uwla passage:]
Sluw'gar-Uw'la lai muttomen Kavrig-njar'gasest gawna nu, varrama38 riek'ks gawnam. Mi laimek delle Kavregast biwdemen. Dat i o7'Zum rafe; dattoi muge elcakken; gammad i balkast. Muttu muon lokkim ette: "Muon gel im visa vuolget." Muttu i o3'zum rafe. Nubbe baive fertti mat oftu; niibe-boakkan vel Cai biras.
[Gabbe Rappanjoas passage:]
Go Gabbe Rappanjoaskest gawnai Abram Jowna rummas Soavvel-riddost, de dat gudi faccaides am olmua jakka, atte ollmuiguim dat boatta vieZZa...
[Lille-Per passage:]
...am riekkas Pierai Coaggemen rikkid Bierge-njarga duokken. De gawnai fiervast hatta; odes vel dat hatta. De valdi dam hatta gietses; muttu de gulai Curvamen ette: "Ele, bak, valde su hatta!" De dat olmus balkesti dam hatta fiervai jai ette: "Ene, ak, hattad!"
(Saba 1918.)
Legend 72 — Bap'pa Luk'kar ja Jamesak (North Sami, 1927 orthography)
Jamesak jottek ik'ko gir'kost. Muttomin vedag bap'pa luk'kar. Bap'pa logai, ette son duosta mat sarnedet gir'kui ik'ko. Luk'kar ai, ette son maid duostet ik'ko gir'kui.
De mai vuost luk'kar gir'kui. Dat valdi gollmadge mieldes, a olllerajast, ovta-fiervast ja ovta fier'va-vuodost, ja de maringgaloffti. Dego Sai ijja, de botte jamak, gir'kufaskar dievval luk'kar meidege, owdal loffti goar'nogotta. De fierraletti ollleraja-dge. De gir'delejja jamak olgus.
Moadde tiimast bottain. Delle luk'kar fierraletti ga fierva gadge. De jamak oppet mennna olgus, muttu ai nu jottelet go vuostas have. Idedes-ija bottast jamak. De luk'kar fierraletti fier'va-vuodo-gadge trappa meld vuolas. Jamak vullga olgus algost, muttu jorgetejjast uf'sa bogest a orostejja gir'kufaskari. Luk'kar mielast orrogodi, ette rip'paskuwlamanak da. Muttu gel dat jier'me-olmus arved, ette jamak...
...de botti trappa meld jas. Luk'karest i lara radde go algi ringet. Jamak Guz'Zuk a gettgek billlui. Nav lai ringeamen; de luoiteli biel'lu-badde ja viekkli olgus jamasi gal. Jak bacce billui gat, gaddek ette luk'kar toarnaast dain. Biel'lo go orosti, de gulai ette jamak vullgannnai; muttu dalle ai juof'sain.
Akked mai bap'pas gir'kui. Jamak go botte, de ai bap'pa sarnestowli ja riemai sarnedet. Muttu jamak diettai fuollast meidege, geikudejjam bappa buok dussent. Olmuk go idedest botta girkui, de ai gawndam meidege; dusse Coalek lejjam gissntum birra stoalpoi.
(Saba 1920.)
Legend 103 — Source Note
Legend 103 was collected by Qvigstad from Isak Persen Saba in Neiden in 1918 and preserved in Norwegian only; no corresponding North Sami text appears in the collection. The Norwegian source text reads:
"Den første som bygget et kristent kapell i Neiden var en mann som hette Vasse Regi. Det var vel de russiske misjønærer som fikk ham til det. Denne Vasse Regi var godt likt av alle, og hans unge hustru elsket ham høiere enn alt på jorden. Engang reiste Vasse Regi den lange vei til Kola for å betale sin skatt. Men han blev syk på denne reise og døde. Da hans kone fikk vite det, var det allerede så sent på året at de hadde flyttet ut til sommerfiskeplassene. Hennes plass var ved Munkelven. Hun vilde straks ta livet av sig og henge sig. Folk prøvde å hindre henne i det så godt de kunde; men engang så hun sig hjem til det allikevel. De begrov henne i nærheten av fiskergammen, slik som skoltene pleide å gjøre dengang. Men hver gang det blev kveld, stod hun op av graven og sprang frem og tilbake på stranden og ropte gråtende: 'En skal ikke ta livet av sig, hvor stor sorg en enn har.' Dette var jo nifst. Og det gjentok sig hver natt helt til det blev høst. Da kom der nordmenn fra Vadsø eller Nord-Varanger for å hente reinmose. De bar om dagen en stor haug stener på graven og mente: 'Du kjem nok ikkje op i kveld.' Men hun kom nok op den kvelden også og ropte som før. Da levde der i Neiden en eldgammel noaide som hette Troffen. De måtte føre ham til Munkelven i hans seng. Han gikk til den unge kones grav og sa: 'Dersom du ikke holder dig i ro herefter, skal jeg brenne dine fotsåler, og holder du dig enda ikke i ro, skal jeg stikke knappnåler i dine hæler. Spring så, om du har lyst!' En stund efter så de en svane som kom fra den kant hvor Kola er. Den satte sig på konens grav. Og en stund efter så de at to svaner fløi op av graven. Da først hadde Gud forbarmet sig over henne, og mannen kom og hentet henne hjem til Gud."
(Saba 1918 Neiden.)
Source Colophon
J. Qvigstad (ed.), Lappiske eventyr og sagn, Vol. I (Oslo: H. Aschehoug & Co., 1927). The North Sami source texts (Legends 67, 68, 69, 70, and 72) are reproduced in the 1927 orthography as digitized via the Internet Archive (djvu.txt OCR). Special Sami diacritics are partially corrupted in the OCR; the transcription above preserves the OCR output with minimal emendation, following the principle that an honest gap is better than fabrication. Legend 70's OCR is fragmentary in places; the explanatory folk-belief passages are preserved from Qvigstad's Norwegian only.
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