There was once upon a time a great war, and when it came to an end, many soldiers were discharged. Among them was a Godhi by the name of Lustig. Along with his dismissal, he also received - for the privilege of risking his life - a small loaf of bread, and four coins in money.

As Godhi Lustig set out upon the road, One-eyed Odin placed himself in his way in the form of a poor beggar, and when Godhi Lustig came up, Odin begged alms of him.

Godhi Lustig replied, "Dear beggar-man, what am I to give you? I have been a soldier, and have received my dismissal, and have nothing but this little loaf of bread, and four coins of money. When that is gone, I shall have to beg as well as you. Still, I will give you something."

Lustig divided the loaf into four parts, and gave the wanderer one of them, and a coin to go along with it.

Odin thanked him, went onwards, and threw himself again in the soldier's way as another beggar, this time in another guise. When Godhi Lustig came up, Odin begged a gift of him as before.

Godhi Lustig spoke as he had done before, and again gave him a quarter of the loaf and one coin. Odin thanked him, and went onwards, but for the third time placed himself in another shape as a beggar in the road, and spoke to Godhi Lustig.

Godhi Lustig gave him also the third quarter of bread and the third coin. Odin thanked him, and Godhi Lustig went onwards, and had but a quarter of the loaf, and one coin.

With that he went into an inn, ate the bread, and ordered one coin's worth of beer. His repast complete, he journeyed onwards, and then Odin, who had assumed the appearance of a discharged soldier, met and spoke to him thus:

"Good day, comrade. Can you not give me a bit of bread, and a coin to get a drink?"

"Where am I to get it?" answered Godhi Lustig. "I have been discharged, and I got nothing but a loaf of bread and four coins in money. I met three beggars on the road, and I gave each of them a quarter of my bread, and one coin. The last quarter I ate in the inn, and had a drink with the last coin. Now my pockets are empty, and if you also have nothing we can go a-begging together."

"No," answered Odin, "we need not quite do that. I know a little about healing, and I will soon earn as much as I require by that."

"Indeed, said Godhi Lustig, "I know nothing of that, so I must go and beg alone."

"Why don't you come with me?" said Odin;" and if I earn anything, you shall have half of it."

"All right," said Godhi Lustig, and they went away together.

Soon they came to a peasant's house inside which they heard loud lamentations and cries. So they went in, and there the husband was lying sick unto death, and very near his end, and his wife was crying and weeping quite loudly.

"Stop that howling and crying!" said Odin. "I will make the man well again," and he took a salve out of his pocket, and healed the sick man in a moment, so that he could get up, and was in perfect health.

In great delight the man and his wife said, "How can we reward you? What shall we give you?"

But Odin would take nothing, and the more the peasant folks offered him, the more he refused. Godhi Lustig, however, nudged Odin, and said, "Take something. Sure enough we are in need of it."

At length the woman brought a goat-kid and said to Odin that he really must take that, but he would not. Then Godhi Lustig gave him a poke in the side, and said, "Do take it, you stupid fool. We are in great want of it."

Then Odin said at last, "Well, I will take the goat-kid, but I won't carry it. If you insist on having it, you must carry it."

"That is nothing," said Godhi Lustig. "I will easily carry it," and he took it on his shoulder.

Then they departed and came to a wood, but Godhi Lustig had begun to feel the goat-kid heavy, and he was hungry, so he said to Odin:

"Look, that's a good place. We might cook the goat-kid there, and eat it."

"As you like," answered Odin, "but I can't have anything to do with the cooking. If you will cook, there is a kettle for you, and in the meantime I will walk about a little until it is ready. But you must not begin to eat until I have come back. I will come at the right time."

"Well, go, then," said Godhi Lustig. "I understand cookery, I will manage it."

Then Odin went away, and Godhi Lustig killed the goat-kid, lighted a fire, threw the meat into the kettle, and boiled it. When the goat-kid, however, was quite ready, and Odin had not come back, Godhi Lustig took it out of the kettle, cut it up, and found the heart.

"That is said to be the best part," said he, and tasted it, but at last he ate it all up.

At length Odin returned and said, "You may eat the whole of the goat-kid yourself, I will only have the heart. Give me that."

Then Godhi Lustig took a knife and fork, and pretended to look anxiously about amongst the goat-kid's flesh, but not to be able to find the heart, and at last he said abruptly, "There is none here."

"But where can it be?" said the one-eyed wanderer.

"I don't know," replied Godhi Lustig, "but look, what fools we both are, to seek for the goat-kid's heart, and neither of us to remember that a goat-kid has no heart."

"Oh," said Odin, "that is something quite new. Every animal has a heart, why is a goat-kid to have none?"

"No, be assured, my brother," said Godhi Lustig, "that a goat-kid has no heart. Just consider it seriously, and then you will see that it really has none."

"Well, it is all right," said Odin. "If there is no heart, then I want none of the goat-kid. You may eat it alone."

"What I can't eat now, I will carry away in my knapsack," said Godhi Lustig, and he ate half the goat-kid, and put the rest in his knapsack.

They went farther, and then Odin caused a great stream of water to flow right across their path, and they were obliged to pass through it.

Odin said, "You go first."

"No," answered Godhi Lustig, "you must go first." He thought, "If the water is too deep I will stay behind."

Then Odin strode through it, and the water just reached to his knee. So Godhi Lustig began to go through also, but the water grew deeper and reached to his throat. Then he cried, "Brother, help me!"

Odin said, "Then will you confess that you have eaten the goat-kid's heart?"

"No," said he, "I have not eaten it."

Then the water grew deeper still and rose to his mouth. "Help me, friend," cried the Godhi.

Odin said, "Then will you confess that you have eaten the goat-kid's heart?"

"No," he replied, "I have not eaten it."

Odin, however, would not let him be drowned, but made the water sink and helped him through it.

Then they journeyed onwards, and came to a kingdom where they heard that the king's daughter lay sick unto death.

"Hi, there, brother," said Godhi Lustig to Odin, "this is a chance for us. If we can heal her we shall be provided for life."

But Odin began to dawdle on the road.

"Come, lift your legs, my dear brother," said Lustig, "that we may get there in time."

Still Odin walked slower and slower, though Godhi Lustig did all he could to drive and push him on, and at last they heard that the princess was dead.

"Now we are done for," said Godhi Lustig. "That comes of your sleepy way of walking."

"Just be quiet," answered Odin, "I can do more than cure sick people. I can bring dead ones to life again."

"Well, if you can do that," said Godhi Lustig, "it's all right, but you should earn at least half the kingdom for us by that."

Then they went to the royal palace, where everyone was in great grief, but Odin told the king that he would restore his daughter to life.

When he was taken to her, he said, "Bring me a kettle and some water," and when that was brought, he bade everyone go out, and allowed no one to remain with him but Godhi Lustig. Then he cut off all the dead girl's limbs, and threw them in the water, lighted a fire beneath the kettle, and boiled them. And when the flesh had fallen away from the bones, he took out the beautiful white bones, and laid them on a table, and arranged them together in their natural order.

When he had done that, he stepped forward and said three times:

"In the name of the Fateful Norns, dead woman, arise!"

At the third time, the princess arose, living, healthy and beautiful.

Then the king was in the greatest joy, and said to Odin:

"Ask for your reward. Even if it were half my kingdom, I would give it."

Odin said, "I want nothing for it."

"Oh, you tomfool!" thought Godhi Lustig to himself, and nudged his comrade's side, and whispered, "Don't be so stupid! If you have no need of anything, I have!"

Odin, however, would have nothing, but as the king saw that the other would very much like to have something, he ordered his treasurer to fill Godhi Lustig's knapsack with gold.

Then they went on their way, and when they came to a forest, Odin said to Godhi Lustig:

"Now, we will divide the gold."

"Yes," he replied, "we will."

So Odin divided the gold into three heaps.

Godhi Lustig thought to himself, "What crazy idea has he got in his head now? He is making three shares, and there are only two of us."

But Odin said, "I have divided it exactly. There is one share for me, one for you and one for him who ate the goat-kid's heart."

"Oh, I ate that," replied Godhi Lustig, and hastily swept up the gold. "You may trust what I say."

"But how can that be true," said Odin, "when a goat-kid has no heart?"

"Eh, what, brother? What can you be thinking of? Goat-kids have hearts like other animals. Why should only they have none?"

"Well, so be it," said Odin, "keep the gold to yourself, but I will stay with you no longer. I will go my way alone."

"As you like, my dear fellow," answered Godhi Lustig. "Farewell."

Then Odin went a different road, but Godhi Lustig thought: "It is a good thing that he has taken himself off. He is certainly a strange character."

For a while Lustig had money enough, but did not know how to manage it. Instead he squandered it, gave it away, and soon once more he had nothing. By this time he had arrived in a certain country where he heard that a king's daughter was dead.

"Oh, ho," thought he, "that may be a good thing for me. I will bring her to life again, and see that I am paid as I ought to be."

So he went to the king, and offered to raise the dead girl to life again. Now the king had heard that a discharged soldier was travelling about and bringing dead persons to life again, and thought that Godhi Lustig was the man. But as he had no confidence in him, he consulted his earls first, who said that he might give it a trial as his daughter was dead.

Then Godhi Lustig ordered water to be brought to him in a kettle, and made every one go out. Once alone, he cut the limbs off, threw them in the water and lighted a fire beneath, just as he had seen Odin do. The water began to boil, the flesh fell off, and then he took the bones out and laid them on the table, but he did not know the order in which to lay them, and placed them all wrong and in confusion.

Then he stood before them and said: "In the name of the Fateful Norns, dead maiden, I bid you arise!" and he said this thrice, but the bones did not stir. So he said it three times more, but also in vain. "Confounded girl that you are, get up!" cried he. "Get up, or it shall be the worse for you!"

When he had said that, Odin suddenly appeared in his former shape as the discharged soldier. He entered by the window and said:

"Senseless man, what are you doing? How can the dead maiden arise, when you have thrown about her bones in such confusion."

"Dear brother, I have done everything to the best of my ability," Lustig answered.

"This once," replied Odin, "I will help you out of your difficulty, but one thing I tell you, and that is: if ever you undertake anything of the kind again, it will be the worse for you. I also insist that you must neither demand nor accept the smallest thing from the king for this."

Thereupon Odin laid the bones in their right order, said to the maiden three times:

"In the name of the Fateful Norns, dead maiden, arise!"

The king's daughter arose, healthy and beautiful as before.

Then Odin went away again by the window, and Godhi Lustig rejoiced to find that all had passed off so well, but he was very much vexed to think that - after all - he was not to take anything for it.

"I should just like to know," thought he, "what fancy that fellow has got in his head, for what he gives with one hand he takes away with the other - there is no sense in it."

Then the king offered Godhi Lustig whatever he wished to have, but Lustig did not dare to take anything. However, by hints and cunning, he contrived to make the king order his knapsack to be filled with gold for him, and with that he departed.

When he got out, Odin was standing by the door.

"Just look what a man you are. Did I not forbid you to take anything, and there you have your knapsack full of gold."

"How can I help that," answered Godhi Lustig, "if people will put it in for me?"

"Well, I tell you this: that if ever you set about anything of this kind again you shall suffer for it."

"All right, brother, have no fear. Now I have money, why should I trouble myself with washing bones?"

"By the hair of Sif," said Odin, "a long time that gold will last. In order that after this you may never tread in forbidden paths, I will bestow on your knapsack this property, namely, that whatsoever you wish to have inside it, shall be there. Farewell, you will now never see me more."

"Good-bye," said Godhi Lustig, and thought to himself: "I am very glad that you have taken yourself off, you strange fellow. I shall certainly not follow you."

As for the magical power which had been bestowed on his knapsack, Lustig thought no more about it, that's if he even believed the odd fellow's words.

Godhi Lustig travelled about with his money, and squandered and wasted it as before. When at last he had no more than four coins, he passed by an inn and thought:

"The money must go."

He went in and ordered three coins' worth of wine and one coin's worth of bread for himself. As he was sitting there drinking, the smell of roast goose made its way to his nose.

Godhi Lustig looked about saw that the host had two geese roasting in the oven. Then he remembered his knapsack's new untried, magical properties.

"Oh, ho! I must try that with the geese."

So he went out, and when he was outside the door, he said: "I wish those two roasted geese out of the oven and in my knapsack!"

When he had said that, he unbuckled it and looked in, and there they were - inside.

"Ah, that's right," said he, "now I am a made man."

Off he went to a meadow and took out the roast fowl.

When he was in the midst of his meal, two journeymen came up and looked at the second goose, which was not yet touched, with hungry eyes.

Godhi Lustig thought to himself: "One is enough for me."

He called the two men up and said, "Take the goose, and eat it to my health."

They thanked him, and went with it to the inn, ordered themselves a half bottle of wine and a loaf, took out the goose which had been given them, and began to eat.

The hostess saw them and said to her husband: "Those two are eating a goose. Just look and see if it is not one of ours, out of the oven."

The landlord ran thither, and behold! - the oven was empty.

"What!" cried he. "You thievish crew! You want to eat goose as cheap as that! Pay for it this moment, or I will wash you well with green hazel-sap."

The two said, "We are no thieves. A discharged soldier gave us the goose, outside there in the meadow."

"You shall not throw dust in my eyes that way! The soldier was here, but he went out by the door, like an honest fellow. I looked after him myself. You are the thieves and shall pay."

Since they could not pay, he took a stick, and cudgeled them out of the house.

Meanwhile, Godhi Lustig went on his way and soon came to a place where there was a magnificent hall, and not far from it a wretched inn. He went to the inn and asked for a night's lodging, but the landlord turned him away, saying:

"There is no more room here. My house is full of noble guests."

"It surprises me that they should come to you and not go to those splendid halls," said Godhi Lustig.

"Ah, indeed," replied the host, "but it is no slight matter to sleep there for a night. No one who has tried it so far, has ever come out of it alive."

"If others have tried it," said Godhi Lustig, "I will try it, too."

"Leave it alone," said the host, "it will cost you your neck."

"It won't kill me at once," said Godhi Lustig, "just give me the key, and some good food and wine."

So the host gave him the key, and food and wine, and with this Godhi Lustig went into the halls, enjoyed his supper, and at length, as he was sleepy, he lay down on the ground, for there was no bed.

He soon fell asleep, but during the night a great noise disturbed him. He awoke to see nine ugly trolls in the room, dancing around him in a circle.

Godhi Lustig said, "Well, dance as long as you like, but none of you must come too close."

The trolls pressed continually nearer to him, and almost stepped on his face with their hideous feet.

"Stop, you trolls, you etins!" he bellowed, but they behaved still worse.

Then he grew angry. "Stop! You'll soon see how I can make you quiet!"

He took the leg of a chair and struck out into the midst of the trolls with it. The odds, however, of nine against one were too many. When he struck those in front of him, the others seized him behind by the hair, and tore it unmercifully.

"Trolls," he cried, "this is too much, but just you wait!" He seized his knapsack and raised it up over his head.

"Into my knapsack, all nine of you!"

In an instant they were in it, and then he buckled it up and threw it into a corner.

After this all was suddenly quiet, and Godhi Lustig lay down again, and slept till it was bright day.

Then came the inn-keeper, and the nobleman to whom the halls belonged, to see how he had fared. When they discovered Lustig merry and well they were astonished.

"Have the trolls done you no harm, then?"

"The reason why they have not," answered Godhi Lustig, "is because I have got the whole nine of them in my knapsack. You may once more inhabit your halls quite tranquilly, none of them will ever haunt it again."

The nobleman thanked him, presented him with rich gifts, and begged him to remain in his service, offering to provide for him as long as he lived.

"No," replied Godhi Lustig, "I am used to wandering about. I will be on my way, I think."

Taking his leave, Lustig entered into the first smithy he came to, laid the knapsack on the anvil, and asked the smith and his apprentices to strike it.

They smote with their great hammers with all their strength, and the trolls uttered howls which were quite pitiable. When he opened the knapsack after this, eight of them were dead, but one which had been lying in a fold of it, was still alive. It slipped out, and went back again to Muspellheim.

Thereupon Godhi Lustig traveled a long time about the world, and those who know, can tell many a story about him.

At last Lustig grew old, and thought of his end, so he went to a hermit who was known to be a man wise in the ways of the gods, and said to him:

"I am tired of wandering about, and want now to behave in such a manner that I shall enter into the presence of the gods."

The hermit replied, "There are two roads: one is broad and pleasant, and leads to Muspellheim; the other is narrow and rough, and leads to Brimir, in the future-land of Okolnir, after the scorching fire of Ragnarok has abated."

"I should be a fool," thought Godhi Lustig, "if I were to take the narrow, rough road."

So Godhi Lustig set out and took the broad and pleasant road, and at length came to a great black door, which was the door of Muspellheim. He knocked, and the door-keeper peeped out to see who was there.

This door-keeper happened to be the very same ninth troll who had been shut up in the knapsack, and had escaped from it with a black eye. When he saw Godhi Lustig, he was terrified.

So he pushed the bolt in again as quickly as he could, ran to the highest troll, and said:

"There is a fellow outside with a knapsack, who wants to come in, but as you value your lives don't allow him to enter, or he will wish the whole of Muspellheim into his knapsack. He once gave me a frightful hammering when I was inside it."

So they called out to Godhi Lustig that he was to go away again, for he should not get in there.

"If they won't have me here," thought he, "I will see if I can find a place for myself in Brimir, for I must stay somewhere."

So he turned about and went onwards until he came to the door of Brimir, where he knocked.

Odin was sitting hard by as door-keeper. Godhi Lustig recognised him at once, and thought:

"Here I find an old friend, I shall get on better."

Odin said, "I can hardly believe that you want to come into Brimir."

"Let me in, brother. I must get in somewhere. If they would have taken me into Muspellheim, I should not have come here."

"No," said Odin, "you shall not enter."

"Then if you will not let me in, take your knapsack back, for I will have nothing at all from you."

"Give it here, then," said Odin. Then Godhi Lustig gave him the knapsack into Brimir through the bars, and Odin took it, and hung it beside his seat.

Then said Godhi Lustig: "And now I wish myself inside my knapsack!"

In a second he was in the knapsack, and within the golden walls of Brimir, and Odin was forced to let him stay there.


Based on Brother Lustig


ENDNOTES:

There are elements of a faery-land or otherworld aspect within this tale which have been Christianised into heaven and hell. To remove them altogether would have unravelled the ending too much, so I have given them a (hopefully) Nordic gloss. And since Godhi Lustig didn't appear to have any desire to die with sword in hand, I thought it inappropriate to make him one of the einherjar in Valhalla.

The fact that Godhi Lustig is able to meet Odin, after Odin's apparent death in Ragnarok, is quite in keeping with the a-temporal nature of fairy-tales. It's interesting that Lustig recognises Odin: does he recognise him as Odin or as his road-companion? Perhaps the wind changed and Odin's shape was trapped in the form he had. I also think it quite in keeping with Odin's nature that he survives Ragnarok and is content to be the door-keeper in Brimir. He may well have learned the hardest lesson of all of rulership: it's better to watch someone else make a horlicks of it than to be a ruler. Odin has had his day as leader of the Aesir; now it's time for somebody else to jump through the hoops of people's expectations.

In the original tale from Grimm, Lustig is a friar. Making him a godhi reminds us all that wisdom in one field does not necessarily confer wisdom in every field of endeavour.

Re-writing this tale reminds me of the exploits of the Incomparable Mulla Nasrudin, and I believe that the concept of a 'holy fool', a disreputable fellow, a roguish priest is part of the human experience, no matter which culture we look at.