Icelandic Folk Legends

Gilitrutt

There once was a young farmer who lived beneath Eyjafjöll mountains in south Iceland. He was a diligent and industrious young man. The surrounding regions were considered good sheep-rearing country and the farmer owned many sheep. He was newly married when this story took place, to a young and idle woman. She was indifferent to the farm work and not motivated in the least. This upset the farmer, yet there was very little he could do. One autumn the farmer brought his wife a large sack of wool and asked her to make it into cloth for the winter. Her response was decidedly apathetic. Winter came, and the farmer’s young wife did not touch the wool, despite her husband’s repeated urgings. One day, an old crone of rather coarse build came to see the woman, to ask her for a favor. “Can you do something for me in return?” asked the woman. “Possibly,” said the crone, “what sort of work would you have me do?” “Fashioning wool into cloth,” said the woman. “Give it to me, then,” said the crone. The woman handed her the large sack of wool. The old crone took the sack, slung it across her back, and said: “I will bring you the cloth on the First Day of Summer.” “What will you take as your reward?” asked the woman. “It will not be much,” said the crone, “you must simply tell me my name on the third try, and we shall be even.” The woman agreed to this, and the crone left. Winter wore on, and the farmer repeatedly asked his wife how the wool cloth was coming along. She replied that it was none of his concern, but that he should have it on the First Day of Summer. The farmer accepted this, and the end of winter approached. The woman then turned her thoughts to what the old crone’s name might be, but saw no way of discovering it. She grew anxious and distressed. The farmer noticed the change in her and asked her what the matter was. At this, she confessed the whole story. The farmer became frightened and told her she had done a terrible deed, for the old crone was surely an ogress who planned to abduct her. Some time later, the farmer was headed up the side of a nearby mountain when he arrived at a large, rocky knoll. He was deeply absorbed by his concerns and hardly knew where he was. Suddenly he heard a knocking coming from inside the knoll. He followed the sound, and came to a crevice. Inside he saw an old woman of coarse build sitting at a loom, weaving excitedly. She repeated, over and over: “Ha ha, hee hee. Mistress does not know my name, ha ha, hee hee. Gilitrutt is my name, ha ha. Gilitrutt is my name, ha ha, hee hee.” This she muttered again and again, working the loom with great speed. Seeing this, the farmer brightened, as he was quite sure that this was the old crone who had come to see his wife the previous autumn. He went home and wrote down the name Gilitrutt on a snippet of paper. Now the last day of winter approached. The farmer’s wife became deeply despondent and spent whole days in bed. The farmer went to her and asked if she knew the name of the crone who had done the wool work for her. She said that she did not and that she would now die of despair. The farmer replied that that would not be necessary, handed her the paper with the name on it, and told her the whole story. She took it, trembling with fear, for she was afraid that the name might be wrong. She asked the farmer to be by her side when the old crone came. He refused, saying: “You did not consult me when you gave her the wool, so it is best that you see her by yourself.” The First Day of Summer arrived and the woman lay alone in bed. No one else was at the farm. Suddenly she heard a great rumbling and the hideous old crone entered. She tossed a large roll of wool cloth onto the floor and demanded: “What is my name, then, what is my name?” The young woman, nearly frightened out of her wits, replied: “Signý?” “What is my name, what is my name: guess again, mistress!” said the crone. “Ása?” the young woman stuttered. The old crone replied: “What is my name, what is my name, guess yet again, mistress!” “Your name wouldn’t be … Gilitrutt?” ventured the young woman. At this, the old crone received such a jolt that she fell headlong on the floor with a loud thud. She then got to her feet, left the place, and was never seen again. The young woman was so relieved to have made this happy escape from the ogress that she became completely transformed. She turned industrious and organized, and always worked her own wool from then on.

Note: The First Day of Summer according to the Old Icelandic Calendar is observed on a Thursday from April 19-25 in any given year. The old calendar had only two seasons, winter and summer. The First Day of Summer is still observed as a public holiday – a testament to the importance of summer for the Icelanders.