A Nordic Tale: The Three Aunts

This story was written by me as the final project for the class on Nordic history and culture I took in fall 2006. My method was basically to find at least three different versions of this story, read them frequently, back to back, and then ignore them and write what I recollected. The result ends up being a fairy tale that contains elements of "actual" versions, but streamlined enough for a speed-read. I also made up much of the descriptions and dialog whole-cloth, because they sound "heightened" enough to quickly establish the non-reality of the world. By the way, "whole cloth" is a rather weak bon mot which I think very funny, but only because I already know what the story is about. I invite you, the reader, to come BACK to this sentence after reading the story so that your eyes can fully roll about how clever I think I am.

This story needed to be read out loud for the presentation, and it had to fit inside of two or three minutes. As a result of these constraints, you'll notice that it stays tight to the action and even makes a few leaps of place or time just to get through. You'll notice that the queen and prince (and even Hedda herself) receive very little characterization. In spite of that, I feel that they have more personality elements than completely blank slates.

One of the things I found helpful was repeated phrases (already a part of fairy tale culture). By the time I get to the third declaration of the Aunts, I can tell it very speedily, because everyone already has a sense of the words I'm going to use. That entire paragraph comes to act as a single image of the aunt making everything fine.

The story also contains a few aural puns, which I couldn't resist writing in, like "sew and sew" and "so and so". It's not really funny, of course, but it's disguised enough that it can really only be appreciated by reading it out loud. Which I encourage you to do! I had thought I might upload audio or video of me reading it, but there's no time for that.




freely adapted by Andrew Schwartz

Once there was a beautiful girl whose name was Hedda, who lived way out in the forest. When she had grown, Hedda felt it was time to go into the world and earn her place. So she bid good-bye to her father and walked while the sun set and walked as the sun rose. Finally, she came to a castle.

And she asked in the castle if there was work to be had. They gave her a place as one of the queen's maids; the lowest one. But Hedda worked hard making everything spic and span. And the queen noticed; she noticed the places that were spic, and she appreciated the places that were span! Quickly, Hedda became the most favored of the maids. But the other maids didn't think much of this. They told the queen that Hedda had bragged she could spin ten pounds of flax into yarn in a single night.

The queen was quite taken with this idea. She instructed Hedda that she should do it, because the queen never knew when she might need yarn, and the stores were quite low. Hedda, desperate not to disappoint the queen, asked only for a room by herself so as not to be distracted. And before the dog dropped his bone, she was alone in a room, with a spinning wheel and ten pounds of flax.

Of course, Hedda had never spun in her life. She walked around the wheel seven times, but still she couldn't figure out how to work it, and had only managed to prick her finger on the needle. It was hopeless.

Into her room walked an old woman. “What's the matter?”

Hedda was overwhelmed, so she explained about the wicked maids, and the rash promise, and the never-before-spinning.

“Tell you what,” said the old woman. “If you promise to call me your aunt on the happiest day of your life, I'll make it all better.” Hedda promised, for what could she do?

At once, the woman began to spin. Hedda's eyes could not keep up with the wheel, and she fell asleep. In the morning, the old woman was gone, and the flaxen yarn lay in a basket. The queen was pleased. The maids were not. They spread the rumor that Hedda bragged she could weave the yarn into cloth in a single night. Again, the queen commanded it (since they were low on cloth, too), and again Hedda asked for a room.

As she sat in the room with the loom, wondering how to work it, a second old woman came in. “What's the matter?” the woman asked. And as before, Hedda told the woman everything.

“Tell you what,” said the old woman. “If you promise to call me your aunt on the happiest day of your life, I'll make it all better.” Hedda promised, for what could she do?

The second old woman began to weave like a fury. And though Hedda tried to focus on the shuttle, she fell fast asleep. Next morning, the old woman was gone, and the flaxen cloth lay in a basket. The queen was even more pleased. The maids were even more jealous. They spread a rumor that Hedda bragged she could sew all the cloth into shirts in a single night. And before you could even scratch your nose, Hedda was alone in a room with a sewing kit.

In walked a third old woman. She inquired, Hedda replied, the old woman comforted.

“Tell you what,” said the old woman. “If you promise to call me your aunt on the happiest day of your life, I'll make it all better.” Hedda promised, for what could she do?

The woman began to sew and sew. But Hedda was so, so tired. Before she knew it, it was morning, the woman gone, the shirts finished.

The queen was beside herself. She thought this an excellent girl for the her son, the prince, for she was amazing with cloth! So before anyone could try on ANY of the shirts, the prince and Hedda were married. It was the happiest day of Hedda's life.

At the feast, an old woman walked in, with a nose six inches long. “Hello, auntie!” said Hedda. The prince couldn't believe his beautiful wife was related to this long-nosed crone, but he invited the crone to sit, because it was polite. In walked a second old woman, with a back hunched and gnarled. “Hello, auntie!” said Hedda. The prince couldn't believe his wife knew this ugly hag, but he invited her to table, because it was polite. In walked a third old woman, with huge eyes bleary and red. “Hello, auntie!” said Hedda. The prince couldn't believe it! “How did you get such ugly relatives?” he said, impolitely.

The first woman explained that her long nose was from always tugging it while spinning. The second said her hunched back was from bending over a weaving loom, and the third said her bleary eyes were from too much sewing.

“Then my bride, Hedda, shall never again sew, weave, or spin as long as she lives,” said the prince.

And she never did.