[Collected in Vaagaa, eastern Norway, in 1842 (Asbjörnsen)]
Above Vaage parsonage soars a fir-crowned ridge, or small mountain, with fissures and steep walls. This is the jutul’s mountain. By a freak of nature a doorway appears in one of the smooth walls. If one stands on the bridge over the boisterous Finna River, or in the meadows on the other side, and looks at this doorway, it takes on the shape of a double portal, joined at the top by a Gothic arch. This is no ordinary doorway or portal. It is the entrance to the jutul’s palace and is called Jutul’s Gate. It is a tremendous gateway through which the biggest troll with fifteen heads could easily pass without bending his neck.
In the old days, when there were more dealings between mortals and trolls and someone wanted to borrow something from the jutul, or talk with him on other matters, it was the custom to throw a stone at the gate and say: “Open up, jutul!” One of the last people to see the jutul was Johannes Soerigarden from Blessom, the neighboring farm to the parsonage. But he probably wished he had not.
This Johannes Blessom [customarily a Norwegian farmer was called by the name of his farm] was down in Copenhagen to find out about a lawsuit, for in those days there were no courts in Norway, and if anyone wanted to go to court, there was nothing else to do but go down there. This Blessom had done, and this his son did too, for he also had a lawsuit. Now it was Christmas Eve. Johannes had talked with the big shots and finished his business, and now he walked down the street in low spirits, for he wanted to go home. As he was walking, a man from Vaage suddenly strode past him in a white jacket, with a leather pouch and buttons like silver dalers. He was a great big man. It seemed to Johannes that he knew him, but he was not sure, he went so fast.
“You walk fast, you do,” said Johannes.
“Yes, I have to hurry,” answered the man, “for I’m going to Vaage tonight.”
“Oh, if only I could go there too!” said Johannes.
“You can stand on behind me,” said the man, “for I have a horse that takes twelve steps to a mile!”
They set out, and it was all Blessom could do to stay on the runners, for they were off through the air so fast that he could see neither heaven nor earth.
At one place they went down and rested. Before he could figure out where it was, they were suddenly off again. But he thought he saw a skull on a stake there. When they had come a bit on the way, Johannes Blessom’s hands started to freeze.
“Ach! I left one of my mittens back there where we rested. Now my hand is freezing!”
“You’ll just have to stand it, Blessom,” said the man, “for it’s not far to Vaage. There where we rested was halfway!”
Before they came to the bridge over Finna, the man stopped at Sandbuvollen and let Johannes off.
“Now you’re not far from home,” he said, “and now you’re to promise me that you won’t look back if you hear any rumbling or see any gleam of light!”
Johannes promised he would not look back and thanked him for the ride. The man drove on over the Finna bridge, and Johannes headed up the hill toward Blessom farm. But all at once he heard a rumbling in the jutul’s mountain, and it was suddenly so light on the road before him that he could have picked up a pin. He forgot what he had promised and turned his head to see what had happened. There stood Jutul’s Gate wide open, and the light streamed out through it as if from thousands and thousands of candles. But from that moment Johannes Blessom’s head was half-turned, and he remained that way as long as he lived.