21st October, 2024 in Folklore

A Christmas tale: The Old Man and the Lamps

By Anna Maria Vilhelmina Hellberg Moberg

A winter tale for cosy season from Anna Maria Vilhelmina Hellberg Moberg author of Swedish Folk Tales.

Once upon a time there was a lonely, old man who lived in a little cottage in the woods. There, the old man sat all alone, as the sun was slowly setting and darkness engulfed his little abode amongst the trees. Many a long evening was spent in this manner – alone in the dark – because the old man did not know how to make the light that existed in daytime, stay with him in his cottage come evening.

“Summers are all right,” the old man said to himself. “It’s those winters I can very happily live without. I simply cannot abide the dark and the cold in winter.”

The old man liked daytime, even if it didn’t bring a great deal of light in winter, and he endeavoured to use the daylight hours as best he could. He brewed coffee at regular intervals and took a sip from his cup every now and then, whilst reading the morning papers. Washing up was swiftly taken care of and if the weather wasn’t too cruel, he might even venture out for a walk, wearing his snow boots with crampons if the paths were slippery, his fur hat pulled down tightly around his ears and a pair of thick woollen mittens keeping his hands warm.

Days turned to weeks and weeks to months. Spring, and then summer, returned, but no matter how the old man tried to hold on to the delightful light of summer, autumn too returned, followed by winter.

“Poor me,” the old man lamented, “now I’m stuck here again, without light. Is there no end to this misery? It’s dark and silent and lonely all winter. I am so fed up with this.”

Next day the sun was shining from a bright blue sky and the snow surrounding the cottage was positively glistening in the sunshine, the trees all beautifully frost-clad. The old man donned his boots with crampons again and went outside, all wrapped up. Just as he entered the woods on the frozen path, he had an idea. A lamp… What if he had a lamp in his tiny cottage? Maybe then the light that ran away earlier and earlier in the evenings, would stay a little longer? The old man pondered and wandered in the chilly morning light, while the snow crunched and creaked underneath his boots.

When it was next time to go for a walk, the old man brought a small axe and a small saw with him. He picked and chose among the trees until he was sure he’d found the right one – the very one that would help him persuade the light to stay with him even in winter. The following week the old man was, if possible, even more grouchy, grumpy and disappointed as soon as daylight left the cottage. He needed as much of it as possible to finish his work before the upcoming festivities, but despite pulling back all the curtains and even opening the windows, light kept leaving when it had had enough of daytime.

“It’s Christmas soon,” the old man said, “and I’ll never get them ready in time.” Making a supreme effort, he sawed and hammered, glued, polished and painted. On the 23rd of December, just as night planned to swallow day, there they were – ready. Five lamps, placed neatly on the table, awaiting the light. ‘Now,’ the old man thought, ‘now finally, I’ll be able to see in the evenings. I’ll be able to sit and enjoy the light all Christmas and all winter.’ The old man waited and waited, but nothing happened. The lamps remained unlit and the kitchen got darker and darker.

Dejected, the old man sat down at the kitchen table, with tears in his eyes. He could not understand what he’d done wrong. He’d carried out all the work from beginning to end, the lamps were in good condition and ready to embrace the light – the light that he truly wished to welcome with open arms and open eyes. Why wouldn’t it come?

Hours passed; it was the dead of night. The old man sat there, awaiting the light as long as he could keep awake, but there was no sign of it, not even the tiniest of glimmers. The lamps refused to light up.“It is going to be a gloomy Christmas, this year,” the old man said, despondent, and finally went to bed, cold and tired.When he awoke, it was broad daylight. “My goodness, have I slept that late? I can’t believe I’ve overslept on Christmas Eve morning,” the old man muttered to himself where he was lying in bed, in the little bedroom next to the kitchen.

He yawned and stretched. Then he remembered the night before and immediately felt like curling up in bed again. The Christmas he’d been hoping for was not going to happen. “It’s Christmas Eve after all. I guess I’d better get out of bed,” he said grouchily, while searching for his slippers. That’s when he happened to look at the clock on the bedside table, showing five a.m. on Christmas Eve morning. The old man practically jumped out of bed. “Five o’clock in the morning? But why is it so light in here?” There, on the kitchen table, stood five shining lamps made of wood, ready to light up the lonely, old man’s Christmas.