The Confusing Case of the Demonic Money Pants
It was when I was researching the troll hare and its kin in my previous post that I stumbled across the nábrók – a pair of magical pants that would grant the wearer riches throughout their life. You can find it referenced across the internet, dubbed Necropants, but it’s almost always the same story with very little additional information. When I saw the attributing source of the tale was Jón Árnason, I knew I needed to know more – and so I revisited his Ícelandic Legends’.
In 2019, when I was first searching for the bear king, I came across the works of Jón Árnason – an Icelandic author and museum director active in the mid 1800’s who endeavored to create a record of folktales within Iceland in the same way the brothers Grimm had attempted within the area of Germany. Working with schoolmaster and friend Magnús Grímsson, and solo after Grímsson’s death, Árnason amassed over 1,300 pages detailing the folktales and myths of Iceland as submitted by pupils and former pupils, due to the fact that the two did not have the financial means to travel across the country. These tales were broken down into categories including:
- Stories of God and the Evil One
- Stories of Paradise and Hell
- Divine Punishment
- Historical Legends
- Stories of Outlaws
- Tales
- Comic Stories
- Superstitions
Just to name a few. The bear king is found under “Animal Stories” in volume four, Necropants is under ´Magic Stories´ in the subcategory of ´Magic Tricks’ in volume six.
The most popular example of the necropant is undoubtedly the reproduction found in the Icelandic Museum of Sorcery and Witchcraft in Holmavik. While their website doesn’t have many details about the exhibit, the blog ‘Guide to Iceland’ reproduces the inscription from the museum as below:
“If you want to make your own necropants (literally; nábrók) you have to get permission from a living man to use his skin after his death. After he has been buried you must dig up his body and flay the skin of the corpse in one piece from the waist down. As soon as you step into the pants they will stick to your own skin. A coin must be stolen from a poor widow and placed in the scrotum along with the magical sign, “nábrókarstafur”, written on a piece of paper. Consequently, the coin will draw money into the scrotum so it will never be empty, as long as the original coin is not removed. To ensure salvation the owner has to convince someone else to overtake the pants and step into each leg as soon as he gets out of it. The necropants will thus keep the money-gathering nature for generations.”
Most accounts online provide the same, almost identical, phrasing – often paired with images of the reproduction of the pants from the museum display and the mentioned magical stave, referred to as Nábrókarstafur.
In an attempt to go straight to the source I located an online copy of Íslenzkar þjóðsögur og ævintýri‘ volume six, where the pants are mentioned, in the original Icelandic. I was also able to find a translation by George E. J. Powell and Eiríkur Magnússon. They included the information about the necropants in their lengthy introduction as below:
“Witchcraft is not always used against one’s neighbour for baleful purposes, but has besides another end in view, — that of making its master rich in purse, and secure from persecution in person. We will now show in what way magic may be used for the enrichment of him who practices the art.
When a man wishes to get riches, at once vast and inexhaustible, and always waxing during his lifetime, he must do his best to get hold of the so-called ” Devil’s pair of drawers” also called “ Breeches of Fins,” — (so called, probably, because the Finnish nation has from earliest antiquity been famous for witchcraft,) “ Money- trousers”, “Dead-man’s pantaloons”, and “*Papey-drawers.”’
This precious garment may be obtained in the following way. He who desires the unmentionables in question must make another man promise to lend him his skin after death. A certain sort of compact is necessary. When his obliging friend is dead, the man who thirsts after wealth must go to the other’s grave, dig him up, and take off his skin, from the waist downwards, paying good heed not to split it save in the middle. Thus he comes into possession of the coveted pair of drawers, which he must at once put on, and which will cling to his flesh until he induces someone else to consent to wear the same ghastly pantaloons.
Once donned, these breeches are, however, useless, save the owner contrive to steal a coin from some destitute widow, between the First and Second Lesson, on one of the three great feasts of the church, — Yule, Easter, or Whitsuntide (Pentecost). After this, the drawers will draw to them silver and gold out of living people’s purses and pockets, so that the owner’s pouch is never empty.
But great heed must be taken not to give away the first stolen coin. Although these drawers are a great worldly gain to their wearer and possessor, there is yet a thorn to the rose: he cannot get rid of them at will, albeit the everlasting welfare of his soul depends upon his doing so. If he dies in them, he is both eternally lost, and his whole body is covered with infernal vermin.
He must, therefore, before his death, induce someone to take them off him, and wear them. When this change is effected, the wearer must first doff the right leg of the drawers, which his obliging friend must instantly don. Now if, at this moment, the latter repent him of his bargain, he repents him too late, for in the twinkling of an eye, do what he will, the left leg is doffed and donned, and both legs will stick to him for the rest of his life, save he contrive to repeat the same process, with an obliging friend of his own.
These drawers never lose their power of attracting money, nor can they ever be worn out. Some say that they are from the devil himself, and given by him only to those who have sold him their souls. This would account for their first name, as well as for all the diabolic ceremonies used in procuring them.
Beside this very advantageous use of human skin for drawers, we must state that it is an excellent thing for shoes. Shoes made of it can never be worn out, except one walk with them in church or on sacred ground; should one do so, they rot away in a moment, doing, however, no further injury to their wearer.
*Papey is an island on the east coast of Iceland, and Árnason thinks that the name “ Papey-drawers ” was derived from the fact that the owners of this island have always been rich people, popular fancy absorbing their wealth to their possession of the Devil’s pantaloons. “
This account, while similar to the common description found online, differs in a few key ways. Most prominent is the fact that the scrotum is not described as being used as a money pouch. Neither is the magical stave, nábrókarstafur, mentioned or illustrated in the text as well
In fact, I could find no evidence of the stave beyond its actual visual appearance. Staves are sigils with supposedly magical properties that can be used to enhance or enact a magical spell in the theory of medieval Icelandic magic. Perhaps one of the most popular examples is the Ægishjalmur – the Helm of Awe – used to induce fear in one’s opponents.
Thanks to Galdrastafir.org, a site run by the Fornalder Society, and their #FreeGaldrastafir project that seeks to make as many stave-featuring manuscripts as possible free to the public for download from their website, I was able to search through 12 different manuscripts.
However, after browsing through each volume I unfortunately was unable to locate an example of the nábrókarstafur. This remains the one piece of the folktale that I can’t verify.
So whether or not there are additional accounts of nabrok out there, if a stave was included in their creation or you just needed the skin – remains unknown. I love researching these Icelandic folk tales, though, it’s a challenge to find source material and flipping through digitized manuscripts is oddly satisfying – a real testament to how far we’ve come through the internet to make ancient scripts and folk tales accessible to all.
Grundhauser, Eric. “Necropants and Other Tales of 17th-Century Icelandic Sorcery.” Atlas Obscura, Atlas Obscura, 18 Sept. 2017, www.atlasobscura.com/articles/objects-of-intrigue-necropants.
Árnason, Ján. “Icelandic Legends Collected by Jón Árnason.” Internet Archive, Longmans, 1 Jan. 1866, archive.org/details/bub_gb_bJ_7jDsJPQUC/page/n89/mode/2up.
“The Museum of Icelandic Witchcraft and Sorcery at Hólmavík.” Ægishjálmur, galdrasyning.is/galdrasyning-a-holmavik/.
Ragnasdóttir, Regína Hrön. “The Museum of Icelandic Witchcraft and Sorcery at Hólmavík.” Guide to Iceland, guidetoiceland.is/connect-with-locals/regina/the-museum-of-icelandic-witchcraft-and-sorcery-at-holmavik.
Frida, Author, and Author Raevedis. Galdrastafir.org, www.galdrastafir.org/.
Árnason, Ján. “Íslenzkar Þjóðsögur Og Ævintýri.” Leita – Bækur.is, baekur.is.
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iceland icelandic folklore icelandic mythology icelandic witchcraft jan arnason ján árnason money pants nabrok nábrók necromancy necropants witchcraft